He'd started around the corner of the house when Hadley called, "Benedict, don't forget to clean up after Hitler."
Zack retraced his steps, jerking the snarling dog with him and got the miniature shovel Hadley kept beside the front door. He buttoned his jacket and looked up at the sky; it was cold and the sky looked leaden. It was going to snow.
Chapter 16
Seated in the back seat of the car, Wayne Hadley tucked his lecture notes into his briefcase, then he loosened his tie, stretched his legs out, and exhaled a satisfied sigh as he looked at the two trustees in the front seat. Sandini was a petty crook, a skinny wop, a nothing; the only reason he was a trustee was because one of his crooked relatives had clout with somebody in the system, and that somebody sent word down that Dominic Sandini should be a trustee. Sandini provided no amusement, no diversion, no prestige for Hadley at all; there was no pleasure in baiting him. Ah, but Benedict was another story. Benedict the movie star, the sex symbol, the rich tycoon who used to have planes and chauffeur-driven limos. Benedict had been a world-class big shot, and now he waited on Wayne Hadley hand and foot. There was justice in the world, Hadley thought. Real justice. More importantly, even though Benedict tried to hide it, there were times when Hadley could pierce his thick skin and make him squirm and yearn for what he couldn't have, but it wasn't easy. Even when he made Benedict watch the newest movies on videotape and the Academy Awards on television, Hadley couldn't be sure that he'd hit a nerve. With that pleasant goal in mind, Hadley cast around for the right topic and randomly decided on sex. As his car braked to a stop at a traffic light near his destination, he said in a tone of pleasant inquiry, "I'll bet the women begged to get into bed with you when you were rich and famous, didn't they, Benedict? Do you ever think about women, about how they used to feel and smell and taste? You probably didn't like sex that much. If you'd been any good in the sack, that beautiful blond bitch you were married to wouldn't have been getting it on with that guy, Austin, would she?"
In the rearview mirror, he watched with satisfaction as Benedict's jaw tensed slightly and he erroneously assumed it was the sex talk that got to him, not Austin's name. "If you ever get paroled—and I wouldn't count on my recommendation if I were you—you'll have to settle for hookers when you get out. Women are all whores, but even whores have some scruples, and they don't like dirty ex-cons in their beds, did you know that?" Despite his desire to maintain a facade of smooth urbanity at all times around the scum who were his prisoners, Hadley perpetually found it difficult to restrain his temper, and he felt it begin to erupt. "Answer my questions, you son of a bitch, or you'll spend the next month in solitary." Realizing his control had slipped, he said almost pleasantly, "I'll bet you had your own chauffeur in the good old days, didn't you? And now, look at you—you're my chauffeur. There is a God." The glass midrise building came into view, and Hadley sat up taller, straightening his tie. "Do you ever wonder what happened to all your money—whatever was left after you paid your lawyers, I mean?"
In answer, Benedict slammed his foot on the brake and brought the car to a teeth-jarring stop in front of the building. Swearing under his breath, Hadley collected the papers that had slid onto the floor and waited in vain for Zack to get out. "You insolent son of a bitch! I don't know what's gotten into you today, but I'll deal with you when we get back. Now get your ass out of the car and open my door!"
Zack got out, oblivious to the biting wind that whipped his thin white jacket off his shoulder but concerned about the snow that was falling in earnest. Five more minutes and he'd be on the run. With a mocking flourish, he jerked open the back door of the car and gestured wide with his arm. "Can you get out on your own, or shall I carry you?"
"You've pushed me for the last time," Hadley warned, getting out and yanking his briefcase off the seat. "You need to learn a few lessons when we get back." Reining in his temper, Hadley glanced at Sandini, who was staring off into space, trying to look docile and deaf. "You have your list of errands, Sandini. Get them done and get back here. You," he ordered Zack, "get your ass over to that grocery store across the street and find me some nice imported cheese and some fresh fruit, then stay in the car. I'll be finished in an hour and a half. Have the car warm and running!"
Without waiting for a reply, Hadley started up the sidewalk. Behind him, the two men stood watching his back, waiting for him to enter the building. "What a prick," Sandini said under his breath, then he turned to Zack. "This is it. Good luck." He glanced up at the dark, snow-filled clouds. "This has all the makings of a real blizzard."
Ignoring the weather problem, Zack said quickly, "You know what to do. Don't deviate from the plan and don't, for God's sake, change your story. If you play it exactly the way I told you, you'll come off like a hero instead of an accomplice."
Something about Sandini's lazy grin and preoccupied, restless stance alarmed the hell out of Zack. Clearly and succinctly he repeated the plan that they'd only been able to whisper about before now. "Dom, just do it the way we decided. Leave Hadley's shopping list on the floor of the car. Do your errands for an hour, then tell the clerk in the store that you left your list in the car and can't be sure you got everything. Tell her you have to get it, and come back here. The car will be locked." As he spoke, Zack took the list from Sandini's hand, tossed it on the floor on the passenger side, then he locked and closed the door. With an inner calm he didn't feel, he took Sandini's arm and propelled him firmly toward the corner.
Pickup trucks sped by as they waited for the light to turn green, then they crossed the street unhurriedly—two men who looked like ordinary Texans casually discussing the state of the economy or the next pro football game—except that they wore white pants and white jackets with the initials TDC stenciled in black across the backs. As they neared the curb, Zack continued under his breath, "When you get to the car and discover the door is locked, go across the street to the grocery store, look around a minute, then ask the clerks if they've seen anyone who looks like me. When they tell you they haven't, go to the drugstore and the bookstore and ask if they've seen me. When they tell you no, head straight into that building and start opening doors, asking where the warden's meeting is. Tell everyone you need to report a possible escape. The clerks in all the stores you went to earlier will verify your whole story, and since you're going to alert the warden that I'm missing a half hour before he'd have come out here and discovered it himself, he'll be convinced you're as innocent as a baby. He'll probably let you out early to attend Gina's wedding."
Zack retraced his steps, jerking the snarling dog with him and got the miniature shovel Hadley kept beside the front door. He buttoned his jacket and looked up at the sky; it was cold and the sky looked leaden. It was going to snow.
Chapter 16
Seated in the back seat of the car, Wayne Hadley tucked his lecture notes into his briefcase, then he loosened his tie, stretched his legs out, and exhaled a satisfied sigh as he looked at the two trustees in the front seat. Sandini was a petty crook, a skinny wop, a nothing; the only reason he was a trustee was because one of his crooked relatives had clout with somebody in the system, and that somebody sent word down that Dominic Sandini should be a trustee. Sandini provided no amusement, no diversion, no prestige for Hadley at all; there was no pleasure in baiting him. Ah, but Benedict was another story. Benedict the movie star, the sex symbol, the rich tycoon who used to have planes and chauffeur-driven limos. Benedict had been a world-class big shot, and now he waited on Wayne Hadley hand and foot. There was justice in the world, Hadley thought. Real justice. More importantly, even though Benedict tried to hide it, there were times when Hadley could pierce his thick skin and make him squirm and yearn for what he couldn't have, but it wasn't easy. Even when he made Benedict watch the newest movies on videotape and the Academy Awards on television, Hadley couldn't be sure that he'd hit a nerve. With that pleasant goal in mind, Hadley cast around for the right topic and randomly decided on sex. As his car braked to a stop at a traffic light near his destination, he said in a tone of pleasant inquiry, "I'll bet the women begged to get into bed with you when you were rich and famous, didn't they, Benedict? Do you ever think about women, about how they used to feel and smell and taste? You probably didn't like sex that much. If you'd been any good in the sack, that beautiful blond bitch you were married to wouldn't have been getting it on with that guy, Austin, would she?"
In the rearview mirror, he watched with satisfaction as Benedict's jaw tensed slightly and he erroneously assumed it was the sex talk that got to him, not Austin's name. "If you ever get paroled—and I wouldn't count on my recommendation if I were you—you'll have to settle for hookers when you get out. Women are all whores, but even whores have some scruples, and they don't like dirty ex-cons in their beds, did you know that?" Despite his desire to maintain a facade of smooth urbanity at all times around the scum who were his prisoners, Hadley perpetually found it difficult to restrain his temper, and he felt it begin to erupt. "Answer my questions, you son of a bitch, or you'll spend the next month in solitary." Realizing his control had slipped, he said almost pleasantly, "I'll bet you had your own chauffeur in the good old days, didn't you? And now, look at you—you're my chauffeur. There is a God." The glass midrise building came into view, and Hadley sat up taller, straightening his tie. "Do you ever wonder what happened to all your money—whatever was left after you paid your lawyers, I mean?"
In answer, Benedict slammed his foot on the brake and brought the car to a teeth-jarring stop in front of the building. Swearing under his breath, Hadley collected the papers that had slid onto the floor and waited in vain for Zack to get out. "You insolent son of a bitch! I don't know what's gotten into you today, but I'll deal with you when we get back. Now get your ass out of the car and open my door!"
Zack got out, oblivious to the biting wind that whipped his thin white jacket off his shoulder but concerned about the snow that was falling in earnest. Five more minutes and he'd be on the run. With a mocking flourish, he jerked open the back door of the car and gestured wide with his arm. "Can you get out on your own, or shall I carry you?"
"You've pushed me for the last time," Hadley warned, getting out and yanking his briefcase off the seat. "You need to learn a few lessons when we get back." Reining in his temper, Hadley glanced at Sandini, who was staring off into space, trying to look docile and deaf. "You have your list of errands, Sandini. Get them done and get back here. You," he ordered Zack, "get your ass over to that grocery store across the street and find me some nice imported cheese and some fresh fruit, then stay in the car. I'll be finished in an hour and a half. Have the car warm and running!"
Without waiting for a reply, Hadley started up the sidewalk. Behind him, the two men stood watching his back, waiting for him to enter the building. "What a prick," Sandini said under his breath, then he turned to Zack. "This is it. Good luck." He glanced up at the dark, snow-filled clouds. "This has all the makings of a real blizzard."
Ignoring the weather problem, Zack said quickly, "You know what to do. Don't deviate from the plan and don't, for God's sake, change your story. If you play it exactly the way I told you, you'll come off like a hero instead of an accomplice."
Something about Sandini's lazy grin and preoccupied, restless stance alarmed the hell out of Zack. Clearly and succinctly he repeated the plan that they'd only been able to whisper about before now. "Dom, just do it the way we decided. Leave Hadley's shopping list on the floor of the car. Do your errands for an hour, then tell the clerk in the store that you left your list in the car and can't be sure you got everything. Tell her you have to get it, and come back here. The car will be locked." As he spoke, Zack took the list from Sandini's hand, tossed it on the floor on the passenger side, then he locked and closed the door. With an inner calm he didn't feel, he took Sandini's arm and propelled him firmly toward the corner.
Pickup trucks sped by as they waited for the light to turn green, then they crossed the street unhurriedly—two men who looked like ordinary Texans casually discussing the state of the economy or the next pro football game—except that they wore white pants and white jackets with the initials TDC stenciled in black across the backs. As they neared the curb, Zack continued under his breath, "When you get to the car and discover the door is locked, go across the street to the grocery store, look around a minute, then ask the clerks if they've seen anyone who looks like me. When they tell you they haven't, go to the drugstore and the bookstore and ask if they've seen me. When they tell you no, head straight into that building and start opening doors, asking where the warden's meeting is. Tell everyone you need to report a possible escape. The clerks in all the stores you went to earlier will verify your whole story, and since you're going to alert the warden that I'm missing a half hour before he'd have come out here and discovered it himself, he'll be convinced you're as innocent as a baby. He'll probably let you out early to attend Gina's wedding."
