Desperate Measures

8

“Will the baby be all right?” Pittman drove from the apartment building.

“As long as Brian keeps giving him a children’s dose of Tylenol on schedule. And liquids. A sponge bath doesn’t hurt. I told him to get the baby to a doctor if the fever gets worse or the vomiting persists. Cute kid. I think he’ll be okay.”

“And maybe Brian will get some sleep tonight.”

“Unless Gladys decides to make trouble. Did he let you have what you wanted?”

Pittman held up a sheet of paper. “I learned from the mistake we made with the guy from the alumni association. Don’t let anybody know our next move. Brian showed me how to get unlisted phone numbers and addresses. But he doesn’t know whose or what city.”

“Washington.”

Pittman nodded.

“The grand counselors.”

Pittman nodded again.

“Long drive.”

“We can’t fly. You’d have to use a check or a credit card to buy our tickets. Your name would get in the computer. The police will be looking for it. We’ve got to keep driving.”

“You really know how to show a girl a good time. I think I’ll pull a blanket over my head and assume a fetal position.”

“Good idea. Get some more rest.”

“You, too. We’ll need it if we’re going to try to get close to the grand counselors.”

“Not just yet.”

“But I thought you said we were going to Washington.”

“Right. But I need to see somebody else there.”

“Who?”

“A man I interviewed a long time ago.”