Chapter 21
CHAPTER
Soneji checked his watch. Three thirty p.m. He’d gotten to the library around eleven a.m.
He did some calculations in his head and decided to visit his secret little cabin in the Pine Barrens, making some important client visits on the way. He could check the place, take a few shots with the Bulldog, and be hunting for targets by sundown.
He picked up his briefcase, left the library, and headed to the parking lot and his black Saab. As he got in, his big Motorola car phone started ringing. Marty Kasajian, his boss and brother-in-law, had bought the insanely expensive device for him.
Soneji answered, figuring it was Marty, but instead he heard Meredith Kasajian Murphy’s voice say coldly, “Hello, Gary. It’s your wife.”
“Missy?” he said, frowning. “You know this phone is only for work and emergencies.”
“You didn’t call last night, Gary,” Missy said.
“I’m sorry. I was beat after a long day making cold calls and just crashed when I hit the motel. I know I should have called, but the pay phone there was out.”
“You could have used the car phone.”
“And have Marty explode about the charges? Do you know how much this thing costs a minute?”
Missy said, “Marty can afford it for my peace of mind.”
“I hope you’ll be the one telling him that.”
There was a silence, then his wife said, “I’ll do that. When are you coming home? Roni and I want to know.”
Roni was their two-year-old daughter. Wanting to pound the heel of his hand against the side of his head, he replied, “As soon as I make monthly quota on new business, probably dinnertime on Friday.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“I’m going to tell Marty I want you home Friday whether you make quota or not.”
“Good luck with that,” Soneji said and hung up, kind of wishing Missy and Marty were in front of him right now so he could slap his bitch wife silly and kick his dickhead brother-in-law in the nuts.
Marty Kasajian was the kind of guy who’d been born on third base and believed he’d hit a triple.
He’d inherited his family’s booming heating oil and propane company but acted like he was the big entrepreneur who’d built the place.
He’d given Soneji a job, not in computers, but as a traveling salesman, drumming up business along the middle Atlantic Seaboard.
As jobs went, it wasn’t bad. The pay was more than decent. And it allowed him chunks of time to play hooky and try out this private-school-teacher identity. He could spend his days around elite kids, studying them and fantasizing about kidnapping them.
But at the moment, he had more important things to think about. Like where to hunt his next victims.