your daughter. You don’t owe me anything.” John
couldn’t help but wonder just how much the old man would have given him.
“Well…all right.”
Veronica’s father slipped his checkbook back into his jacket. “Thank you for
coming by; I’ll be in touch.”
John nodded to
Veronica, who sat stone-faced tapping her heel on the ground. She inclined her
head a fraction of an inch in his direction.
“It was a pleasure
meeting you, Veronica.” He flashed a smile in her direction. “Maybe I’ll catch
you on the A train sometime.”
She smiled back with
hard eyes. “Don’t count on it.”
Chapter Four
The next morning,
John sat quietly reading a passage out of the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous as he’d done every morning for the
past year. This morning he’d been reading about Step Two: “ Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to
sanity .”
He drank his coffee
and thought about this concept. He still had trouble with the idea of a Higher
Power. If there was one, why had his father’s liver burst one day? Why had he
watched his old man vomit blood all over the immaculate floor his mother had
spent hours scrubbing before she left to run the day’s errands? Why should any
seven-year-old be left alone with his father crumpled against the refrigerator,
the older man’s eyes bugged out with fear, his face a waxy yellow? John could go
back there in a heartbeat and see his father coughing up noxious poisons,
unable to speak or move until his system was so polluted it shut down
completely. Then he had just been a dead man with a little boy shaking his
beefy blood-drenched shoulder. The little boy had cried and screamed but there
had been no one to help.
John closed his eyes
and whispered, “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot
change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the
difference. God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change…”
That’s when the phone
rang. It was Veronica.
“I’m downstairs in my
car,” she said, in her cool, low voice. “I’ll give you ten minutes to get down
here. If you have a tuxedo, bring it. Otherwise, we’ll be gone four days, so
pack accordingly.”
He was in a bad mood
and a lot of not-so-nice comebacks sprang to mind, but instead he said, “I
haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”
“Okay, eleven
minutes.” She hung up.
He was used to having
to pack on the double from his days at the FBI. When a jewel thief struck,
whether it was in Lisbon or Los Angeles, he had to be on the first plane out
before the trail got cold.
When John came out of
his apartment building, he found Veronica waiting in a platinum convertible.
Her hair was covered by an iris print scarf and she wore big bug-eyed, Jackie-O
sunglasses, a perfectly pressed sleeveless button-down shirt, and a preppy
floral skirt. But what caught his eye was the shimmer of diamonds dancing
around her wrists as she clutched the steering wheel and another white hot
sparkle peeping out from beneath her collar.
“Showing off your
collection?” John asked, tossing his suitcase into the back seat and sliding in
next to her.
She smiled and shook
her glittering wrist in front of him so the diamonds danced in the sunlight.
“This is nothing.”
Then she reached into
her purse and pulled out an envelope with his name scrawled across it. “My
father asked me to give this to you.” She presented it to him with a pearly
white smile that seemed a little too much like a smirk.
“What is it?”
“Probably money.” She
shifted the car into gear and tore away from the curb. “I’m sure you’ll have
expenses and things and my dad, being the sucker he is, probably threw in a
nice advance, too.”
John slipped the
envelope in his pocket. He sure wasn’t going to give Veronica Rossmore the
satisfaction of watching his eyes light up at the sight of a few greenbacks or
a fat bank check.
She pulled onto the
West Side Highway
couldn’t help but wonder just how much the old man would have given him.
“Well…all right.”
Veronica’s father slipped his checkbook back into his jacket. “Thank you for
coming by; I’ll be in touch.”
John nodded to
Veronica, who sat stone-faced tapping her heel on the ground. She inclined her
head a fraction of an inch in his direction.
“It was a pleasure
meeting you, Veronica.” He flashed a smile in her direction. “Maybe I’ll catch
you on the A train sometime.”
She smiled back with
hard eyes. “Don’t count on it.”
Chapter Four
The next morning,
John sat quietly reading a passage out of the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous as he’d done every morning for the
past year. This morning he’d been reading about Step Two: “ Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to
sanity .”
He drank his coffee
and thought about this concept. He still had trouble with the idea of a Higher
Power. If there was one, why had his father’s liver burst one day? Why had he
watched his old man vomit blood all over the immaculate floor his mother had
spent hours scrubbing before she left to run the day’s errands? Why should any
seven-year-old be left alone with his father crumpled against the refrigerator,
the older man’s eyes bugged out with fear, his face a waxy yellow? John could go
back there in a heartbeat and see his father coughing up noxious poisons,
unable to speak or move until his system was so polluted it shut down
completely. Then he had just been a dead man with a little boy shaking his
beefy blood-drenched shoulder. The little boy had cried and screamed but there
had been no one to help.
John closed his eyes
and whispered, “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot
change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the
difference. God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change…”
That’s when the phone
rang. It was Veronica.
“I’m downstairs in my
car,” she said, in her cool, low voice. “I’ll give you ten minutes to get down
here. If you have a tuxedo, bring it. Otherwise, we’ll be gone four days, so
pack accordingly.”
He was in a bad mood
and a lot of not-so-nice comebacks sprang to mind, but instead he said, “I
haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”
“Okay, eleven
minutes.” She hung up.
He was used to having
to pack on the double from his days at the FBI. When a jewel thief struck,
whether it was in Lisbon or Los Angeles, he had to be on the first plane out
before the trail got cold.
When John came out of
his apartment building, he found Veronica waiting in a platinum convertible.
Her hair was covered by an iris print scarf and she wore big bug-eyed, Jackie-O
sunglasses, a perfectly pressed sleeveless button-down shirt, and a preppy
floral skirt. But what caught his eye was the shimmer of diamonds dancing
around her wrists as she clutched the steering wheel and another white hot
sparkle peeping out from beneath her collar.
“Showing off your
collection?” John asked, tossing his suitcase into the back seat and sliding in
next to her.
She smiled and shook
her glittering wrist in front of him so the diamonds danced in the sunlight.
“This is nothing.”
Then she reached into
her purse and pulled out an envelope with his name scrawled across it. “My
father asked me to give this to you.” She presented it to him with a pearly
white smile that seemed a little too much like a smirk.
“What is it?”
“Probably money.” She
shifted the car into gear and tore away from the curb. “I’m sure you’ll have
expenses and things and my dad, being the sucker he is, probably threw in a
nice advance, too.”
John slipped the
envelope in his pocket. He sure wasn’t going to give Veronica Rossmore the
satisfaction of watching his eyes light up at the sight of a few greenbacks or
a fat bank check.
She pulled onto the
West Side Highway
Similar Books
