Lost Friday Page 20

  Aryeh and Vishal had an agenda, I concluded, and while their motives seemed noble, I determined that I shouldn’t trust them further than I could spit. Roy, however, I could trust. He was rock solid, and I knew his agenda, but it was exactly his steadfastness that could prevent him from thinking on another level. That’s what it was going to take to prevent the Red Diamond from cutting a scar on our piece of history. With regards to whether I was a good enough writer, I knew in my heart I was as good as anyone out there. Watergate was the last story that took down a president; mine could be the next. My dad would have said: go with your gut—and pray.

  For me, it had all started at Murph’s bachelor party. Having just experienced the effects that even a minor disruption of events could cause—that being Remington’s suspension, as well as my own, possibly, for something as inconsequential as not submitting a story about a jazz festival—I decided that I should go Murph’s party, just as I had the first time around. Everything happens for a reason, right? I decided to take one little detour before heading out to the bar where the shindig was slated to start.

  Despite her supposed suspension, I knew Remington was still at the Press building in Neptune, and I decided to find out why she was so hell-bent on hiding what she’d been up to the previous night, and again this night, wondering what possible correlation that could have with the linkage of events. I hopped in the ’Vette and finally found my cell phone there, noting the four messages from Romano and the three other calls where he didn’t leave one. I was in deep shit, and I knew that I’d better have something damned good for him if I was to have any chance of him not firing me the next time I talked to him. I decided to call Remington to make sure I didn’t go all the way to Neptune for nothing. She answered on the first ring.

  “Did you convince Romano to let you work on the story?”

  “I did. The four bodies with the exact same DNA did the trick. I told him you were working on the story around the clock—and that we had an exclusive.”

  Which we did. “Good thinking,” I said. “But that means we need something juicy.”

  “You got that right,” she said. “Maybe you should give him a call. I think I’ve covered your miserable ass as much as I can.”

  I made a note to do just that, and I knew I needed to thank Remington. She could have buried me as easily as not, but I still didn’t know if I could trust her. I mean, she was going along on the thinnest of evidentiary threads, and I don’t know if I would have even trusted myself in that situation. I looked at the dashboard clock and noted that it was just past 4:30 in the afternoon. “I want you to do something before you leave for the day,” I said.

  “All right.” She made no objection, voice tempered, wait and see.

  “I want you to call an Anthony V. Corvissi at NASA headquarters in D.C. Tell him you know about David Robelle, and that you know the names of the two scientists who’ve been abducted and what they were working on. Tell him we also know that the president himself has been in contact with the Red Diamond, and that he was aware that the scientists were going to be kidnapped before it actually happened.” We didn’t know what the scientists were working on, of course, and it was one of the things Remington was working on the first time around. She didn’t need to know that now, however, and if she was ever confronted on it, well, we’d see how fast she could think, wouldn’t we?

  “Who is David Robelle?” she asked.

  “I’ll fill you in on that if Corvissi agrees to see you.”

  “What if I don’t get him on the phone?”

  Good question. “Just make sure you use the words missing scientists. If that fails, get his e-mail address and send him the piece on Lost Friday you just wrote. That’ll get his attention, all right, but it may take up more time, and that’s time we don’t have.”

  “But it might get his attention like it got Romano’s attention. He might think I’m a fruitcake, which, quite honestly, might be what I’d think if I were in his shoes.”

  I was losing her. “Four dead people with the exact same DNA, Remington. Guns that haven’t been invented yet. Do you, or does anyone else, have a better explanation?”

  Hesitantly, “What was that name again, David what?”

  * * * * *

  Top down on the ’Vette, I cruised up the parkway toward Press headquarters. I decided to call Romano and get it over with.

  He started with, “What the hell do you think you’re doing with Remington?”

  You know, I just wasn’t in the mood, but I had no choice but to let him go on, and on, and on, which he did, threatening to hang me up by my nutsack the whole time if what I’d told Remington to write didn’t come true. “Are you finished?” I asked when I thought he had no more breath left in his body.

  “Oh, so now you decide—”

  I interrupted, figuring he’d just wind himself up again and I’d say something I’d really regret. “This story is going to bring you a Pulitzer, Romano. You keep screwing with me, and I’ll quit now and take it somewhere else. Your call.”

  The line went silent just as I pulled in to the parking lot behind the Press building. “Can you substantiate your sources?” Romano finally asked.

  “If by that you mean: will I reveal them, the answer is no. But, if Remington’s story can’t be verified by nine o’clock Saturday morning, you can have both our resignations.”

  “Except by then this Lost Friday thing will have already taken place, and there’s no telling if we’ll be first to break the story, or not. If it’s true, a story like this comes along once in a lifetime,” he added without further prompting.

  “How’s it feel, boss?”

  “If you mean getting my nuts squeezed, you got until Saturday, nine o’clock, Pappas. Not a minute more. We’ll talk about the consequences later if it doesn’t work out.”

  I don’t know who had whom by the short hairs, but I knew I could deliver if Lost Friday happened the way it did the first time. Okay, that was out of the way. “Fine,” I said, thinking my dad would have been proud of me. “Remington is going to need an expense voucher and a car to get to D.C. tonight.”

  I could almost hear Romano’s teeth grinding over the phone. “I just saw her leave,” he said. “She didn’t say anything about going to D.C.”

  I was looking at Remington’s car in the parking lot, so she must have just left the newsroom. “She doesn’t know it yet. Have someone get everything ready and leave it on her desk. She’ll be back.” I hung up just as she came out the back door. The breeze blew into her, pasting her shirt tight to her chest as her long legs carried her effortlessly on open-toed Ferragamos. Once at her car—a neon-blue Mitsubishi Eclipse—she donned a pair of mirrored sunglasses and tooled out of the lot as if she had someplace to be. I wasn’t far behind, wondering why she was so hot-to-trot. That answer came half an hour later when she pulled in behind a place called Centerfolds. She slammed the door and trotted from the car, slinging a backpack over her shoulder as she blew through the front door. I noticed she had her cell phone to her ear. Well, well, well, little Miss Kelli-with-an-i Remington was serving up lap dances to help pay the rent, evidently. I felt a smirk crawl across my face, and I swung the wheel to pull out of the lot when my cell phone rang. It was Remington, and I heard music in the background.

  “I just heard from Corvissi,” she said quickly. “He wants to see me right away, and in person—no phones, he said.”

  Now, why was I not surprised? “Then you better get your butt down to D.C. I had Romano arrange an expense voucher and a car for you just in case this happened. I told him to have someone leave the stuff on your desk.”

  “I can’t leave right now,” she said hesitantly.

  “And why not?” I said real snotty-like. You haven’t even had time to change into your g-string, I thought, but didn’t say.

  “I’m on another story,” she replied.

  It was all I could do to keep from laughing.
“And what story is that?” I asked, again real snotty-like.

  “Listen Pappas, what I’m about to tell you….” Then she just blurted it. “I pick up a few extra bucks doing freelance stuff, okay? Right now I’m….” Major pause.

  “Go on,” I urged. I couldn’t wait to hear this.

  “I’m doing a piece for Strutt magazine on girls who work their way through school by working in strip clubs. I’m at one now, and I’ll be done with my interview in about an hour.”

  A sense of relief settled on me. Remington didn’t know I’d followed her, and she could have easily come up with some bullshit lie, but she decided to tell me the truth. I could trust her after all, I thought, but I also felt a sense of disappointment in that my fantasy of her in a g-string and high heels suddenly vanished. “An hour is fine,” I said, my tone softening. “I won’t say anything to Romano about you moonlighting.” That was against Press policy for reporters.

  “Thanks, Pappas. I owe you one—but I’m not going to bed with you,” she added quickly, and hung up.

  Some things never changed. I tooled back to the Press building to pick up my laptop and the CD with Remington’s story on it, and an hour later I was walking past the horseshoe bar inside the Silver Penguin, the boardwalk bar where Murph’s bachelor party entourage was gathering before heading out to other nefarious destinations for a night of drink and debauchery. I still wondered about the wisdom of going through with this party with so much about to happen. No one knew about any of it except me, of course, and halfway into my first beer, Nick Niccolucci, whom I’d known since junior high school, clinked my bottle and said, “Why the long face, Johnny?”

  I thought about the consequences of violating another seemingly unimportant historical occurrence like this party, but I was having trouble determining what was important, and what wasn’t. If nothing else, however, this party was important to Murph. “Just thinking about work again,” I said, hoisting the bottle for a drink.

  “Hey, screw it for one night, okay Johnny. It’ll still be there tomorrow.” Nick’s grin was infectious. “I’ll buy if you fly,” he said, smacking a twenty into my palm. “It’ll give you a chance to get a look at the rack on that bartender over there. Nice butt too.”

  I slapped Nick on the back, and went to fetch another round. Leaning on the horseshoe bar, I noted that the bartender was putting down a couple of blue somethings at the other end. So far, Nick was right, I thought as I ogled a bare midriff and a couple of tight cheeks from behind. I waited for her to turn my way, which she did, and I waved to get her attention.

  Coming over, smiling widely, “What’ll ya have?” she asked, obviously used to guys talking into her chest.

  Fuckin’ A, I thought, and alarms went off in my head. I was looking at a Barbie, which meant the Red Diamond was already in town. I yanked my cell phone off my hip and dialed the Sea Beach police station, the number for which was burned into my brain cells by this time.

  “Sea Beach police. Officer Nash here.”

  “This is Johnny Pappas. I need to talk to Chief Mulroney… now.” Roy picked up right away. “Is Aryeh still with you?” I blurted quickly.

  “Wouldn’t let him out of my sight.”

  “There’s been a change in plans. We need to get to the Robelles’ house right away.”

  “I thought we had until tomorrow.”

  “Not anymore. Make sure Aryeh is ready.”

  Roy said, “I think that guy was born ready.”

  Chapter 26… David Explains

  The first time around, I never made it to Murph’s wedding; now, it looked like I was going to miss his bachelor party. I gave Nick his twenty bucks back, and asked him to tell Murph, who hadn’t arrived yet, that I was sorry, but I had to leave. Some best man I was turning out to be. I jumped into the ’Vette and ten minutes later I was roaring across the inlet bridge like Dale Earnhardt, rocketing toward the orange ball that was the setting sun. I glanced at the dashboard clock, noting that it was almost seven o’clock. Darkness wasn’t far away, and I wondered what kind of futuristic villains the night would hide.

  As I screamed toward Route 37, I tried to sneak a glance at places where people usually hung out: bus stops, gas stations, parking lots, anyplace where a newly arrived Barbie or Ken Doll would stand out like horse at a dog show. I spotted none, but my heightened awareness told me they were out there, camouflaged by the ordinariness that was Sea Beach. I spotted Roy’s truck just up the street from the Robelles’ house.

  Aryeh tried to take charge as soon as he and Roy stepped from the truck. “Our mission is to stop David Robelle from being kidnapped,” he said as soon as I walked up.

  “Hold on, Kimosabe,” Roy said as he focused on me. “Johnny, you wanna tell me how this goes down?”

  The smell of someone’s dinner wafted past my nose and almost made me sick. “Aryeh’s right,” I said. “We don’t have time for a lot of discussion. Do we know for sure if David is in there?”

  “I haven’t seen him, but I know that football practice at the high school ends around five. One of the lighted windows on the second floor might be his room.” Roy turned away from the house, and said, “Are you sure about this, Johnny? Aryeh thought this was supposed to happen tomorrow, too.”

  Obviously, they’d been talking. I didn’t care about how much Roy knew, but how much he believed. I mean, he could easily have locked Aryeh away until he could come up with explanations for why four dead people had the same DNA, or why their weapon technology didn’t exist, but he was giving the situation the benefit of the doubt. I sensed, however, that he needed more convincing that the unbelievable was happening.

  “Have you seen any strangers in town lately?” I asked.

  Roy’s eyes froze, and I knew there was a mental slide show going on in his head with that amazing memory of his capturing his day down to the smallest detail. “Now that you mention it….”

  “What did they look like?”

  His eyes bore into me. “A lot like the four in the morgue.”

  “Focus, Roy. How many of them did you see, and when?”

  “Several,” he said, “and I think they’ve been here for a while.” He reached into his truck and came out with his Sam Browne belt. “Bastards came into my town right under my nose, and I didn’t even know it.”

  Just like the first time, I wanted to say, but that wouldn’t have been fair. For Roy, this was the first time. “We’ve got to get David out of there.” I looked around. “Where’s Aryeh?”

  Roy never answered my question. Instead, he checked his silver .357 and put it back in his holster, leaving the safety off, I noticed. Jaw set, he turned toward the Robelles’ house. “They’re not going to believe any of this,” he said. “I’m having a hard time with it myself.”

  “Don’t go there, Roy. This is true, and I can prove it.”

  “How?”

  “It’s on my laptop, in the car.”

  “Then bring it with you, Johnny. I’m sure the Robelles would like to see it too.”

  * * * * *

  Jenna Robelle cleared the dinner dishes quickly. Chuck was looking at me across the kitchen table as if I had two heads, and Roy was looking at his shoes. I was on my own.

  “That article doesn’t mean a thing,” Chuck said, pointing at my laptop.

  I’d just showed him Remington’s piece on Lost Friday, and realized that indeed it wouldn’t mean anything until the day after tomorrow. The save date would become pertinent then, and all hell would break loose over how she knew what was going to happen before-the-fact. Okay, wrong tactic. I was losing Roy, and now I was losing the Robelles, who I never had to begin with.

  “Besides,” Chuck went on, “what does any of this have to do with David?”

  I remembered that after my first Lost Friday experience, Chuck and Jenna had been completely surprised at both David’s correspondence with the NASA scientists and the notebook of mathematical f
ormulas. “I’d like David to read it,” I said. “Once you see the look on his face, you’ll know what this has to do with him.”

  Roy was fidgeting, and I could tell we were starting to wear out our welcome. We’d been there over an hour, tiptoeing around David’s imminent kidnapping. I figured it would be easier coming from David.

  “Please,” I said. “David could be in danger.” I knew that if the Robelles refused to let me talk to David, I’d be hiding behind trees with Aryeh trying to prevent a repeat of the original events. Speaking of Aryeh, I wondered again where he’d gone; probably outside imitating a bat, I figured.

  Reluctantly, the Robelles acquiesced and Jenna called David down from his room. Funny how one’s expectations often don’t match up to the real thing. David had been in my consciousness seemingly forever, and I figured he’d be a knockoff of the old man. He was on the small side actually, considering he was the starting quarterback on the football team; definitely took after his mom. His eyes, however, were quick as lightning and seemed to take in everything at the same time.

  He slipped on a pair of heavy-framed glasses and read Remington’s article off my laptop in what seemed like thirty seconds. He took his glasses off, and said, “It’s happening again.” Chuck and Jenna nearly came out of their chairs—and Roy did. Me? I think my heart stopped for a second. David looked at me and said, “Last time they put me on trial.”

  I thought, fuckin’ A. I was talking to a replica.

  * * * * *

  David explained the whole thing—Lost Friday, I mean—exactly as Remington had described in her article, but in much greater detail. There were—and were going to be—two forces present in Sea Beach during Lost Friday. The first consisted of about a thousand ICTO operatives who were going to sweep into town in the wee hours of the morning in three separate waves. Their mission was to root out Red Diamond counter-operatives who were already posing as part of the general population, and whose ultimate mission was to kidnap David himself. Both operations were well planned, he explained. The Red Diamond operatives had been present in the boro for some time, waiting for word to execute David’s kidnapping. That was pending his completion of certain mathematical formulas, and the substantiation of those formulas by the NASA scientists. The reason he hadn’t been abducted before then was the Red Diamond’s assumption was that he’d simply stop working on the formulas if that happened.