Free Forced Out by Stephen Frey Page A

take revenge. Stalked the anesthesiologist constantly so he knew the doctor's routine cold. Finally put a bullet through the guy's head as he was walking his wife's poodle on East End Avenue in Manhattan one frigid December evening. After the hit, he'd calmly tossed the .22 pistol into the East River, then slept the sleep of the righteous. Eight straight hours more soundly than ever before in his life. The doctor didn't give a damn about what had happened to Karen. Hell, he'd even had the audacity to demand payment for the operation despite what he'd done. Well, he'd gotten his money. He'd gotten justice, too.
    The murder had been front-page news in the New York papers because the doctor had been married to a prominent socialite. A woman whose family had all the right connections. People who swore they'd track down the animal responsible for killing the gentle physician as they stood on the steps of City Hall in lower Manhattan two mornings after the hit, flanked by the mayor and the police commissioner. But no one ever came to question Johnny, and the crime went unsolved.
    Johnny had never felt the slightest remorse, and he quickly realized where his talent lay. There would be no more stocking shelves at the Sears in Bayonne.
    He rose up off the ground when the rain started to come down harder, kissed his fingers, and placed them on her name again. "Bye, baby. I love you. See you soon." He pressed his fingers to his chest and felt the two of hearts. Karen had given him the card right before they'd wheeled her into the operating room, as she lay on the gurney outside of where she would die. She'd told him it represented them--two lovers who would always be together. Since that day it had never been out of his reach. 11
    J ACK SAT IN the gravel parking lot of Tarpon Stadium finishing what was left of the scotch. When it was gone, he tossed the flask in the backseat and headed for the ticket counter, where he treated himself to a box seat with ten of the thirty dollars he'd earned in tips today. Thank God not everyone was as cheap as the woman in the Mercedes. Hell, he still had plenty left over for food and beer. Maybe even for a few drinks after the game.
    So he stopped at the hot dog stand outside Section 121 and bought himself a sizzling foot-long. Then smothered it at the condiment station across the concourse with mustard and chopped onions, the same way he always had at Yankee Stadium when everything was right between him and the game. The first bite was so good it hurt his jaw the taste sensation was so strong. He smiled when he made it to the end of the tunnel and the lush green canvas came into view. A baseball game, a box seat, a foot-long, a beautiful spring evening, and a genuine objective. It hadn't been like this in a long time. It was amazing how fast life could turn. On one thin dime.
    "Hey, mister, good to see you again. You okay?"
    It was the same old man who'd been here last night. "Hey there, my friend," Jack called back loudly. "God, yes, I'm fine. That was all a false alarm last night. People getting riled up over nothing. But thanks for asking. Mighty nice of you." The scotch had him in a great mood. "Good to see you, too."
    "Glad to hear you're okay. We were all real concerned."
    "Ah, I'm fine. You can't hurt me. I'm a tough old tank."
    "Where are your friends tonight?" the usher asked.
    "Friends?"
    "The people you were here with last night."
    "Huh? Ooooh . That was my daughter and her boyfriend," Jack explained. "They didn't want to come again so soon. Young people, you know how they are." He winked. "They wanted something faster and louder. You know?"
    The usher shook his head sadly. "Don't I? I got a granddaughter just like that. Wouldn't come to a baseball game to save her life. She wants MTV and video games."
    "Exactly." Truth was, Jack hadn't told Cheryl he was coming back tonight. He'd made up a story about going to dinner with some old codgers he'd met at Publix--which she seemed excited about.