Meticulously, he went back over his preparations. He had almost a hundred thousand dollars, in hundreds, packed in two body wallets that scarcely showed under his sport coat. For two thousand dollars he’d bought an airline ticket, one-way, first class, to Caracas, Venezuela. Once there he’d purchase another ID—driver’s license, passport, and birth certificate—and retire both the Jon Corso and Lionel Corso identities. After he found a place to settle, he’d write his next book and submit it to a New York literary agent, under a fictitious name. He knew whom he’d approach, a woman who’d turned him down when he was desperate for an agent early in his career. She’d jump at the chance to take on a Jon Corso-style writer, having forfeited a fortune by rejecting the original.

He shrugged into a windbreaker and slid the gun in his right pocket. How nice that an item he’d stolen from a neighbor twenty-one years before had now set him free. By the time the police put it all together, if they ever managed it, he’d be long gone and, he hoped, impossible to trace. He folded and packed his favorite sport coat, his raincoat, and six shirts just back from the cleaner’s. He went into the bathroom, added a few toiletries to his Dopp kit, and tucked it in the suitcase as well. His second bag was already closed and waiting downstairs near the front door. He sat down at his desk and called Walker at work.

As soon as Walker picked up, Jon said, “Michael Sutton just called. He wants to meet.”

“Meet with us? Why?”

“How do I know? Maybe he wants to make a deal. We pay up and he keeps his mouth shut.”

“A shakedown?”

Jon kept his tone matter-of-fact. “Now that he knows where you work, it doesn’t seem out of the question.”

“Shit. I told you he was trouble.”

“We don’t know that. Maybe we can come to an agreement.”

“A deal? How long would that last? We give him money now, it’s only a matter of time before he comes around for more.”

“True, but you’re talking about turning yourself in anyway so I can’t see what difference it makes. By the time he comes back with his hand out, you’ll be in jail.”

“I told you I was thinking about turning myself in. I haven’t done anything about it.”

“Oh, sorry. You seemed pretty sure of yourself when we last spoke.”

“Because I couldn’t see an alternative.”

Jon said, “The way I look at it, a payoff now might buy us a couple of months, during which you might change your mind. I should probably point out that your confession will lose its impact if he gets to the cops before you do.”

“So why talk to him at all?”

“I’d like to hear what he has in mind.”