“All those guns out there against the wall,” Todd said. “I assume you’ve got more than enough ammo?”
“Yes. And Tully had another flamethrower. It’s upstairs in one of the offices. We can take that, too.”
“We should probably go sooner rather than later,” Kate said. “No sense waiting around till nightfall.”
“Kate,” Bruce said. “We’re gonna need you to stay here.”
“No. I can help.”
“You can help here.”
“No.”
“Kate.” Todd put a hand on her shoulder. “He’s right. Someone needs to stay here with Molly and the kids.”
“Brendan can stay.”
“Brendan knows the town. It makes no sense leaving him here when he could be more helpful to us out there.”
“Brendan’s not going anywhere,” Molly said. “He’s staying right here with me.”
“See?” Kate said. “Brendan’s not going to want to leave her.”
As if summoned by the repeated mention of his name, Brendan appeared in the doorway. “What about me?” he said, popping the last of a hot dog into his mouth. Charlie and Cody scampered into the room, looking more contented than they had when they’d left.
“They’re talking crazy, Brendan,” Molly said. “They’re talking about sending you out there!”
Around a mouthful of hot dog, Brendan cocked an eyebrow and said, “Huh?”
“Todd’s computer,” Bruce explained. “It’s back at the Pack-N-Go, Brendan. The three of us have to go get it.”
“Out there? At the Pack-N-Go? But Tully said the square—”
“I know what Tully said,” Bruce barked, “and he was nowhere near the square when he died an hour ago. If Todd’s computer actually still works, we can use it to contact the outside world.”
“It’s our only chance of getting out of here,” Todd added.
“But what if it doesn’t work?” Molly demanded. “The three of you will be going out there and risking your lives for nothing.”
“Come on, Molly,” Bruce said. “It’s our only shot.”
Molly looked pleadingly at Brendan. “Bren…”
“It makes sense, Molly.” But Brendan didn’t sound too confident.
“We’re gonna need the guns,” Bruce told Brendan. “And Tully’s extra ’thrower, too.”
“Like, now? We’re going now?”
“Brendan!” Molly cried, cradling her belly, in case Brendan had somehow forgotten about the state she was in.
“We should go soon,” said Bruce. “But first I want us all to go upstairs so I can show everyone here what to do with the computer once we bring it back.”
“Why won’t you just do it yourself, Bruce?” Brendan asked…but then turned his eyes down toward the floor when he realized the motive behind Bruce’s suggestion.
“All right,” Bruce said, adjusting his gear belt. “Everyone upstairs. You, too, Molly.”
“It’s simple, really,” said Bruce. They were all crowded around the desk in the computer room while Bruce held up a rectangular black box. “This is the modem. I assume we all know at least the fundamentals about computers and how the Internet works?”
“Not me,” said Cody. Some tired laughter circulated around the group. Cody smiled uncertainly, embarrassed.
“Look.” Bruce pointed to a thick white cable that trailed from the rear of the black box and into the wall behind the desk. “The modem’s already hooked up to the fiber optics. It can also be connected to a power source—a battery—to give it juice. Watch.” He plugged a brick-sized battery into the modem. Lights lit up on the modem’s faceplate. “See those lights? That means you’re in business. If you’ve got no lights, you’ve got no power.
“When we’ve got the computer, we hook that to another power source”—he waved one arm at the shelves across the room, laden with, among other things, portable batteries—“then connect the computer to the modem with another cable. Okay, watch again—I’ll show you.” He demonstrated with the laptop that was already on the desk. “From there, with any luck, it’ll be no different from logging onto the Internet from your home computer. Any questions?”
“Seems too good to be true,” said Brendan.
Bruce rolled his heavy shoulders. “As long as we’re able to get the computer back here, plugging it in and dialing it out should be a piece of cake.”
“Yummy,” Cody said. Kate smiled and rubbed the girl’s head.
“Just one more thing,” Todd said. They all looked at him. “The operating system on my laptop is password-protected.”
“Good thinking,” Bruce said. “What is it?”
“Turbodogs,” Todd said. He offered them all a meager grin. “It’s my son’s favorite cartoon. About a bunch of dogs who race cars.”
Young Charlie nodded and quite matter-of-factly said, “Yeah, that’s a good show.”
Todd’s grin widened. “So I’ve been told.”
“Anyway, Kate was right,” Bruce said. “No sense sitting around here wasting time. You two good to go?”
“Good to go,” Todd said.
“Good to go,” Brendan said, too. Yet his eyes, which never left Molly’s, told a different truth.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
In the gloom of the hallway outside the computer room, Todd sat on the floor with his back against the wall, loading fresh rounds into magazines. He could hear the others talking in hushed tones farther down the hall in one of the offices.
Setting the gun down, he managed to wrangle his wallet from his pants without having to stand up. He opened it. The folded racing form was still inside—the racing form that was stained with his blood.
It was a winning ticket, the one that had ended his unfathomable losing streak. That one race had been his last chance, knowing that it would be all or nothing, and that he had no other choice. He’d bet to win, the name of the horse—Justin Case—almost prophetic in its allusion to his son. And it had seemed God was smiling down on him that sunny afternoon, because the motherfucker had won, had come in first. Todd had not only won enough money to pay back Andre Kantos, but would also have some left over for the next few months’ rent. Needless to say, Todd had been flying high when he left the Atlantic City Race Course.
Kantos and his men had picked him up in the parking lot of the track. They were leaning against his car, four or five of them, each only uglier and angrier than the next. He’d already had a few run-ins with Kantos’s men, the most recent one outside a Manhattan bistro where two of them smacked him around a little bit—a run-in that had hurt his pride and his conscience more than his face and ribs. But he knew Andre Kantos meant business; he wasn’t going to be able to put him off for too much longer.
Todd had paused in the parking lot when he saw Kantos and his men leaning against his car. The sun was already setting, the sky the color of ripening fruit on the horizon, and his shadow was stretched out long and skinny on the gravel before him.
“This is where I find you,” Kantos said, peeling himself off Todd’s car. He was stocky with large meat-hook hands and a face like a patchwork quilt. His thinning hair was the color of steel wool, greased back off his Neanderthal brow. A diamond stud earring winked at Todd, catching what remained of the sunlight. “You owe me a shitload of money, Curry, and this is where I find you?”
“I was gonna call you tonight, Andre,” he said.
“Well, shit.” Kantos smiled—a grim Halloween pumpkin smile. “I must be a fuckin’ psychic, huh?”
“I’ve got your money.” He’d produced the cashier’s check with the racetrack logo in the corner. One of Kantos’s men came over to him, plucked the check from his fingers, and nearly pressed his beaky nose to it as he examined it. Todd also showed him the racing form. “See? I’ve got it.”