Free About Face by Adam Gittlin Page B

into the wall again.
    â€œFirst you watched me. Then you followed me.”
    â€œI know. I’m sorry. It’s just that—eef—I, I just figured that—I can’t ever find a New York Yankees cap around here. Please—I’ll give you fifty euros for it. Seventy-five! I don’t make much money, but—”
    The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard. He
had
watched me. He
had
followed me. Both of those acts could have been about exactly what he was proclaiming. At that moment, something about my new reality slapped me across the face. As long as I remained Jonah Gray, anyone and everyone I would ever come across again would be the enemy until I could prove otherwise. I couldn’t trust anyone.
    Anyone.
    God, that feeling sucked.
    I could have crushed this guy’s windpipe. Either he could act on the level of De Niro or all he genuinely cared about was getting this cap for his boy. In a heartbeat my fear turned to envy. I couldn’t help acknowledging what a special love that must be.
    Did my father ever feel that way about me? Ever?
    His words tapered off. I backed off. Mortified, without anotherword, I gave him the hat. Even though I had straight-up assaulted this guy, he still tried to give me cash, which I denied. I could barely look him in the eye again. I picked up Neo’s carrier, then the stuffed brown paper bags, and was on my way.
    Twenty minutes later I was back in my suite. I hung the “Privacy” sign, locked the door behind me, let Neo out of his carrier, pulled everything out of the minibar and restocked it with my fresh booty. Over the course of the next thirty-six hours, I did little more than eat salad and crudités with fresh lemon juice as dressing out on the terrace as I watched the boats move around the gulf endlessly, like pieces on some giant chessboard. The more I tried to devise a plan, the more I realized I had no idea what to do, or how to think like a criminal on the run. Without any sleep day had run into night, then well into day again. And all I had achieved was an enormous headache.

CHAPTER 7
    N EW Y ORK C ITY
2013
    The shades are down, the cabin dark, as the wheels touch the ground. Cobus and I are still steeped in our discussion. I’m listening, but I don’t hear him. All I can think about is what waits outside. I can feel the goose bumps all over my body.
    I’m home.
    After all the running, all the scheming, all the strategizing, all the lying, all the re-creating, all the research, all the misunderstanding, all the gratitude, all the guilt, all the fighting, all the questions, all the answers, all the choices, all the soul-searching, all the trusting, all the dreams, all the nightmares, all the praying, all the clawing, all the scratching, all the gains, all the losses, all the struggling, all the remorse, all the determination, all the grief, all the yearning, all the sorrow, all the pain.
    I’m home.
    I want to jump from my seat, blast through the door, and race toward everyone and everything I left behind. My partners. My best friend since childhood, L. I want to find Perry. I have no idea if she’s alive or dead but I need to find her. I want to seek out Detective Morante and give him the real story behind the dirty coppulled from the East River. Animal that he was or not, I want to visit my father’s grave. “Fuck all of you,” I want to scream, then steal the first car I can get my hands on and head to Baltimore to get a look at the missing Fabergé Easter Eggs.
    I reach inside my suit jacket, into the inside right pocket, and touch the silver pen Scott Green gave me before blowing his own head open. It’s in the same pocket as my iPhone. As well as a state-of-the-art Swiss-Axe, Triplet Hawk, 10x jeweler’s loupe.
    So much to do. So little time.
    â€œWhere’s the little guy?” asks Cobus, breaking me from my thoughts.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe little guy. Aldo. Who’s