Chapter Twenty-Two
Kevin
UNABLE TO KEEP still, Kevin paced his apartment, grabbed a whiskey bottle and grinned like a chimpanzee. He still couldn’t believe he’d pulled it off.
After dumping the kid in the back seat, he’d gunned the motor and headed to Miranda Edwards’ apartment in the uptown district of Chicago.
Not waiting for her to answer the doorbell, he slipped a credit card beside the door jam and gained entrance. He huffed up the stairs, then rapped on the door Anthony had said would be hers. It was answered by a dark-haired woman who looked like she hadn’t missed many meals.
“Here, take this,” he said handing over the kid.
She gazed longingly at the brat. “For me?” she said in a high, thin voice.
“Yeah, all yours. Anthony and I are buddies, you know. I owe him a favor. This kid needs a home and you qualify. It’s that simple. And, remember, if anyone asks, you had it yourself.”
Clutching the child to her humongous boobs, she bobbed her head. “My baby,” she said, tears rolling down her fat cheeks.
The kid screamed. The brat didn’t know how lucky he was to have a mother who loved him, even if she hadn’t birthed him.
Frowning, Kevin slipped onto his couch and passed his fingers over the rim of the whiskey bottle. If only he’d had a mother to come home to.
Then he shrugged. Maybe the kid wasn’t so lucky. He didn’t have a Daddy. It was a given that Miranda’s old man would rot in prison. Hey, you take what you can get.
Enough sentimental hogwash. Tonight was a night for celebration. He savored the moment he’d first seen and heard of the impact of his actions.
The camera had switched from the court to the sight of Danny Callaway being led from the stadium by the team’s physician and two cops.
From the broadcast booth, the announcer, Frank Monson, groped for words to explain what he was witnessing. “Danny Callaway, the Irish Michael Jordan, just played the best game of his life. He should be on cloud nine, but what’s the matter with him? He looks like he’s going to an execution.”
The camera panned in on Callaway. The star’s face was etched in agony. His deep blue eyes brimmed with pain. That oh-so-pretty mouth quivered while its owner fought for control. The cameraman, as if embarrassed, abruptly switched to the basketball court where bedlam ruled. Security couldn’t restrain the mob.
“Look at this crowd! Could be our boy, Danny, is in fear for his life. I don’t blame him. Folks, look what’s happening. A person could get trampled to death.”
Monson’s laugh broke off abruptly. “This just in. A breaking story with shocking news. We’re taking you live to the Sauganash section of Chicago. What’s happening, Jay?”
“In the background you see all that’s left of the once magnificent residence of basketball great, Danny Callaway. Seconds after the game you’ve just witnessed, in which Danny clinched the championship, a violent explosion rocked his home, knocking out windows in homes a mile away. Only moments ago, Chicago firemen gained access to the building. They carried out what appear to be the remains of Danny Callaway’s wife, Cathy, as well as a security guard. It’s uncertain whether Callaway’s newborn, Sean, is still alive, but from the force of the explosion there’s little hope for his survival.”
Jay Gromley continued. “This event is tragic indeed. As you can see, an army of investigators has arrived on the scene. We’ll advise you of any further developments. Now back to you, Frank.”
In a solemn voice, Monson intoned, “This demonstrates all too well the fickleness of fate. Just a few minutes ago, Danny Callaway clinched the championship game, putting him on top of the world. On the heels of such a great victory, he’s suffered a devastating loss. That’ll make it doubly hard to recover. If you’re listening, Danny, our hearts go out to you.”
At that point Kevin had snorted in disbelief. What bull. Who’re you kidding, Monson? he thought. You media guys thrive on misery. You’re almost as happy as I am. You pretend it’s the end of the world, but you’re really gloating over the ratings.
Yes, he’d always savor the moments when he’d first witnessed Callaway’s payback. The fullness of victory was sweet.
He still couldn’t get over it. Hours after the deed was done, Kevin still felt like hugging himself and dancing around the room. Today was the golden day of days. The crowning moment. Callaway was getting his. Danny boy, how do you feel right now? Maybe kind of sick? Like a knife’s twisted in your gut? And your bright beautiful world—has it grown dim, like a cold dark prison?
Kevin swigged the whiskey, ignoring the burning sensation, as his thoughts brewed.
Callaway, I hope you writhe in pain the rest of your miserable existence. You deserve to suffer. Because of you, I spent nine long years in prison. When the judge read the sentence, I saw the look in your eyes. You wanted me to rot.
Now, I’ve issued you your own death sentence, a living hell. Every miserable moment for the rest of your life you’ll picture your loving wife and precious kid blown to smithereens. You’ll never know the brat’s still alive. That’ll be my own little secret.
Kevin smiled to himself, then frowned as the familiar hatred consumed him. Hey, Callaway, was it worth pointing the finger at me? Would you have kept that fucking mouth shut if you’d known this would happen?
His mind spun. As the rabid thoughts crossed his brain, he decided it wasn’t enough for Callaway to suffer. It would be better to witness it firsthand. He must drink wholly of the warlock’s brew to be fully sated. He had a good mind to get up right now, drive over to the bomb site and wait for Callaway to show up.
When he did, Kevin could walk up to him and say, “Hey sap, remember me. I’m Kevin Green, you know, the guy whose life you destroyed.” He’d point to the rubble. “See this. It’s your fault. Now, what do you have to say for yourself?”
Man, he’d like to do that, but it would be insane. He muttered in frustration.
The ten o’clock evening news was jam-packed with the Callaway story. Kevin listened in satisfaction.
“Folks, in the midst of such calamity, we finally have good news to report.”
Kevin leaned forward on the couch. Good news, huh, that’s impossible, he thought. They couldn’t know I took out the kid.
“A second guard from Alert Advantage has been found alive under some rubble. He tells reporters he’d been patrolling the grounds out back of the residence when the force of the explosion hit him and he blacked out. The doctors say he’s suffered a slight concussion and is expected to live.”
The bottle slipped from Kevin’s hand onto the floor. What was the guy talking about? He’d checked the roster. Only Todd Weathersby was listed. Had Callaway ordered another guard at the last minute? Shades of Stone Branton’s predicament sprang to mind. He stifled a sliver of fear. The guard couldn’t have seen anything. There was no possible way Ed could be linked to the crime. There was nothing to worry about.
The peal of the phone made him jump. Who the hell was that?
Holding the bottle with one hand, he grabbed the receiver with the other.
“You know Dick George, that personnel guy at Alert Advantage?” Bart asked him.
Kevin’s heart beat fast. “What of him?” he squeaked out.
“Well, you see, he’s kind of bent out of shape. The heat’s all over him. His ass is in the wringer and he wants some answers. He says you installed the system at the Callaway place. Listen, I know about your grudge. Tell me you didn’t do anything crazy,” Bart said.
The wires hummed with tension. Kevin searched for an answer. Hell, he should have known Brad would be suspicious. Kevin’s hatred of Callaway had been a major topic in prison. Should he come clean?
“Shit, Brad, you know me better than that. I’m not crazy enough to wreck a good thing. I did my usual job on the security system, that’s all. No more, no less.” He hoped he sounded convincing.
“Okay, buddy. Sorry to bug you. When I think abo
ut going back to prison, I kind of lose it. None of us can afford scrutiny.”
“Yeah, I know. I sure as hell wouldn’t set you up for a fall. Have a little faith.” Had he poured it on too thick? He better shut up or Brad would catch on.
“Sorry. I guess I’m edgy. Things were going along too well. One wrong move could blow it all.”
“Hey, I understand. Listen, I’ve got to go. I mean, really. I feel a crap coming on. See you later, Brad, okay?”
That was one way to get him off the line. Who could argue with nature?
He didn’t have time for such petty stuff like weaklings worrying about getting caught. He had a victory to celebrate. Shit, he was missing the action on TV.