Chapter Twenty
Kevin
KEVIN ACCEPTED ODD jobs at security firms, biding his time, knowing it wouldn’t be long before Callaway came a-knocking.
When the call came, a man named Ed Anderson installed the alarm system, with the lovely Cathy looking on, babbling about how she really didn’t want it, but had to have it because of her husband’s road trips.
As he listened, he ducked his head to hide a grin. Also, to keep from reaching out to grab her.
Even in her intensely knocked-up condition, Mrs. Callaway was a looker. He felt like sticking his tongue into her talkative mouth, then jamming himself deep inside her. He knew he’d come real good, not like with Constance “Bitch” Jennings.
He barely restrained himself. While Cathy jabbered on about babies and basketball, he installed cameras and bugs in the smoke alarms, thermostats and other spots in the Callaways’ joint.
From then on, he’d known all about the Callaways’ comings and goings. What he’d especially enjoyed was watching the lovely wife remove her clothes. Until lately, the couple had done the deed almost every day. The bitch was a real turn-on, making sexy mewing sounds whenever she got hot. Just once, he’d like to stick himself inside her, but that wouldn’t fit his plan.
He’d hardened his heart at the sight of mother and baby arriving home from the hospital. Had his Mom ever looked at him like Cathy Callaway looked at her brat?
It was almost time.
The day before the big game, from his vantage point parked down the block, Kevin watched Callaway leave for the airport. Smiling in anticipation, he gunned the motor and drove away.
Callaway had left, with no clue of the tragedy which awaited him. Soon the “Great One” would sink to his knees. Even sweeter was the fact it would happen at the happiest moment of his life. He’d never know what had hit him until it was too late. Then the score would be settled.
That night Kevin was so fired up he couldn’t sleep. Everything had to go exactly right. He set two alarms extra early, just in case.
The next morning he stationed himself behind the Callaways’ front bushes. A bug bit him. Stifling a curse, he shifted his weight. The leaves rustled. He held his breath, but no one came to investigate.
Everything was in place. Three weeks ago, he’d written to Anthony Edwards and asked for his wife Miranda’s address, telling him he’d have a tiny delivery for her.
In prison, Anthony had been heartbroken at the loss of his son. He’d wanted another baby for his wife’s sake, but under the circumstances, couldn’t do that.
Kevin had never confessed to Anthony that he’d told Billy Holliday about Anthony’s squealing to the guard about the hash. He still couldn’t get over how Holliday had killed Anthony’s kid. This would be a great way to make it up to him.
Kevin’s legs cramped and grew numb. Wasn’t it time for the blasted guard to take a break? Kevin had worked with Todd before. The sap couldn’t last long without a nicotine fix. Some security.
The door slammed. Todd whizzed by, headed for the back.
Kevin stepped out. He wore the distinctive Alert Advantage green jacket, but in a larger size than usual. Underneath was a matching uniform.
Gingerly he reached for the package beside him. At the doorstep, he carefully set down the box, switched off the alarm, picked up the package and slipped into the house.
Knowing where he would find Cathy and the baby, he climbed confidently up the stairs. He shifted the package, then lightly knocked on the semi-open door. There was no answer, so he knocked harder.
“Who is it?” a soft voice asked.
“Mrs. Callaway, it’s me, Ed Anderson—you know, the guy who installed the security system. I’m on duty. How are you doing?”
Her uncertain voice floated back. “Oh, I thought Todd was working today. I just saw him a few minutes ago.”
“Not to worry. He’ll be back later. He had some personal business to attend to. In the meantime, he wanted me to keep an eye on things. Can I come in for a minute? I’ve got something for you.”
“Sure, Ed,” she answered, though her voice still sounded uncertain.
He stepped into the bedroom. As he’d envisioned, Cathy Callaway was seated on the bed, with the baby’s cradle to the left. The volume on the TV was set so low he could barely hear the announcer.
He cleared his throat. His voice came out louder than he’d intended. “Mrs. Callaway...”
She raised a finger to her lips, smiled, and pointed to the cradle. “Please don’t wake him. He’s finally asleep.”
Perfect.
He lowered his voice. “Mrs. Callaway, I’ve got a surprise for you. It’s from your husband.”
He stepped between the crib and the bed. As he handed her the package, her face lit up.
“Now, ma’am, you’ve got to promise not to open this until the end of the game. That’s what your husband said.”
Kevin had taken great pains to wrap fancy gold paper around the box and finish it off with a giant silver-and-gold bow on the top.
He could tell she was dying to rip it open. He didn’t blame her.
“Thanks so much for bringing this up to me,” she said, eyes shining.
Kevin gazed back, almost hypnotized. Her eyes were as blue as the summer sky. Her hair sparkled. Just looking at her took his breath away. Maybe he should take the package back. She’d done nothing to him.
Idly she fiddled with the fancy bow. His heart pounded. Just then the phone rang as he’d planned. She reached for the receiver on the other side of the bed.
He turned and slipped the sleeping child from the cradle into his coat. The boy didn’t let out a whimper as Kevin rearranged the covers so it would look like he was still in the crib.
“Who’s there? Danny is that you?” Cathy was saying.
With the boy tucked in his coat, Kevin said a quick goodbye and made his escape.
Hearing her voice still saying, “Hello, hello,” he rushed through the hallway, then down the stairs.
KEVIN RACED TO his van down the block from the Callaway’s mansion. The brat woke up and let out a tentative wail.
“Shut up or I’ll bring you back,” he muttered, pressing his hand over the small mouth.
He was tempted to do just that, but something inside him said no. God would never forgive him if he did. At the van, he reached into the glove compartment, grabbed the duct tape and fastened it over the brat’s mouth.
“There, scream all you want. It won’t do you any good,” he said, depositing the kid on the back seat under a pile of newspapers. There, now no one could tell.
He switched on the radio and honed in on the see-saw battle. The Amstaffs must win or his revenge would not be complete. When Ronnie White blew a shot, Kevin almost missed the expressway ramp leading to uptown Chicago.
“Shit, get with it, man,” he yelled.
He wove through traffic, exited at Lawrence Avenue, and dropped the kid off at Anthony’s wife’s place.
On the way back, he almost rear-ended the slow, old fart in front of him. Finally, with five minutes left on the game clock, he made it back to the end of the Callaways’ block. It was almost show time.