Collusion

57

The motel had a small coffee shop attached. Fegan had wanted to stay out of sight, but hunger got the better of him. He sat at a table in the back corner where he could watch the door.

‘What’ll it be?’ a waitress asked.

He studied the menu. Sandwiches mostly, all with cheese. He didn’t like cheese. Why did Americans put cheese on everything?

He pointed at the menu. ‘That one,’ he said. ‘Turkey. But no cheese.’

‘Cook only works to lunchtime,’ the waitress said. ‘Sandwiches are all made up. Cheese is already on ’em.’

‘All right,’ he said. ‘And water.’

From here he could see the afternoon traffic on the New Jersey Turnpike and the airport beyond, the control tower reaching towards the fading sun. Cutlery rattled as jets passed overhead, either ascending from or descending to Newark’s three runways.

While Fegan waited for his sandwich, he took the phone out of his pocket. He set it on the table and stared at the screen as if that would make it spring to life. It hadn’t hit the ground that hard, surely it couldn’t be completely destroyed. He turned it over, examined the casing, tried the power button again.

A boy at the next table watched. ‘Is it broke?’ the kid asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Fegan said. ‘I think it might be.’

The boy’s mother looked up from her limp salad. She gave Fegan a suspicious stare. He dropped his gaze back to the phone.

‘Did you drop it?’ the boy asked.

‘Yeah,’ Fegan lied.

‘Let me see,’ the kid said. ‘I can fix stuff.’

Fegan looked back to the mother. ‘Can he?’

She hesitated before nodding. ‘Aaron likes to fix things. Anything you can take apart, he can put it back together.’

The waitress brought his sandwich on a plate with a glass of water. Fegan handed the phone to Aaron. While the boy held the phone to the light, Fegan set about removing the cheese from his sandwich.

‘The casing’s loose,’ Aaron said.

Fegan took a bite. The bread was stale.

The boy popped the phone’s back off and a rectangular block dropped to the table. ‘See? The battery wasn’t in right. It must’ve got knocked out when you dropped it.’

Aaron picked up the block and slotted it in. He aligned the rear casing and popped it home, then grinned and handed it back. ‘Bet it works now,’ he said.

Fegan thumbed the power button, and the screen lit up. ‘You fixed it,’ he said.

‘Told you I could,’ Aaron said.

‘He told you,’ the mother said with a proud smile. She had freckles on her cheeks.

‘So he did,’ Fegan said. He returned her smile.

‘I’m Grace,’ she said. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Paddy Feeney,’ Fegan said.

The phone vibrated in his hand. Fegan’s stomach clenched like a fist. The screen showed a text message. It said, ‘You have one new voicemail.’

‘Are you okay?’ the woman asked.

Fegan went to answer her, but realised he hadn’t been breathing. He coughed.

‘Drink some water,’ she said.

‘I need to go,’ Fegan said.

‘Oh,’ she said, her smile falling away. ‘Well, it was nice meeting you.’

Fegan nodded. He stood, looked down at the boy. ‘Thank you,’ he said, and headed for the door.

‘You’re welcome,’ the boy called after him.

‘Hey!’ The waitress stopped Fegan at the door. ‘You going to pay for that sandwich?’

Fegan took a bill from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. He squeezed past her and out onto the parking lot. Another jet screamed overhead.

‘Hey!’ the waitress shouted over the plane’s roar. ‘This is a hundred!’

Fegan ignored her and climbed the flight of steps to the top floor. He ran to his room, unlocked the door, locked it behind him again. He called the number to retrieve the message.

A metallic voice said, ‘We’re sorry. The service you are trying to access is unavailable when overseas. If you would like to enable outgoing international calls, please talk to one of our operators by dialling—’

Fegan hung up. ‘Jesus,’ he said.

Marie had called. No one else knew the number. There could only be one reason.

He put the phone in his pocket and took the roll of money from the dresser along with the Irish passport. What if it didn’t get him past security? He’d have to take that risk. He lifted his bag, hoisted it across his shoulder.

The outside air cooled the sweat that had broken on his brow and sent cold fingers down his spine. He could wait for a cab, but twenty minutes on foot would take him to the airport. He knew there was an evening flight to Belfast, just a few hours from now, then six and a half more on the plane. He’d be home by the morning.

Fegan hoped it wouldn’t be too late.