Infernal

9

-13:59

"I know you can't hear me, Joey, but I'm going to say this anyway." Jack had carried Joey's body from the car and laid it gently on the ground in an open area maybe twenty feet away. Nobody finding the car could miss Joey. Jack had straightened the body, positioning it perpendicular to the river, feet toward the water.

He felt a gnawing guilt about leaving a fellow combatant here like this, but what could he do?

He folded Joey's arms across his chest in the classic casket pose "Wish I could take you back with me. You know I would if I could, but it's not in the cards. So I'm leaving you here with as much dignity as I can. You always liked to look good, and this way you'll look good in the crime scene photos. Almost classy."

Except for the bloodstains, of course.

"I have to leave you here but you won't be alone for long. Don't worry about becoming a buffet for whatever animals are around. None of them will have a chance to get near you, let alone chew on you. I'll see to that."

He adjusted Joey's bloody jacket, straightened his pant legs so that the cuffs reached his ankles, then squatted next to him.

"You weren't a model citizen, Joey, but you were a good guy. The marks couldn't believe a word you said but you were always square with your friends. Brave too, risking everything to do right by your brother. You have my respect. If you hadn't been standing between me and the shooter, our places might be reversed right now."

An unbidden thought: And if you'd planned this better and been more careful searching the back rooms, we'd both be having a drink at Julio's right now. Jack pushed it away.

"I need just one thing from you."

He reached into Joey's jacket pocket and removed his butane lighter, then he rose to his feet.

"Someone will be coming for you soon."

He walked back to the Grand Am and picked up his coverall from where he'd dropped it. He used his knife to cut a three-foot strip from the leg, then tossed the rest into the car. He opened the gas tank door, unscrewed the cap, and snaked the cloth down as far as it would go. Then he pulled it out, reversed it, and snaked the other end inside. He left three or four inches of gas-soaked twill hanging from the port.

Firing the car would serve two purposes. First—destroy a lot of evidence. Jack hadn't taken his gloves off since he'd left his apartment, so he wasn't worried about prints. But trace evidence was tricky. Couldn't hurt to incinerate it.

The second was to bring the cops running so they could find Joey's body before any dogs got to it. No way Joey wouldn't be tied to the attack on the Center—Jack could already see the Post's MUSLIM MASSACRE!, headline—but this way his body would be returned to his family intact.

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket: Abe.

"I'm at exit sixty-seven."

"How's the traffic?"

"I'm doing sixty-five."

"Okay. Bottom of the sixty off ramp."

"You should look for the usual vehicle."

That meant Abe's van.

"Will do. See you soon."

Jack grabbed his backpack, then pulled Joey's lighter from a pocket.

He flicked it and touched the flame to the free end of the coverall strip. As fire danced up its length and into the port, Jack trotted for the incline to the highway. He was about halfway up when the tank blew. He didn't look back. He reached the top and, keeping low, followed the guardrail toward the exit ramp.