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“Thanks, Mom,” I said.
After that, it was two guys talking who didn’t know one another very well. As might be expected, we settled into an extended conversation about sports. I told him a few anecdotes about playing baseball and hockey for St. Paul Central, and he reminisced about playing football for North High School in Minneapolis. He was a linebacker—the Minneapolis Star Tribune once named him Prep Star of the Week for a game he played against Roosevelt. He had a chance to play college ball but didn’t have the ACT scores to get in. I told him I was lucky I had the grades for college because I sure as hell wasn’t going to make it on an athletic scholarship. And so on and so on. We were nearing the end of the meal when Herzog changed the subject.
“Settin’ yourself up as a target such a good idea?” he asked.
“I’m open to alternatives that will put the gun in their hands.”
“You could call the cops. I don’t like cops…”
“You’ve made your position known.”
“You could call ’em, show ’em that picture of Dennis, tell ’em about Von, let ’em scoop ’em both up, search the house, all those boxes, find the gun, problem solved.”
“Yeah, they might find the gun. That doesn’t mean they’ll be able to prove that either of them used it, though. I need at least one of them arrested for shooting the cop.”
“Why?”
“It’s all part of the plan.”
“You got a plan?”
“You’ll see.”
“Sure they gonna call?”
“They don’t know about the photo of Dennis. They think the only thing connecting them to the theft of the Lily is me. Their first thought will be to pay me off. They don’t have the money. So they’ll call Cid and ask, ‘Where’s our dough?’ Cid will hem and haw and tell them they’ll get it at the end of the week as promised—the end of the week is when they’re leaving town, remember? They won’t wait till then because they’ll be afraid that I won’t wait. Eventually, they’ll decide the only alternative is to kill me. They’ll think of a location, a time, and try to set me up like they did Tarpley. Do you believe the bitch shot him in the same place that they were married?”
“How you know ’at?”
“I saw their wedding photo. It was taken at Wedding Hill in Wirth Park, where they found his body.”
“’At’s cold, man.”
I glanced at my watch.
“They’ve been debating pros and cons for about two hours,” I said. “I expect them to call any moment now.”
“Yeah, if they call. I’m just saying, you think they gonna hit you cuz you can tell the cops about your friend Jenny whatsername. Why not just shoot Jenny? Then it’s your word against them.”
The thought hadn’t occurred to me.
What a fucking egomaniac you are, my inner voice shouted. You think it’s always about you.
My jacket was hanging on the back of my chair. I spun in my seat to reach it, wrenching my shoulder in the process. I didn’t care about the pain—I deserved it. I pulled the cell out of my pocket and searched the log for Jenny’s number. I stood up even as I hit the CALL button. The waitress saw me and hurried over.
The phone was ringing.
“I need the bill,” I told the waitress. “Now.”
Jenny answered the phone. She must have had caller ID because she said, “Hey, McKenzie.”
“Where are you?” I said. “Are you at home?”
“Yeah, I’m at home. Why—”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes. My husband is at—”
“Trigger your security system. You have one, right?”
“We do. It’s a—”
“You should have a panic button. Do you have one?”
“McKenzie, what’s going on?”
“Listen to me carefully, Jennifer. People might be coming to your home to hurt you—”
“What? Why?”
“Hit your damn panic button. Do it now.”
“Okay.”
Only a few brief moments passed, yet it seemed longer. While I waited, the waitress set a black folder on the table in front of me. I opened the folder, saw the bill, and threw some money at it.
“It’s done,” Jenny said.
“Now I want you to find a safe place to hide. Are you listening?”
“Yes.”
“Find a place to hide, and you stay there until your security people arrive. Until the police arrive. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“You tell them that you saw an intruder. You do not let them leave until I get there. I’m in St. Paul, so it’s going to take at least forty-five minutes.”
“All right.”
“I’m on my way.”