Persuader Read Free Page A

ahead.
    “They’ll throw away the key,” I said. “I screwed up, it was an accident, but they aren’t going to listen. They never do. So don’t ask me to go anywhere near anybody. Not as a witness, not as nothing. I’m out of here like I don’t exist. We absolutely clear on that?”
    He didn’t speak.
    “And don’t give them a description,” I said. “Tell them you don’t remember me. Tell them you were in shock. Or I’ll find you and I’ll kill you.”
    He didn’t answer.
    “I’ll let you out somewhere,” I said. “Like you never saw me.”
    He moved. Turned sideways on his seat and looked straight at me.
    “Take me home,” he said. “All the way. We’ll give you money. Help you out. We’ll hide you, if you want. My folks will be grateful. I mean, I’m grateful. Believe me. You saved my ass. The cop thing, it was an accident, right? Just an accident. You got unlucky. It was a pressure situation. I can understand that. We’ll keep it quiet.”
    “I don’t need your help,” I said. “I just need to get rid of you.”
    “But I need to get home,” he said. “We’d be helping each other.”
    The highway was four minutes ahead.
    “Where’s home?” I asked.
    “Abbot,” he said.
    “Abbot what?”
    “Abbot, Maine. On the coast. Between Kennebunkport and Portland.”
    “We’re heading in the wrong direction.”
    “You can turn north on the highway.”
    “It’s got to be two hundred miles, minimum.”
    “We’ll give you money. We’ll make it worth your while.”
    “I could let you out near Boston,” I said. “Got to be a bus to Portland.”
    He shook his head, violently, like a seizure.
    “No way,” he said. “I can’t take the bus. I can’t be alone. Not now. I need protection.
    Those guys might still be out there.”
    “Those guys are dead,” I said. “Like the damn cop.”
    “They might have associates.”
    It was another odd word to use. He looked small and thin and scared. There was a pulse jumping in his neck. He used both hands to pull his hair away from his head and turned toward the windshield to let me see his left ear. It wasn’t there. There was just a hard knob of scar tissue. It looked like a small piece of uncooked pasta. Like a raw tortellini floret.
    “They cut it off and mailed it,” he said. “The first time.”
    “When?”
    “I was fifteen.”
    “Your dad didn’t pay up?”
    “Not quickly enough.”
    I said nothing. Richard Beck just sat there, showing me his scar, shocked and scared and breathing like a machine.
    “You OK?” I asked.
    “Take me home,” he said. Like he was pleading. “I can’t be alone now.”
    The highway was two minutes ahead.
    “Please,” he said. “Help me.”
    “Shit,” I said, for the third time.
    “Please. We can help each other. You need to hide out.”
    “We can’t keep this van,” I said. “We have to assume the description is on the air all over the state.”
    He stared at me, full of hope. The highway was one minute ahead.
    “We’ll have to find a car,” I said.
    “Where?”
    “Anywhere. There are cars all over the place.”
    There was a big sprawling out-of-town shopping mall nestled south and west of the highway interchange. I could already see it in the distance. There were giant tan buildings with no windows and bright neon signs. There were giant parking lots about half-filled with cars. I pulled in and drove once around the whole place. It was as big as a town.
    There were people everywhere. They made me nervous. I came around again and headed in past a line of trash containers to the rear of a big department store.
    “Where are we going?” Richard asked.
    “Staff parking,” I said. “Customers are in and out all day long. Unpredictable. But store people are in there for the duration. Safer.”
    He looked at me like he didn’t understand. I headed for a line of eight cars parked headon against a blank wall. There was an empty slot next to a dull-colored Nissan Maxima about three years