And then I disconnect the call.
I drag deep breaths in, horrified and proud of what I just did.
I've cut myself off from help with strings or perhaps a fate worse than death.
And maybe I've saved myself.
Thing is, it's not just Enzo I need to hide from. It's from the man with the gun. Because no matter how I try to twist it, I don't think he had anything to do with Enzo.
All it does is drive home the realization I not only need to run, I also need to disappear.
I have some cash. But I know I need to find an ATM and then get out of here in the opposite direction. As far and fast as I can.
I need wheels, a disguise, maybe. But first, I need to get away from this spot.
So, I start walking toward the town closest to the diner.
There'll be a thrift store, a pharmacy, an ATM. But if I play it all right, I just need to make sure that ATM visit is the last one.
I want a car, but short of stealing one, it'll be as easy to track me by that as it would be by the ATM. Unless I do them both and steal the car.
How long until they call the cops?
Maybe it's best to take public transport. Or better yet, hitchhike.
I make a list of what I'll need, and I think it's my best bet to drain my bank account and hole up somewhere.
What I need are caps, hoodies, sneakers, and jeans. I've got the dress I'm wearing, but that'll have to do for now.
Maybe I could dye my hair red or get a wig.
And then?
Then I need to get as far away from Enzo as possible.
Chapter Two
ENZO
"Tellhim Mario Marino wants to know." My father's back is to me as he talks on his phone.
Silence spreads, and even I can feel the tension rolling out from the other end of his cell call.
"Yes. Mario Marino," Dad says, his tone deadly. "And yes, I expect results. Yesterday. But, for an added sixty percent interest, I'll take tomorrow, nine a.m."
There was a time I'd have been breathless and enamored by that. I'd have filed away every detail so I, too, could be like him.
I'm not eight anymore.
And I know exactly who and what my father is. My family business.
He puts the phone down on his desk and picks up his glass, finishing the whiskey.
If it was the single malt scotch, I'd smell it. Then he sets down the glass and retrieves his cigar.
"What the fuck brings you here, Enzo?"
His back is still turned.
