Jason leaned against the back wall of the cabinet and lifted his feet. As soon as he heard the circuit breakers being turned back on, Jason kicked the cabinet doors with all the force and power his runner’s legs could muster. The doors caught Juan Diaz entirely by surprise, hitting him in the groin. He gasped with pain and staggered back against the cedar closet.
Jason lost no time. He crawled out and raced across the room, catching the door before Shirley had a chance to close it. He hit it with full force, running directly into Shirley and knocking the two of them onto the floor. Shirley cried as her head hit the concrete. The flashlight rolled out of her hand.
Scrambling to his feet, Jason raced down the hallway toward the stairs, thankful that this area of the house again had lights. He grabbed the banister and used it to catapult himself up the first steps. That was when he heard the dull pop. Simultaneously he felt a pain in his thigh and his right leg crumbled beneath him. Pulling himself upright, he hopped up the rest of the stairs. He was almost at the foyer; he could not give up.
His right leg dragging, Jason struggled over to the front door. Below, he heard someone start up the stairs.
The dead bolt opened and Jason stumbled out into the raw November night. He knew he’d been shot. He could feel the blood from his bullet wound running down his leg into his shoe.
Jason only got as far as the center of the driveway when Juan caught up to him and knocked him to the cobblestones with the butt of his pistol. Jason fell to his hands and knees. Before he could rise, Juan kicked him over onto his back. Once again, the pistol was pointed directly at Jason’s head.
Suddenly, both men were bathed in brilliant light. Keeping the gun on Jason, Juan tried to shield his eyes from the glare of two high-beam headlights. A second later, there was the sound of car doors opening, followed by the ominous sound of shotguns being cocked. Juan backed up several steps like a cornered animal.
“Hold it, Diaz,” called a voice unfamiliar to Jason. It was thick with a South Boston accent. “Don’t do anything stupid. We don’t want trouble with you or Miami. All we want you to do is walk to your car nice and easy and leave. Can you do that?”
Juan nodded. His left hand was still vainly trying to shield his eyes from the light.
“Then do it!” commanded the voice.
After taking two or three uncertain steps backward, Juan turned and fled to his car. He started the engine, gunned it, then roared out of the driveway.
Jason rolled onto his stomach. As soon as Juan left, Carol Donner ran out of the circle of light and dropped to her knees in front of him.
“My God, you’re hurt!” A large bloodstain had formed on Jason’s thigh.
“I suppose,” said Jason vaguely. Too much had happened too quickly. “But it doesn’t hurt too much,” he added.
Another figure emerged from the glare; Bruno came up hefting a pump-action Winchester shotgun.
“Oh, no!” said Jason, trying to sit up.
“Don’t worry,” said Carol. “He knows you’re a friend now.”
At that moment, Shirley appeared on her front porch. Her clothing was disheveled and her hair spiked up like a punk rocker. For a second, she took in the scene. Then she stepped back and slammed the door. Locks were heard being engaged.
“We have to get him to a hospital,” said Carol, pointing to Jason.
A second body-builder appeared. Gingerly they picked Jason up.
“I don’t believe this,” said Jason.
Jason found himself carried behind the glare of the lights. The vehicle turned out to be a white stretch Lincoln with a “V”-shaped TV antenna on the rear deck. The two muscle men eased Jason into the back seat where a man with dark glasses, slicked-back hair, and an unlit cigar was waiting. It was Arthur Koehler, Carol’s boss. Carol jumped in after Jason and introduced him to Arthur. The muscle men got in the front seat and started the limo.
“Am I glad to see you two,” said Jason. “But what in God’s name brought you here?” Jason winced as the car bumped out of the driveway.
“Your voice,” explained Carol. “That last time you called, I knew you were in trouble again.”
“But how did you know I was here in Brookline?”
“Bruno followed you,” said Carol. “After you called, I called my lovable boss here.” Carol slapped Arthur’s leg.
Arthur said, “Cut it out!” It had been his voice that had terrified Juan Diaz.
“I asked Arthur if he would protect you and he said he would under one condition. I have to dance for at least another two months or until he finds a replacement.”
“Yeah, but she got me down to one month,” complained Arthur.
“I’m very grateful,” said Jason. “Are you really going to stop dancing, Carol?”
“She’s a goddamn brat,” said Arthur.
“I’m amazed,” said Jason. “I didn’t think girls like you could stop whenever you wanted.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Carol indignantly.
“I’ll tell you what he means,” laughed Arthur, reaching forward and returning Carol’s slap on the thigh. “He thinks you’re a goddamn hooker.” Arthur collapsed into paroxysms of laughter that changed to coughing. Carol had to pound him on the back several times before he got control of himself. “I used to have more fits like that when I lit these things,” said Arthur, holding up his cigar. Then he looked at Jason in the half-light of the car. “You think I would have let her go to Seattle if she were a prostitute? Be reasonable, man.”
“I’m sorry,” Jason said. “I just thought…”
“You thought because I was dancing at the club I was a hooker,” said Carol with somewhat less indignation. “Well, I suppose that’s not entirely unfair. A couple of them are. But most aren’t. For me, it was a great opportunity. My family name isn’t Donner. It’s Kikonen. We’re Finnish and we’ve always had a healthier attitude to nudity than you Americans.”
“And she’s my wife’s sister’s kid,” said Arthur. “So I gave her a job.”
“You two are related?” asked Jason, amazed.
“We don’t like to admit it,” said Arthur, starting to laugh again.
“Come on,” Carol said.
But Arthur continued, saying, “We hate the idea of any of our people going to Harvard. It hurts our image.”
“You’re going to Harvard?” asked Jason, turning to Carol.
“For my doctorate. The dancing covers my tuition.”
“I guess I should have known Alvin would never have lived with your average exotic dancer,” said Jason. “In any case, I’m grateful to you both. God knows what would have happened if you hadn’t come along. I know the police will take care of Shirley Montgomery, but I wish you hadn’t let Juan go.”
“Don’t worry,” said Arthur with a wave of his cigar. “Carol told me what happened in Seattle. He won’t be around for long. But I don’t want trouble with my people in Miami. We’ll deal with Juan through channels or I can give you enough information for the Miami police to pick him up. They’ll have enough stuff on him down there to put him away. Believe me.”
Jason looked at Carol. “I don’t know how I can make it up to you.”
“I have a few ideas,” she said brightly:
Arthur had another laughing fit. When he was finally under control, Bruno lowered the glass to the front compartment.
“Hey, pervert,” he called with a chuckle. “Where do you want us to take you? GHP emergency?”
“Hell, no,” said Jason. “For the moment, I’m a little down on prepaid health care. Take me to Mass General.”
EPILOGUE
Jason had never enjoyed ill health, as the saying goes, but currently he was loving it. He’d been hospitalized for three days following surgery on the wound in his leg. The pain had lessened significantly and the nursing staff at General was superbly competent and attentive. Several of them even remembered Jason as a resident.