The Associate

"Shut up and listen."

A teenage waitress paused at the table just long enough to see if they wanted anything. Both asked for diet colas, and Kyle ordered a large pepperoni pizza.

"Wasn’t really that hungry," Joey said when she was gone.

"We’re in a pizza place, and so we need to order a pizza. Otherwise, we’ll look suspicious. In a few minutes, a thug wearing faded jeans, a dark green rugby shirt, and a khaki golf cap will walk through the door, completely ignore us, and probably go to the bar. He’ll hang around for less than ten minutes, then he’ll leave. Though he’ll never look at us, he’ll see everything. When you leave, either he or one of his teammates will follow you and check your license plates, and within minutes they’ll know that I had a semisecret meeting with my old pal Joey Bernardo."

"These guys are friends of yours?"

"No. They are professional operatives, but because I’m just me and not some highly trained thug myself, they’re assuming that I have no clue that they’re following me."

"Great. That clears things up. Why, old buddy, are they following you?"

"It’s a very long story."

"You’re not drinking again, are you? Not back on the smack?"

"I never did smack and you know it. No, I’m not drinking and I’m not losing my marbles. I’m dead serious and I need your help."

"You need a shrink, Kyle. You’re spooky, man. There’s a glow in your eyes."

The door opened and the thug walked in. He was dressed precisely as Kyle had said, but with the addition of a pair of round tortoise-shell eyeglasses. "Don’t stare," Kyle whispered as Joey’s jaw dropped. The diet colas arrived, and they took a drink.

The thug went to the bar, ordered a draft beer, and from his stool could see their table in the long mirrors behind the racks of booze, but he could not possibly hear what they were saying.

"He just put on the eyeglasses," Kyle said with a large smile as if they were telling jokes. "Sunglasses would be too conspicuous in here. He added the big round ones so he can look around and not get caught. Please smile. Please laugh. We’re just two old chums reminiscing here. Nothing serious."

Joey was flabbergasted and could manage neither a smile nor a laugh. So Kyle erupted in a loud cackle, then pulled off a slice of thin pizza as soon as it arrived. He was animated and smiling, and with his mouth full he said, "Eat, Joey, and smile and please utter a few words."

"What have you done? Is that guy a cop or something?"

"Or something. I’ve done nothing wrong, but it’s still a complicated story. You’re involved in it. Let’s talk about the Pirates."

"The Pirates are in last place, and they’ll be in last place come September. Pick another subject, or another team." Joey finally took a slice and bit off half of it. "I need a beer. I can’t eat pizza without a beer."

Kyle flagged down the lazy little waitress and ordered one beer.

There was a large screen in one corner. ESPN was running baseball highlights. For a few minutes, they ate pizza and watched the footage. The guy in the rugby shirt was working on a twelve-ounce draft, and after about ten minutes it was gone. He paid in cash and left. When the door closed behind him, Joey said, "What the hell is going on?"

"That’s a conversation the two of us must have, but not here. It’ll take an hour or two, and then the first conversation will lead to another and another. If we do it here this weekend, we’ll get caught. The bad guys are watching, and if they see us engaged in serious talk, they’ll know. It’s important for us to finish the pizza, walk out the front door, and not be seen together alone, until you leave town tomorrow."

"Thanks for inviting me up."

"I didn’t invite you for the graduation, Joey. Sorry about that. The reason you’re here is to give you this." Kyle slid across a folded sheet of paper. "Put it in your pocket, and quick."

Joey grabbed it, glanced around as if assassins were moving in, and shoved it in a jeans pocket. "What is it, Kyle?"

"Trust me, Joey, please. I’m in trouble and I need help. There’s no one else but you."

"And I’m involved, too?"

"Maybe. Let’s finish the pizza and get out of here. Here’s the plan. The Fourth of July is just around the corner. You come up with this wondeiful idea for a rafting trip down the New River in West Virginia, three days on the river, two nights camping out. Me and you and some of the old gang from Duquesne. A boys’ weekend while we can still do it. The list there has ten names and e-mails, stuff you already have. It also has the name of an outfitter in Beckley, West Virginia. I’ve done all the homework."

Joey nodded as if nothing made sense.

Kyle pressed on. "The purpose of the trip is to shake the surveillance. Once we’re on the river and in the mountains, there’s no way they can follow me. We can talk and talk and not have to worry about being watched."

"This is crazy. You’re crazy."

"Shut up, Joey. I’m not crazy. I’m dead serious. They watch me around the clock. They listen to my phone calls, and they’ve bugged my laptop."

"And they’re not cops?"

"No, they’re much scarier than cops. If we spend too much time together now, they’ll become suspicious, and your life will get complicated. Eat some pizza."

"I’m not hungry."

There was a long gap in the conversation. Kyle kept eating. Joey kept watching the ESPN highlights. Springsteen kept singing.

After a few minutes, Kyle said, "Look, we need to go. I have a lot to tell you, but I can’t do it now. If you’ll plan the rafting trip, we can have some fun and I’ll give you the full story."

"You ever been rafting?"

"Sure. You?"

"No. I don’t like the water."

"They provide life jackets. Come on, Joey, have some fun. A year from now you’ll be married and your life will be over."

"Thanks, pal."

"It’s just a boys’ trip down the river, a bunch of old friends from college. Shoot the e-mails and put it all together. Whatta you say?"

"Sure, Kyle. Whatever."

"But when you e-mail me, use the diversion."

"The diversion?"

"Yes, it’s written down. In your e-mails to me we’re headed for the Potomac River in western Maryland. We can’t give these thugs too much notice."

"What are they gonna do, follow us down the river in a speedboat?"

"No. It’s just a precaution. I don’t want them anywhere around me."

"This is real strange, Kyle."

"It gets stranger."

Joey suddenly slid the pizza aside and leaned forward on his elbows. He glared at Kyle and said, "I’ll do it, but you gotta give me a clue."

"Elaine’s back, with her rape scenario."

Just as quickly as he had leaned forward, Joey shrunk back to his side of the booth and limply recoiled. Elaine who? He’d forgotten her last name, if in fact he’d ever known it. That was five, maybe six years ago, and the cops had not only closed the file but slammed the damned thing shut. And why? Because nothing happened. There was no rape. Intercourse maybe, but with that girl everything was consensual. He had a December wedding planned with the woman of his dreams, and nothing, absolutely nothing could screw it up. He had a career, a future, a good name. How could this nightmare be alive?

With so much to say, he managed to say nothing. He stared at Kyle, who couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

Is she awake? Joey asks.

No response from Baxter Tate. No response from the girl.