The Fives Run North-South by Dan Goodin Page B

I said. “Besides, what face?”
    “I know the face.”
    “I’ll go out,” I said.
    “Sure you can make the sacrifice?”
    Don’t be like that.
    “Let me change,” I said, turning to go to our room. I realized I was running my hands through my hair.

    I’m sure there had been a time, maybe two. No way I could name or describe it now, but I’m sure it had been there once. A time when all the loose ends were tied up. Perhaps when Peter had been two or three. Or our newlywed period, despite the money problems. I rubbed my temples, wondering if it would ever again be possible to have alignment. Alignment in knowing the right thing to do and the willingness or even the energy to do it.

10
    I t had been a tough Wednesday morning at the office. And only halfway through what was promising to be a long afternoon. I really didn’t have time to talk with her, but it appeared to be unavoidable.
    “What is it, Suze?” I said into the phone, letting out an appropriate amount of exasperation.
    “Jesus, Adam, I need you…”
    Hysterical. Shit. Something real here. Shit.
    The layers of the day peeled away, leaving this call and a sudden, overwhelming wave of guilt.
    “What is it?”
    “I’ve been run off the road. I’m trapped in the car…I’m…oh, Jesus.”
    I stood up. “Suze! Are you okay?”
    “I…I don’t know. I can’t feel my legs. The firemen are here. Police. Trying to open the door…oh, Adam. Where are you?”

    Just twenty minutes earlier:
    I looked down at my cell phone, buzzing in my hands. Caller ID read Suze. Just like only minutes earlier. I’d been listening to Curtis Viniteri’s voice mail and had heard that annoying call - waiting beep.
    Not now. I tucked the phone back into my pocket. Woman always had a way of picking just the right fucking time.
    I looked up across my desk as Kyle Thomas and the others made themselves comfortable. Battle lines, but it was good to be in my office, on the home turf. He had called asking for the meeting. I hadn’t expected that. At least not at this point. I had to admit, it put me off balance just a bit. I’ve always hated that feeling and had done a good job avoiding it in recent years. It’s an excellent fringe benefit in the CEO package of goodies.
    As I caught my breath, I held my finger up to them, indicating that I would be right with them. Then I replayed the voice mail I’d received from Viniteri. It had not been what I’d expected. As quiet as it’d been since I’d hired him, I had been expecting him to suggest that he stop wasting my money. That we call it a day on the red SUV affair. Whatever I’d thought was happening had been either a series of coincidences or perhaps my little road - rager fellow had simply run out of steam. Instead, the voice mail from Curtis has been this:
    “Need you to call me when you have a good five minutes to talk. Seems like we might have a bit of a thing here. Call my cell. Thanks.”
    A bit of a thing here.
    Huh?
    I grew resentful of the message as I tried to push it from the forefront of my mind. Timing is everything. I’ve not heard from him in days, and he sends me a message just minutes before I have this meeting scheduled. Bombs drop in clusters these days, I guess.
    Kyle seemed intent on straightening and restraightening his tie, admiring it as he did so (must be new; looked expensive). Beside him, Chester was giving his eyebrows a workout as he tried his best to look relaxed. A third man sat motionless in the chair to my left; his face showed no expression. I studied him as best I could, trying not to make it obvious. He was robotic in his movement, almost as if he moved only when necessary, but when he did move, he did so almost as if he wanted to prove a point. Like he was some kind of black belt martial artist. I bet that when he moved an arm, he expected that movement to cause a noise of displaced air. Probably heard the sound in his own head.
    “Adam,” Kyle said. “This is Jimmy Bolt.”
    We