He shrugged. “Tough shit. He dies. Besides, you think he hasn’t already put a hit out on me? I know too much. The moment I broke off daily contact with him from here, I signed my death warrant. Why do you think he sent Clifton and Cushing with you guys?” He closed his eyes, sighed audibly. “Nope. That’s it. The fucker eats a bullet.”

“He’ll be dead in five months.”

Another shrug. “Not soon enough for me.”

“What about the law?” Angie said. “You can testify he paid you to kill his daughter.”

“Good idea, Ange. Case should reach trial maybe only six or seven months after he’s already died.” He dropped several bills on the check. “I’m taking that old piece of shit out. This week. Slowly and painfully.” He smiled. “Any questions?”

Most of Jay’s things were still in an efficiency unit he’d rented when he’d first arrived at the Ukumbak Apartments in downtown St. Petersburg. He was going to swing by, grab his stuff, and hit the road, planes being too undependable, airports too easily watched. Without sleep or any other preparation, he was going to drive twenty-four hours straight up the eastern seaboard, which would put him in Marblehead by two-thirty in the morning. There, he planned to break into Trevor Stone’s house and torture the old man to death.

“Hell of a plan,” I said as we bolted from the steps of the diner and ran toward our cars in the pelting rain.

“You like it? Just something I came up with.”

Angie and I, having no other options that we could conceive of, decided to follow Jay back to Massachusetts. Maybe we could keep discussing it at rest stops and gas stations, either talk Jay out of it or come up with a more sane solution to his problem. The Celica we’d rented from Elite Motors—the same place Jay had rented his 3000 GT—we’d send back on an Amtrak, have them send the bill to Trevor. Dead or alive, he could afford it.

The Weeble would discover we were gone sooner or later, and fly back home with his laptop and his tiny eyes, and figure out a way to explain to Trevor how he’d lost us. Cushing, I assumed, would climb back into his coffin until he was needed again.

“He’s crazy,” Angie said as we followed Jay’s taillights toward the highway.

“Jay?”

She nodded. “He thinks he fell in love with Desiree in two weeks, but that’s bullshit.”

“Why?”

“How many people—adult people—do you know who fall in love in two weeks?”

“Doesn’t mean it can’t happen,” I said.

“Maybe. But I think he fell in love with Desiree even before he met her. The beautiful girl who sat alone in the parks, waiting for a savior. It’s what all guys want.”

“A beautiful girl who sits alone in parks?”