Chapter 16 The Catcher in the Rye #2
“No, I closed it because I felt like it. Like I said, I was in the neighbourhood.”
The protective goggles made Mitch look like he’d stepped out of a Jules Verne novel – and made it quite difficult to take him seriously.
Anna switched on a small electric burner and put some water on to boil.
“Your dream – was it this restaurant?” Mitch asked, gazing around the place.
“It might be. One day.” Anna busied herself with grinding the beans.
She handed him a steaming cup of coffee, then began to circle the room slowly, describing how she planned to arrange the dining area, showing Mitch the bar where customers would wait for their table.
“Food pays the bills, but liquor brings in the most money. As soon as I can afford it, I’ll hire a good bartender. Cocktails are all the rage these days. Well, first I have to get all the work finished here. And as you can see, I’ve got my hands full.”
“I’m here to help.”
“That’s very generous of you, but you’ve got a bookshop to run, and that’s what contractors are for. Well, when they bother to show up.”
“I didn’t mean the renovations. I meant the other thing. The trouble your friend mentioned – the chef?”
She froze for a moment, blank-faced, then set her coffee cup down on the very edge of a table. Mitch caught it just before it tipped. A faraway look had come into her eyes, so much so that he felt compelled to wave a hand in front of her face. She didn’t even blink.
“You don’t know anything about my problems,” Anna finally said.
“I don’t need to know. I can be your alibi.”
“For what?”
“I’ll testify that I was with you.”
Recovering herself suddenly, she took a step backward. “What kind of problems do you think I have, exactly?”
“It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, it didn’t happen – because we were together. All we have to do is pick a place, a story. We were walking by the river, maybe, talking about a book or a recipe or” – he brightened – “a cookbook?”
Outside, a street sweeper rumbled past the window. Anna waited for the hissing of its brushes to fade.
“Did you think this all through before coming to see me?”
“I did,” he said.
“Why?”
“Well… because I just did, that’s all.”
Anna took him gently by the arm and led him toward the door. “That might be the kindest thing anyone’s ever offered to do for me, but I can’t accept. I don’t need an alibi. And you’ve already been through enough. I’ll come by the shop for my book as soon as I can, I promise.”
He left. Anna lingered in the doorway and watched him walk away. She would never admit it to anyone, least of all herself, but she was hoping he would turn around.
He didn’t.
Back inside, her eyes landed on the peonies. They were beautiful. Then she spotted the jacket draped over the back of a chair. She grabbed it and burst out into the street.
“Wait!” she cried.
Mitch only walked faster. She ran to catch up and planted herself in front of him, breathless.
“I’m not used to it,” she panted, holding out his jacket.
“To what?”
“What you did for me.”
“The welding?”
“Yes, the welding.” She hesitated, looking for the right words. “I’ll come by the bookshop tonight, when I’m done here. We can take that walk by the river, like you said. If the offer still stands.”
“If you’d really like to…?”
“I really would.”
“Then I’ll see you tonight.” Mitch grinned.
* * *
He hadn’t only taken the day off for Anna.
He’d gone to see her first thing that morning, in case the rest of the day didn’t unfold in the way he hoped.
If she’d accepted his help, the future might have been different.
Now, after a quick stop at the bookshop, he limped through the pouring rain to the courthouse.
On Fridays, Salinas usually left around noon; he never worked on Friday afternoons, something Mitch had learned during his reconnaissance missions.
The dark blue sedan was parked on the second underground level of the parking garage, roughly twenty metres from the elevator.
Even as he was making his way down the street, a quiet voice in the back of his mind told him he was making a huge mistake.
That he’d met someone who mattered. That Anna was unlike anyone he’d ever known.
That when he looked at her, he saw a life he hadn’t guessed he was missing.
And that if he was going to risk everything, it should be for her, not to satisfy a desire for revenge.
But the voice wasn’t loud enough to bring him to his senses, or to calm the rage burning inside him.
In order to avoid the camera mounted above the garage entrance, Mitch went through the courthouse, crossing the lobby and taking the stairs down to the second underground floor.
The parking garage seemed darker than usual. He checked his watch: fifteen minutes to go. Two concrete columns offered him just enough cover to catch Salinas off guard. He chose the one closest to the dark blue sedan. Once he leapt out, the prosecutor would have no chance of escaping.
From the inside pocket of his jacket, he drew out the telescopic baton he’d retrieved from the shop.
When retracted, it was barely fifteen centimetres long, but one sharp flick of the wrist was all it took to deploy it to its full length.
A weapon like this could fracture a femur or tibia, snap a collarbone or an arm, shatter a jaw – and a well-placed blow to the kidneys or the base of the neck could be lethal.
He tightened his grip on the weapon, flattened himself against the column, and waited for his prey.
Ten minutes later, the prosecutor appeared in his navy suit, briefcase in hand, striding briskly toward the sedan. Mitch deployed the club. The sharp metallic click echoed across the garage. Salinas stopped in his tracks.
“Is someone there?”
Mitch held his breath. Sweat trickled down his forehead. His shirt clung to his back. Salinas started walking again. Passed the column. Mitch watched him approach his car, heart pounding.
Just as he was about to strike, a terrible sound split through his skull – so loud that he thought his eardrums might burst. It was the same sound he’d heard in prison when the Sergeant was beating him, the sickening sound of his leg snapping, which had been replaying in his head ever since, torturing him.
The prosecutor opened his car door. Mitch didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t even breathe.
As the sedan’s engine rumbled to life, Mitch retracted the baton and slid it back in his pocket. He waited for the sedan to disappear up the ramp before turning and walking away.
This wasn’t finished. One day, Salinas would see death coming for him. One day, he would know real fear.