The Rising(26)

“This number, I don’t recog—”

“I’m at a restaurant called Rigolo down the street from the hospital. I’ve got to stay out of sight.”

Sam felt something sink in her stomach, thinking of the men with the strange voices who’d attacked the Chins. “Out of sight from what?”

“Never mind. I just need to get home, think this through, talk to my mom and dad.”

She swallowed hard. “Alex…”

“Not now. Whatever it is can wait. Too easy to see me from the street where I’m standing. You know the place?”

“Yes. Sure. But—”

“Hurry, Sam, please.”

Sam thought she might pass out, by the time she reached the old Volkswagen Beetle’s door.

“Sam!”

“I’m here. Sorry, I—”

“You’ve got to hurry! I can’t stay here. Something’s—”

Alex’s voice cut off suddenly. Sam looked down at her phone, which felt oddly cold in her hand, figuring the battery had died for real this time. But the icon was almost all filled in.

“Alex,” Sam managed. “Alex!”

“Hurry,” he responded, his voice returned. “Please.”

“Alex, listen. I really need to tell you—”

A click sounded before Sam could say another word.





26

RIGOLO

HIS CALL TO SAM on the old-fashioned pay phone completed, Alex might have called the police then and there, if he hadn’t seen the men enter. All dressed in identical dark suits, which seemed odd for a Saturday night. Looking dapper, polished but focused. One of them spoke to the hostess while the others seemed to be glancing about the restaurant.

He stopped peering around the alcove wall for fear of being spotted. Whoever these men were, they didn’t look right for the surroundings, totally out of place. He figured it would take Sam at least fifteen minutes to get here and once he left the restaurant, he’d have no way to reach her by phone.

Leaving Rigolo was the problem now. From the alcove of the bright and cheery café that catered to families as well as CPMC doctors and nurses, he glimpsed the four black-suited men being seated at a corner table on the far left offering a complete view of the floor. No way he could reach any of the exits without them spotting him. The only thing preventing that now was the slight angle that kept him from their view when he pressed his shoulders against the wall. Move just a few inches and he’d be in their sights.

Alex had no choice but to wait, taking several deep breaths to calm himself. No clock was in view and he had neither a cell phone nor a watch to check the time until Sam’s expected arrival.

Where were his parents?

And something else: Why hadn’t he called Cara when he couldn’t reach them? Why had he called Sam instead?

He stood there pressed against the wall trying to remember the last time he’d had a really good time with Cara. Couldn’t think of a single one, at least not sober, except when they’d had plenty of fun in large groups over the summer, before football camp started in August and then it was all business. This wasn’t a new thought, just one he’d passed off as his own fault, given the demands on his time and energy by the season and a championship run. He thought Cara was leaving him alone because she thought that’s what he wanted.

I’m an idiot, he thought.

Alex glimpsed the hostess lead a pair of men past the alcove toward a nest of tables out of sight from it, uniformed men.

Cops.

He could go to their table and tell them what had happened, tell them about the men in suits who’d come into the restaurant just after he had. Yes, that made sense. Best available choice, assessing the situation the same way he did when approaching the line of scrimmage. Alex steeled himself for the task for several moments and slid out from the alcove, turning left toward where the cops must’ve been seated.

Where one of the black-suited men was standing over their table, smiling and exchanging handshakes.

Were the cops involved in this too, in league with the killer at the hospital and these men as well?

Alex could wait no longer. Had to take his chances they were looking for a kid wearing hospital garb instead of clothes pilfered from a dead doctor’s closet. Swung right toward the main entrance, started walking and didn’t stop, didn’t turn, half expecting a big strong hand to clamp down on his shoulder. But it didn’t and then he was through the door back outside into the cool night.

He looked back only when he was in the darkest part of the Rigolo parking lot, standing beside an older model Lincoln Town Car. Writing stenciled onto the rear window read, WATSON FUNTERAL HOME, followed by an address and phone number. Alex thought of the four men inside wearing identical black suits. They were funeral home workers, coming from a memorial service, probably, and were well acquainted with the complement of local police officers who often provided them a security detail.

Alex started to relax ever so slightly when the screech of car tires snapped him back to reality.





27

LOVE BUG

SAM’S VOLKSWAGEN BEETLE, THE old model from circa 1990 had barely come to a halt when Alex lunged out of the shadows outside of Rigolo and jerked the passenger-side door open.

“Don’t stop!” he ordered when she jammed on the brakes, his eyes checking the street behind him. “Just drive!”