Chapter 24

24

His thoughts whirling, mainlining panic, Martin Cushing hurried down the back stairs of the raucous whoop-there-it-is, rocking college-hoops stands. Across from where the stairs let out at the court level, there was a door beside the restrooms that he entered at a near run.

At the end of the main basement corridor was the janitors' locker room and Cushing almost took its door off its hinges as he swung it open. Without turning on its lights, he locked the door of the deserted room behind him before he collapsed onto a bench.

He sat in the dark between the rows of lockers, breathing rapidly. The air of the room was scented with the astringent reek of chlorine from the nearby indoor pool and as he sat there, its sharp smell suddenly brought his thoughts clearly into focus.

Jodi knew about Olivia. He didn't know how Jodi knew. But she knew.

He bent over and cupped his head in his hands.

And she was going to tell all of it.

Holy shit , Cushing thought.

Why had he told her so much about Frank? Why couldn't he keep a secret? Why had he done this to himself?

He knew why. It was his ego. He was bragging, he knew. Trying to impress her with his connections, his secret life, his pull.

It was also to shock her. To dominate her and spice things up in the sack. Ever since they'd met, she would comply to him. It seemed somewhat reluctantly; she never seemed to completely submit. She always held something back. Probably the memory of her first love, Mr. West Point. He wanted to erase that memory. Play the bad boy.

There was only one thing to do now, he knew.

Cushing smoothed out the imaginary wrinkles of his sports jacket as he thumbed the SAT phone on. He went into the janitor's bathroom and got up on the toilet lid and rotated open the eyebrow window to get a signal.

As the phone rang, he looked up at the starry sky and thought about the office on Frank's new yacht. The pale champagne-colored fabric walls and chrome euro chairs around a zinc glass coffee table. A desk of the same zinc glass with a flat-screen computer on it.

He pictured Frank heading to it, his tan-to-the-point-of-sun-damaged face, his long rusty hair swept back into a man bun, the crafty merry look in his intelligent gray-blue eyes. His trainer kept him in tip-top shape so when on his boat, he always wore shorts and a white linen shirt open to the waist to show off the ridiculous superhero definition of his six-pack. All this with his Day-Glo euro sneakers and gold Rolex prominently displayed, of course.

Frank's fifty-going-on-sixteen look made Cushing think of Peter Pan.

That is, Peter Pan with the heart of Captain Hook, Cushing thought. Or was it the crocodile?

And you didn't want to mess with his Lost Boys, he thought.

"Marty," Frank finally said as he got on the line. "Sorry to keep you waiting. I was night parasailing. My latest addiction. They had to hoist me down to take the call. So it took some time."

Cushing thought about how rich Frank was. No telling. How deep was the ocean? Parasailing-off-your-hundred-million-dollar-yacht-after-dinner rich , Cushing thought.

"We have a problem, Frank," Cushing said.

"I don't like those," he said.

"I'll just say it," Cushing said. "There's been some issues between me and Jodi and she's, well, there's no other way to say it, she's left me."

"Oh?" Frank said. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Just now. Which I wouldn't even have bothered you about except...she's left with the investigator from Alston Brantwood."

"Right now?" Frank said.

"Yes."

"I see," Frank said. "Tell me. How much does she know, Marty?"

Cushing looked down at the toilet he was standing on.

"A little. Nothing major. She's just pissed off at me," Cushing tried.

"Now, now, Marty. Don't equivocate. She knows enough to head to that law firm investigator."

Cushing looked up at the stars again, wishing one would fall on him. An asteroid impact at this point would be quite welcome, just what the doctor ordered.

"She's just pissed," he said, grasping at straws. "You know women."

"I do know women, Marty. She's obviously out to hurt us. Are your security people on them?"

"Yes."

"Good. Here's the play. Have your locals detain the both of them. The investigator and Jodi. Discreetly put them somewhere quiet until my people get there. This has gone far enough. We need to clip this clean before things get even worse."

Cushing swallowed as he thought about what clip this clean meant.

"I can talk to Jodi, Frank," Cushing said quickly. "I'll get her back in line, I promise."

There was a pause on the line.

Cushing eyed the stars again. He made a wish, pictured a satellite slamming into another cutting him off from this.

It didn't happen.

"We'll see what rolls out, Marty," Frank finally said. "First things first. Get them contained."