“And you wanted to give it to me … the money. But I told you to keep it and spend it on whatever you wanted. After all, it was your money.” A beat. “And you bought me a gun with it—an antique Belgian Mauser Model 1893 rifle. I mean, what the hell was I going to do with an antique rifle? But you were so happy to buy it for me. The smile on your face … pure joy. I still have it, you know. The rifle. I’ve bought and sold lots of guns over the years, but I’ll never give that one away.”

He stopped talking for a moment.

“And remember when you used to bake me these fancy cakes for my birthday? I think the first one … I think it was a cake in the shape of a cello.” A moment passed. “And then there was one that looked like an artist’s palette. And another one that was in the shape of a gun. But the best one … the one I remember the best was when I was on trial for racketeering and jury tampering with my uncle. You baked me a ‘get out of jail free’ cake. God, I laughed my ass off. It was such a tense period of time and that just … I don’t know. It just cut through …” Chris said, “How much longer?”

From the front seat, a man said, “Two minutes, sir. They’ve just finished gassing up the plane.”

“Get a route from the FBO. Once we get there, I want to move.”

“Yes, sir.”

A few minutes later, the car slowed and I heard a roaring engine. I opened an eyelid and saw that the limo had pulled up right next to a plane. With his long arms, Chris leaned over Juleen and opened the door. “Go ahead, up the steps.” When I started to move, he said, “Not you. Your daughter. You just wait here.”

As soon as he moved—taking away his shoulder for upright support—I slid until I was lying down. A moment later, Chris helped me out and then picked me up, taking me up the stairs and settling me into a chair. “Someone get me a wet washcloth and a couple of ice packs.” A second later, he said, “This is cold. Put it in the microwave. And get me a towel. And where the fuck is the ice pack?”

I opened my eyelid and looked around for my daughter, but Chris was standing over me, blocking my vision. He said, “Close your eye. It might burn a little.”

I cooperated. He began to clean up my face. It took a few minutes, and when he was done, he patted it dry. I still stank. He placed an ice pack into my left hand. “Hold this on your face for maybe a minute on and a minute off.”

“Thanks.” I paused. “Sorry.”