Twisted: The Collected Short Stories of Jeffery Deaver

Together

A few people, a very few people're lucky enough to find a special kind of love. A love that's… more. That goes beyond anything that ever was."

"I suppose so."

"I know so. Allison and me, we're in that category." Manko's voice then dropped to a discreet whisper as he looked at me with his barracks-buddy's grin. "I've had a barrelful of women. You know me, Frankie boy. You know I've been around."

Manko was in the mood to perform and all I could do was play both straight man and audience. "So you've said, Mr. M."

"Those other girls, looking back, some of 'em were lovers. And some were just, you know, for the night. Wham, bam. That sort of thing. But till I met Allison, I didn't understand what love was all about."

"It's a transcendent love."

"Transcendent." He tasted the word, nodding slowly. "What's that mean?"

Just after I'd met Manko I'd learned that while he was poorly read and generally uninformed, he never hesitated to own up to his ignorance, which a lot of smart people never do. That had been my first clue as to the kind of man he was.

"It's exactly what you're describing," I explained. "A love that rises above what you normally see and experience."

"Yeah. I like that, Frankie boy. Transcendent. That says it. That's what we've got. You ever love anyone that way?"

"Sort of. A long time ago." This was partially true. But I said nothing more. Although I considered Manko a friend in some ways, our souls were worlds apart and I wasn't going to share my deepest personal life with him. Not that it mattered, for at the moment he was more interested in speaking about the woman who was the center of his own solar system.

"Allison Morgan. Allison Kimberly Morgan. Her father gave her a nickname. Kimmie. But that's crap. It's a kid's name. And one thing she isn't is a kid."

"Has a Southern sound to it." I'm a native of North Carolina and went to school with a bevy of Sally Mays and Cheryl Annes.

"It does, yeah. But she's not. She's from Ohio. Born and bred." Manko glanced at his watch and stretched. "It's late. Almost time to meet her."

"Allison?"

He nodded and smiled the trademarked, toothy Manko smile. "I mean, you're cute in your own way, Frank, but if I gotta choose between the two of you…"

I laughed and repressed a yawn. It was late — eleven-twenty p.m. An unusual hour for me to be finishing dinner but not to be engaged in conversation over coffee. Not having an Allison of my own to hurry home to, or anyone other than a cat, I often watched the clock slip past midnight or one a.m. in the company of friends.

Manko pushed aside the dinner dishes and poured more coffee.

"I'll be awake all night," I protested mildly.

He laughed this aside and asked if I wanted more pie.

When I declined he raised his coffee cup. "My Allison. Let's drink to her."

We touched the rims of the cups with a ringing clink.

I said, "Hey, Mr. M, you were going to tell me all 'bout the trouble. You know, with her father."

He scoffed. "That son of a bitch? You know what happened."

"Not the whole thing."

"Don'tcha?" He dramatically reared his head back and gave a wail of mock horror. "Manko's falling down on the job." He leaned forward, the smile gone, and gripped my arm hard. "It's not a pretty story, Frankie boy. It's not outta Family Ties or Roseanne. Can you stomach it?"

I leaned forward too, just as dramatically, and growled. "Try me."

Manko laughed and settled into his chair. As he lifted his cup the table rocked. It had done so throughout dinner but he only now seemed to notice it. He took a moment to fold and slip a piece of newspaper under the short leg to steady it. He was meticulous in this task. I watched his concentration, his strong hands. Manko was someone who actually enjoyed working out — lifting weights, in his case — and I was astonished at his musculature. He was about five-six, and, though it's hard for men — for me at least — to appraise male looks, I'd call him handsome.

The only aspect of his appearance I thought off-kilter was his haircut. When his stint with the Marines was over he kept the unstylish crew cut. From this, I deduced his experience in the service was a high point in his life — he'd worked factory and mediocre sales jobs since — and the shorn hair was a reminder of a better, if not an easier, time.

Of course, that was my pop-magazine-therapy take on the situation. Maybe he just liked short hair.

He now finished with the table and eased his strong, compact legs out in front of him. Manko the storyteller was on duty. This was another clue to the nature of Manko's spirit: Though I don't think he'd ever been on a stage in his life he was a born actor.

"So. You know Hillborne? The town?"

I said I didn't.

"Southern part of Ohio. Piss-water river town. Champion used to have a mill there. Still a couple factories making, I don't know, radiators and things. And a big printing plant, does work for Cleveland and Chicago. Kroeger Brothers. When I was in Seattle I learned printing. Miehle offsets. The four- and five-color jobs, you know. Big as a house. I learned 'em cold. Could print a whole saddle-stitched magazine myself, inserts included, yessir, perfect register and not one goddamn staple in the centerfolds boobs… Yessir, Manko's a hell of a printer. So there I was, thumbing 'cross country. I ended up in Hillborne and got a job at Kroeger's. I had to start as a feeder, which was crap, but it paid thirteen an hour and I figured I could work my way up.

"One day I had an accident. Frankie boy, you ever seen coated stock whipping through a press? Zip, zip, zip. Like a razor. Sliced my arm. Here." He pointed out the scar, a wicked-looking one. "Bad enough they took me to the hospital. Gave me a tetanus shot and stitched me up. No big deal. No whining from Manko. Then the doctor left and a nurse's aide came in to tell me how to wash it and gave me some bandages." His voice dwindled.

"It was Allison?"

"Yessir." He paused and gazed out the window at the overcast sky. "You believe in fate?"

"In a way I do."

"Does that mean yes or no?" He frowned. Manko always spoke plainly and expected the same from others.

"Yes, with qualifiers."

Love tamed his irascibility and he grinned, chiding good-naturedly, "Well, you better. Because there is such a thing. Allison and me, we were fated to be together. See, if I hadn't been running that sixty-pound stock, if I hadn't slipped just when I did, if she hadn't been working an extra shift to cover for a sick friend, if, if, if… See what I'm saying? Am I right?"

He sat back in the creaky chair. "Oh, Frankie, she was fantastic. I mean, here I am, this, like, four-inch slash in my arm, twenty stitches, I could've bled to death, and all I'm thinking is she's the most beautiful woman I ever saw."

"I've seen her picture." But that didn't stop him from continuing to describe her. The words alone gave him pleasure.

"Her hair's blonde. Gold blonde. Natural, not out of a bottle. And curly but not teased, like some high-hair slut. And her face, it's heart-shaped. Her body… Well, she has a nice figure. Let's leave it at that." His glance at me contained a warning. I was about to assure him that I had no impure thoughts about Allison Morgan when he continued. He said, "Twenty-one years old." Echoing my exact thought he added sheepishly, "Kind of an age difference, huh?"

Manko was thirty-seven — three years younger than I — but I learned this after I'd met him and had guessed he was in his late twenties. It was impossible for me to revise that assessment upward.

"I asked her out. There. On the spot. In the emergency room, you can believe it. She was probably thinking, How d'I get rid of this bozo? But she was interested, yessir. A man can tell. Words and looks, they're two different things, and I was getting the capital M message. She said she had this rule she never dated patients. So I go, 'How 'bout if you married somebody and he cuts his hand in an accident and goes to the emergency room and there you are? Then you'd be married to a patient.' She laughed and said, no, that was somehow backwards. Then this emergency call came in, some car wreck, and she had to go off.

"The next day I came back with a dozen roses. She pretended she didn't remember me and acted like I was a florist delivery boy. 'Oh, what room are those for?'

"I said, 'They're for you… if you have room in your heart for me.' Okay, okay, it was a bullshit line." The rugged ex-Marine fiddled awkwardly with his coffee cup. "But, hey, if it works, it works."

I couldn't argue with him there.

"The first date was magic. We had dinner at the fanciest restaurant in town. A French place. It cost me two days' pay. It was embarrassing 'cause I wore my leather jacket and you were suppose to have a suit coat. One of those places. They made me wear one they had in the coat room and it didn't fit too good. But Allison didn't care. We laughed about it. She was all dressed up in a white dress, with a red, white and blue scarf around her neck. Oh, God, she was beautiful. We spent, I don't know, three, four hours easy there. She was pretty shy. Didn't say much. Mostly she stared like she was kind of hypnotized. Me, I talked and talked, and sometimes she'd look at me all funny and then laugh. And I'd realize I wasn't making any sense 'cause I was looking at her and not paying any attention to what I was saying. We drank a whole bottle of wine. Cost fifty bucks."

Manko had always seemed both impressed by and contemptuous of money. Myself, I've never come close to being rich so wealth simply perplexes me.

"It was the best," he said dreamily, replaying the memory.

"Ambrosia," I offered.

He laughed as he sometimes did — in a way that was both amused and mocking — and continued his story. "I told her all about the Philippines, where I was stationed for a while, and about hitching around the country. She was interested in everything I'd done. Even — well, I should say especially — some of the stuff I wasn't too proud of. Grifting, perping cars. You know, when I was a kid, going at it. Stuff we all did."

I held back a smile. Speak for yourself, Manko.

"Then all of a sudden, the sky lit up outside. Fireworks! Talk about signs from God. You know what it was? It was the Fourth of July! I'd forgotten about it 'cause all I'd been thinking about was going out with her. That's why she was wearing the red, white and blue. We watched the fireworks from the window."

His eyes gleamed. "I took her home and we stood on the steps of her parents' house — she was still living with them. We talked for a while more then she said she had to get to bed. You catch that? Like she could've said, 'I have to be going.' Or just 'Good night.' But she worked the word bed into it. I know, you're in love, you look for messages like that. Only in this case, it wasn't Manko's imagination working overtime, no sir."

Outside, a light rain had started falling and the wind had come up. I rose and shut the window.

"The next day I kept getting distracted at work. I'd think about her face, her voice. No woman's ever affected me like that. On break I called her and asked her out for the next weekend. She said sure and said she was glad to hear from me. That set up my day. Hell, it set up my week. After work I went to the library and looked some things up. I found out about her last name. Morgan — if you spell it a little different — it means 'morning' in German. And I dug up some articles about the family. Like, they're rich. Filthy. The house in Hillborne wasn't their only place. There was one in Aspen, too, and one in Vermont. Oh, and an apartment in New York."

"A pied-a-terre."

His brief laugh again. The smile faded. "And then there was her father. Thomas Morgan." He peered into his coffee cup like a fortune-teller looking at tea leaves. "He's one of those guys a hundred years ago you'd call him a tycoon."

"What would you call him now?"

Manko laughed grimly, as if I'd made a clever but cruel joke. He lifted his cup toward me — a toast, it seemed — then continued. "He inherited this company that makes gaskets and nozzles and stuff. He's about fifty-five and is he tough. A big guy, but not fat. A droopy black mustache, and his eyes look you over like he couldn't care less about you but at the same time he's sizing you up, like every fault, every dirty thought you ever had, he knows it.

"We caught sight of each other when I dropped Allison off, and I knew, I just somehow knew that we were going to go head to head some day. I didn't really think about it then but deep inside, the thought was there."

"What about her mother?"

"Allison's mom? She's a socialite. She flits around, Allison told me. Man, what a great word. Flit. I can picture the old broad going to bridge games and tea parties. Allison's their only child." His face suddenly grew dark. "That, I figured out later, explains a lot."

"What?" I asked.

"Why her father got on my case in a big way. I'll get to that. Don't rush the Manko Man, Frankie."

I smiled in deference.

"Our second date went even better than the first. We saw some movie, I forget what, then I drove her home…" His voice trailed off. Then he said, "I asked her out for a few days after that but she couldn't make it. Ditto the next day and the next too. I was pissed at first. Then I got paranoid. Was she trying to, you know, dump me?

"But then she explained it. She was working two shifts whenever she could. I thought, This's pretty funny. I mean, her father's loaded. But, see, there was a reason. She's just like me. Independent. She dropped out of college to work in the hospital. She was saving her own money to travel. She didn't want to owe the old man anything. That's why she loved listening to me talk, telling her 'bout leaving Kansas when I was seventeen and thumbing around the country and overseas, getting into scrapes. Allison had it in her to do the same thing. Man, that was great. I love having a woman with a mind of her own."

"Do you, now?" I asked, but Manko was immune to irony.

"In the back of my mind I was thinking about all the places I'd like to go with her. I'd send her clippings from travel magazines. National Geographics. On our first date she'd told me that she loved poetry so I wrote her poems about traveling. It's funny. I never wrote anything before in my life — a few letters maybe, some shit in school — but those poems, man, they just poured out of me. A hundred of 'em.

"Well, next thing I knew, bang, we were in love. See, that's the thing about… transcendent love. It happens right away or it doesn't happen at all. Two weeks, and we were totally in love. I was ready to propose… Ah, I see that look on your face, Frankie boy. Didn't know the Manko man had it in him? What can I say? He's the marryin' kind after all.

"I went to the credit union and borrowed five hundred bucks and bought this diamond ring. Then I asked her out to dinner on Friday. I was going to give the ring to the waitress and tell her to put it on a plate and bring it to the table when we asked for dessert. Cute, huh?

"So, Friday, I was working the p.m. shift, three to eleven, for the bonus, but I ducked out early, at five, and showed up at her house at six-twenty. There were cars all over the place. Allison came outside, looking all nervous. My stomach twisted. Something funny was going on. She told me her mother was having a party and there was a problem. Two maids had got sick or something. Allison had to stay and help her mother. I thought that was weird. Both of them getting sick at the same time? She said she'd see me in a day or two."

I saw the exact moment that the thought came into his mind; his eyes went dead as rocks.

"But there was more to it than that," Manko whispered. "A hell of a lot more."

"Allisons father, you mean?"

But he didn't explain what he meant just then and returned to his story of the aborted proposal. He muttered, "That was one of the worst nights of my life. Here, I'd ditched work, I was in shock because of the ring, and I couldn't even get five minutes alone with her. Man, it was torture. I drove around all night. Woke up at dawn, in my car, down by the railroad tracks. And when I got home there was no message from her. Jesus, was I depressed.

"That morning I called her at the hospital. She was sorry about the party. I asked her out that night. She said she really shouldn't, she was so tired — the party'd gone to two in the morning. But how 'bout tomorrow?"

A gleam returned to Manko's eyes. I thought his expression reflected a pleasant memory about their date.

But I was wrong.

His voice was bitter. "Oh, what a lesson we learned. It's a mistake to underestimate your enemy, Frankie. You listen to Manko. Never do it. That's what they taught us in the Corps. Semper Fi. But Allison and me, we got blindsided.

"That next night I came over to pick her up. I was going to take her to this river bluff, like a lover's lane, you know, to propose. I had my speech down cold. I'd rehearsed all night. I pulled up to the house but she just stood on the porch and waved for me to come up to her. Oh, she was beautiful as ever. I just wanted to hold her. Put my arms around her and hold her forever.

"But she was real distant. She stepped away from me and kept glancing into the house. Her face was pale and her hair was tied back in a ponytail. I didn't like it that way. I'd told her I liked it when she wore it down. So when I saw the ponytail it was like a signal of some kind. An SOS.

"'What is it?' I asked her. She started to cry and said she couldn't see me anymore. 'What?' I whispered. God, I couldn't believe it. You know what it felt like? On Parris Island, basic training, you know? They fire live rounds over your head on the obstacle course. One time I got hit by a ricochet. I had a flak vest on but the slug was a full metal jacket and it knocked me clean on my ass. That's what it was like.

"I asked her why. She just said she thought it was best and wouldn't go into any details. But then I started to catch on. She kept looking around and I realized that there was somebody just inside the door, listening. She was scared to death — that's what it was. She begged me please not to call her or come by and I figured out she wasn't talking to me so much as saying it for whoever was spying on us. I played along. I said okay, if that's what she wanted, blah, blah, blah… Then I pulled her close and told her not to worry. I'd look out for her. I whispered it, like a secret message.

"I went home. I waited as long as I could then called, hoping that I'd get her alone. I had to talk to her. I had to hear her voice, like I needed air or water. But nobody picked up the phone. They had an answering machine but I didn't leave a message. I didn't get any sleep that weekend — not a single hour. I had a lot to think about. See, I knew what'd happened. I knew exactly.

"Monday morning I got to her hospital at six and waited just outside the entrance. I caught up with her just before she went inside. She was still scared, looking around like somebody was following her, just like on the porch.

"I asked her point-blank, 'It's your father, isn't it?' She didn't say anything for a minute then nodded and said that, yeah, he'd forbidden her to see me. Doesn't that sound funny? Old fashioned? 'Forbidden.' 'He wants you to marry some preppy, is that it? Somebody from his club?' She said she didn't know about that, only that he'd told her not to see me anymore. The son of a bitch!"

Manko sipped his coffee and pointed a blunt finger at me. "See, Frankie, love means zip to somebody like Thomas Morgan. Business, society, image, money — that's what counts to bastards like that. Man, I was so goddamn desperate… It was too much. I threw my arms around her and said, 'Let's get away. Now.'

"'Please,' she said, 'you have to leave.'"

"Then I saw what she'd been looking out for. Her father'd sent one of his security men to spy on her. He saw us and came running. If he touched her I was going to break his neck, I swear I would've. But Allison grabbed my arm and begged me to run. 'He has a gun,' she said.

"'I don't care,' I told her." Manko lifted an eyebrow. "Not exactly true, Frankie boy, I gotta say. I was scared shitless. But Allison said she didn't want me to get hurt. And if I left, the guy wouldn't hurt her. That made sense but I wasn't going just yet. I turned back and held her hard. 'Do you love me? Tell me! I have to know. Say it!'

"And she did. She whispered, 'I love you.' I could hardly hear it but it was enough for me. I knew everything would be fine. Whatever else, we had each other.

"I got back into the routine of life. Working, playing softball on the plant team. But all the time I kept writing her poetry, sending her articles and letters, you know. I'd put fake return addresses on the envelopes so her father wouldn't guess it was me writing. I even hid letters in Publishers Clearing House envelopes addressed to her! How's that for thinking?

"Once in a while I'd see her in person. I found her in a drugstore by herself and snuck up to her. I bought her a cup of coffee. She said how happy she was to see me but also was nervous as hell and I could see why. The goons were outside. We talked for about two minutes is all then one of 'em saw us and I had to vanish. I kicked my way out the back door. After that I began to notice these dark cars driving past my apartment or following me down the street. They said 'MCP' on the side. Morgan Chemical Products. They were keeping an eye on me.

"One day this guy came up to me in the hallway of my apartment and said Morgan'd pay me five thousand to leave town. I laughed at him. Then he said if I didn't stay away from Allison there'd be trouble.

"Suddenly I just snapped. I grabbed him and pulled his gun out of his holster and threw it on the floor then I shoved him against the wall and said, 'You go back and tell Morgan to leave us alone or he's the one's gonna be in trouble. You got me?'

"Then I kicked him down the stairs and threw his gun after him. I gotta say I was pretty shook up. I was seeing just how powerful this guy was."

"Money is power," I offered.

"Yeah, you're right there. Money's power. And Thomas Morgan was going to use all of his to keep us apart. You know why? 'Cause I was a threat. Fathers are jealous. Turn on any talk show. Oprah. Sally Jesse. Fathers hate their daughters' boyfriends. It's like an Oedipus thing. Especially — what I was saying before — with Allison being an only child. Here I was, a rebel, a drifter, making thirteen bucks an hour. It was like a slap in his face, Allison loving me so completely. She was rejecting him and everything he stood for." Manko's face shone with pride for Allison's courage.

Then the smile vanished. "But Morgan was always one step ahead of us. One day I ditched work and snuck into the hospital. I waited for an hour but Allison never showed up. I asked where she was. They told me she wasn't working there anymore. Nobody'd give me a straight answer but finally I found this young nurse who told me her father'd called and told 'em that Allison was taking a leave of absence. Period. No explanation. She didn't even clean out her locker. Jesus. All her plans to travel, all her plans with me — gone, just like that. I called the house to get a message to her but he'd changed the number and had it, you know, unlisted. I mean, this guy was incredible.

"And he didn't stop there. Next, he comes after me. I go in to work and the foreman tells me I'm fired. Too many unexcused absences. That was bullshit — I didn't have more than most of the guys. But Morgan must've been a friend of the Kroegers. I was still new so the union wouldn't go to bat for me. I was out. Just like that.

"Well, I couldn't beat him at his game so I decided to play by my rules." Manko grinned and scooted forward. Our knees touched and I felt all the energy that was in him pulse against my skin. "Oh, I wasn't worried for me. But Allison, she's so…" As he searched for a word his hands made a curious gesture, as if stretching thread between them, a miniature cat's cradle.

I suggested, "Fragile."

The snap of his fingers startled me. He sat up. "Exactly. Fragile. She didn't have any defense against her father. I had to do something fast. I went to the police. I wanted 'em to go to the house and see if she was okay. But also it'd be a sign to her father that I wasn't going to take any crap from him." Manko whistled. "Mistake, Frankie. Bad mistake. Morgan was one step ahead of me. This sergeant, some big guy, pushed me into a corner and said if I didn't stay away from Morgan's daughter, the family'd get a restraining order. I'd end up in a cell. Then he looked me over and said something about did I know all sorts of accidents could happen to prisoners. It was a risky place, jail. Man, was I stupid. I should've known the cops'd be on Morgan's payroll too.

"By then I was going crazy. I hadn't seen Allison for weeks. Jesus, had he sent her off to a convent or something?"

Serenity returned to his face. "Then she gave me a signal. I was hiding in the bushes in a little park across the street, watching the house with binoculars. I just wanted to see her is all. I wanted to know she was all right. She must've seen me because she lifted the shade all the way up. Oh, man, there she was! The light was behind her and it made her hair glow. Like those things, you know, gurus see."

"Auras."

"Right, right. She was in a nightgown, and I could just see the outline of her body beneath it. She looked like an angel. I was like I was gonna have a heart attack, it was such an incredible thing. There she was, telling me she was all right and she missed me. Then the shade went down and she shut the light out.

"I spent the next week planning. I was running out of money. Thanks again to Thomas Morgan. He'd put out the word to all the factories in town and nobody'd hire me. I added up what I had and it wasn't much. Maybe twelve hundred bucks. I figured it'd get us to Florida. Give me a chance to find work with a printer and Allison could get a job in a hospital."

Then Manko laughed. He studied me critically. "I can be honest with you, Frank. I feel I'm close to you."

So I was no longer Frankie boy. I'd graduated. My pulse quickened and I was moved.

"Fact is, I look tough. Am I right? But I get scared. Real scared. I never saw any action. Grenada, Panama, Desert Storm. I missed 'em all, you know what I'm saying? I was never tested. I always wondered what I'd do under fire. Well, this was my chance. I was going to rescue Allison. I was going up against the old man himself.

"I called his company and told his secretary I was a reporter from Ohio Business magazine. I wanted to do an interview with Mr. Morgan. We tried to find a time he could see me. I couldn't believe it — she bought the whole story. She told me he'd be in Mexico on business from the twentieth through the twenty-second of July. I made an appointment for August 1, then hung up fast. I was worried somebody was tracing the call.

"On July twentieth I staked out the house all day. Sure enough, Morgan left with his suitcase at ten in the morning and didn't come back that night. There was a security car parked in the driveway and I figured one of the goons was inside the house. But I'd planned on that. At ten it started to rain. Just like now." He nodded toward the window. "I remember hiding in the bushes, real glad about the overcast. I had about a hundred feet of exposed yard to cover and the security boys would've spotted me for sure in the moonlight. I managed to get to the house without anybody seeing me and hide beneath this holly tree while I caught my breath.

"Then it was dues time, Frank. I leaned against the side of the house, listening to the rain and wondering if I'd have the guts to go through with it."

"But you did."

Manko grinned boyishly and did a decent Pacino gangster impersonation. "I broke in through the basement, snuck up to her room and busted her out of the joint.

"We didn't take a suitcase or anything. We just got out of there fast as we could. Nobody heard us. The security guy was in the living room but he'd fallen asleep watching the Tonight Show. Allison and I, we got into my car and we hit the highway. Man, Easy Rider. We were free! On the road, just her and me. We'd escaped. We were on that adventure Allison'd always wanted. At last, we were both happy.

"I headed for the interstate, driving sixty-two, right on the button, because they don't arrest you if you're doing just seven miles over the limit. It's a state police rule, I heard somewhere. I stayed in the right lane and pointed that old Dodge east-southeast. Didn't stop for anything. Ohio, West Virginia, Virginia, North Carolina. Once we started crossing borders, I felt better. Her father was sure to come home from his trip right away and call the local cops but whether they'd get the highway patrol in, I had my doubts. I mean, he'd have some explaining to do — about how he kept his daughter a prisoner and everything." Manko shook his head. "But you know what I did?"

From the rueful look on his face I could guess. "You underestimated the enemy."

Manko shook his head. "Thomas Morgan," he mused. "I think he must've been a godfather or something."

"I suppose they have them in Ohio too."

"He had friends everywhere. Virginia troopers, Carolina, everywhere! Money is power, we were saying. We were heading south on Route Twenty-one, making for Charlotte, when I ran into 'em. I went into a 7-Eleven to buy some food and beer and what happens but there're some good ole boys right there, Smoky hats and everything, asking the clerk about a couple on the run from Ohio. I mean, us! I managed to get out without them seeing us and we peeled rubber outta there, I'll tell you. We drove for a while but by then it was almost dawn and I figured we better lay low for the day.

"I pulled into a big forest preserve. We spent the whole day together, lying there, my arms around her, her head on my chest. We just lay in the grass beside the car and I told her stories about places we'd travel to. The Philippines, Thailand, California. And I told her what life'd be like in Florida too."

He looked at me with a grave expression on his taut face. "I could've had her, Frank. You know what I'm saying? Right there. On the grass. The insects buzzing around us. You could hear this river, a waterfall, nearby." Manko's voice fell to a murmur. "But it wouldn't've been right. I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted us to be in our own place, in Florida, in our bedroom, married. That sounds old-fashioned, I know. You think that was stupid of me? You don't think so, do you?"

"No, Manko, it's not stupid at all." Awkwardly I looked for something to add. "It was good of you."

He looked forlorn for a minute, perhaps regretting, stupid or wise, his choosing to keep their relationship chaste.

"Then," he said, smiling devilishly, "things got hairy. At midnight we headed south again. This car passed us then hit the brakes and did a U-ie. Came right after us. Morgan's men. I turned off the highway and headed east over back roads. Man, what a drive! One-lane bridges, dirt roads. Zipping through small towns. Whoa, Frankie boy, I had four wheels treading air! It was fan-tastic. You should've seen it. There must've been twenty cars after us. I managed to lose 'em but I knew we couldn't get very far, the two of us. I figured we better split up.

"I knew that part of the state pretty good. Had a couple buddies in the service from Winston-Salem. We'd go hunting and stayed in this old, abandoned lodge near China Grove. Took some doing but I finally found the place.

"I pulled up and made sure it was empty. We sat in the car and I put my arm around her. I pulled her close and told her what I decided — that she should stay here. If her father got his hands on her, it'd be all over. He'd send her away for sure. Maybe even brainwash her. Don't laugh. Morgan'd do it. Even his own flesh and blood. She'd hide out here and I'd lead 'em off for a ways. Then…"

"Yes?"

"I'd wait for him."

"For Morgan? What were you going to do?"

"Have it out with him once and for all. One-on-one, him and me. Oh, I don't mean kill him. Just show him he wasn't king of the universe. Allison begged me not to. She knew how dangerous he was. But I didn't care. I knew he'd never leave us alone. He was the devil. He'd follow us forever if I didn't stop him. She begged me to take her with me but I knew I couldn't. She had to stay. It was so clear to me. See, Frank, that's what love is, I think. Not being afraid to make a decision for someone else."

Manko, the rough-hewn philosopher.

"I held her tight and told her not to worry. I told her how there wasn't enough room in my heart for all the love I felt for her. We'd be together again soon."

"Was it safe there, you think?"

"The cabin? Sure. Morgan'd never find it."

"It was in China Grove?"

"Half hour away. On Badin Lake."

I laughed. "You're kidding me?"

"You know it?"

"Sure I do. I used to go skinny-dipping there eons ago." I nodded that it was a good choice. "Hard to spot those cabins on the western shore."

"It's a damn pretty place too. You know, I was driving off and I looked back and I remember thinking how nice it'd be if that was our house and there Allison'd be in the doorway waiting for me to come home from work."

Manko rose and walked to the window. He gazed through his reflection into the wet night.

"After I left I drove to a state road. I pulled right in front of them and made like I was heading back to her, but really leading the hounds off, you know. But they caught me… man, everybody. Cops, the security boys… and Morgan himself.

"He stormed up to me, all pissed off, red in the face. He threatened me. And then he begged me to tell him where she was hiding. But I just looked back at him. I didn't say a word. And all his bucks, all his thugs… nothing. Money's power, sure, but so is love. I didn't even have to fight him. He looked me in the eyes and he knew that I'd won. His daughter loved me, not him. Allison was safe. We'd be together, the two of us. We'd beat Thomas Morgan — tycoon, rich son of a bitch, and father of the most beautiful woman on earth. He just turned around and walked back to his limo. End of story."

Silence fell between us. It was nearly midnight and I'd been here for over three hours. I stretched. Manko paced slowly, his face aglow with anticipation. "You know, Frank, a lot of my life hasn't gone the way I wanted it to. Allison's either. But one thing we've got is our love. That makes everything okay."

"A transcendent love."

A ping sounded and I realized that Manko'd touched his cup to mine once again. We emptied them. He looked out the window into the black night. The rain had stopped and a faint moon was evident through the clouds. A distant clock started striking twelve. He smiled. "Time to go meet her, Frank."

A solid rap struck the door, which swung open suddenly. I was startled and stood.

Manko turned calmly, the smile still on his face.

"Evening, Tim," said a man of about sixty. He wore a rumpled brown suit. From behind him several sets of eyes peered at Manko and me.

It rankled me slightly to hear the given name. Manko'd always made it clear that he preferred his nickname and considered the use of Tim or Timothy an insult. But tonight he didn't even notice; he smiled. There was silence for a moment as another man, wearing a pale blue uniform, stepped into the room with a tray, loaded it up with the dirty dishes.

"Enjoy it, Manko?" he asked, nodding at the tray.

"Ambrosia," he said, lifting a wry eyebrow toward me.

The older man nodded then took a blue-backed document from his suit jacket and opened it. There was a long pause. Then in a solemn Southern baritone he read, "Timothy Albert Mankowitz, in accordance with the sentence pronounced against you pursuant to your conviction for the kidnapping and murder of Allison Kimberly Morgan, I hereby serve upon you this death warrant issued by the governor of the State of North Carolina, to be effected at midnight this day."

The warden handed Manko the paper. He and his lawyer had already seen the faxed version from the court and tonight he merely glanced with boredom at the document. In his face I noted none of the stark befuddlement you almost always see in the faces of condemned prisoners as they read the last correspondence they'll ever receive.

"We got the line open to the governor, Tim," the warden drawled, "and he's at his desk. I just talked to him. But I don't think… I mean, he probably won't intervene."

"I told you all along." Manko said softly, "I didn't even want those appeals."

The execution operations officer, a thin, businesslike man who looked like a feed-and-grain clerk, cuffed Manko's wrists and removed his shoes.

The warden motioned me outside and I stepped into the corridor. Unlike the popular conception of a dismal, Gothic death row, this wing of the prison resembled an overly lit Sunday school hallway. His head leaned close. "Any luck, Father?"

I lifted my eyes from the shiny linoleum. "I think so. He told me about a cabin on Badin Lake. Western shore. You know it?"

The warden shook his head. "But we'll have the troopers get some dogs over there. Hope it pans out," he added, whispering, "Lord, I hope that."

So ended my grim task on this grim evening.

Prison chaplains always walk the last hundred feet with the condemned but rarely are they enlisted as a last-ditch means to wheedle information out of the prisoners. I'd consulted my bishop and this mission didn't seem to violate my vows. Still, it was clearly a deceit and one that would trouble me, I suspected, for a long time. Yet it would trouble me less than the thought of Allison Morgan's body lying in an unconsecrated grave, whose location Manko adamantly refused to reveal — his ultimate way, he said, of protecting her from her father.

Allison Kimberly Morgan — stalked relentlessly for months after she dumped Manko following their second date. Kidnapped from her bed then driven through four states with the FBI and a hundred troopers in pursuit. And finally… finally, when it was clear that Manko's precious plans for a life together in Florida would never happen, knifed to death while — apparently — he held her close and told her how there wasn't enough room in his heart for all the love he felt for her.

Until tonight her parents' only consolation was in knowing that she'd died quickly — her abundant blood in the front seat of his Dodge testified to that. Now there was at least the hope they could give her a proper burial and in doing so offer her a bit of the love that they may — or may not — have denied her in life.

Manko appeared in the hallway, wearing disposable paper slippers the condemned wear to the execution chamber. The warden looked at his watch and motioned him down the corridor. "You'll go peaceful, won't you, son?"

Manko laughed. He was the only one here with serenity in his eyes.

And why not?

He was about to join his own true love. They'd be together once again.

"You like my story, Frank?"

I told him I did. Then he smiled at me in a curious way, an expression that seemed to contain a hint both of forgiveness and of something I can only call the irrepressible Manko challenge. Perhaps, I reflected, it would not be this evening's deceit that would weigh on me so heavily but rather the simple fact that I would never know whether or not Manko was on to me.

But who could tell? He was, as I've said, a born actor.

The warden looked at me. "Father?"

I shook my head. "I'm afraid Manko's going to forgo absolution," I said. "But he'd like me to read him a few psalms."

"Allison," Manko said earnestly, "loves poetry."

I slipped the Bible from my suit pocket and began to read as we started down the corridor, walking side by side.