The Book of Fate - Brad Meltzer [103]
60
Jacksonville, Florida
Nico, maybe we should stop.
“There’s no need.”
But if you don’t rest—
“I’ve been resting for eight years, Edmund. This is the calling,” Nico said, sitting so far forward in the driver’s seat, his chest nuzzled the steering wheel of the giant flatbed. Just behind him in his seat was the balled-up army jacket he’d stolen from the Irish Pub. With Florida’s noon sun burning overhead, winter seemed long gone. He didn’t need the jacket. Or Edmund’s blood, which soaked the front of it.
You’re telling me you’re not tired?
Nico glanced over at Edmund’s lifeless body drooping in the seat next to him. His friend knew him all too well.
You’ve been driving nearly ten hours, Nico. It’s okay to take a break—in fact, it’s necessary, son. Especially if we plan on staying out of sight.
Nico knew what he was getting at. “So you still think—?”
Nico, I don’t care how cautious a driver you are—you take a forty-ton flatbed through the dainty streets of downtown Palm Beach, someone’s gonna bat an eye.
Staring at the wooden rosary beads swaying from the rearview, Nico knew Edmund was right. They’d been lucky so far, but if a cop pulled them over . . . if they were taken into custody . . . No, after all this, the cause was too great. And when they were this close . . . to Wes . . . to Boyle . . . to completing God’s will and delivering the redemption for his mother . . . No, this was no time for risk.
“Tell me what you think is best,” he said, looking to Edmund.
Hard as it is to say, we need to dump the truck and get something that’s a bit less noticeable in traffic.
“That’s fine, but how do we do that?”
How do we do anything, Nico? As the truck hit a divot in the road, Edmund’s head jerked up and back, crashing into the headrest and revealing the bubbling black and red gash across his neck. You look outside your window and search for the opportunity.
Following Edmund’s gaze through the front windshield, Nico searched the blacktop of highway, eventually spotting what his friend was staring at in the distance. The moment he saw it, a broad smile lifted his cheeks.
“You think we should—?”
Of course, we should, Nico. Heed the Book. Why else would God put them there?
Nodding to himself, Nico hit the brakes, and the truck rumbled and shuddered, eventually screeching to a stop right behind a maroon Pontiac on the shoulder of the highway. On the passenger side of the car, a woman with cropped black hair watched as her tank-topped boyfriend fought to change the flat tire on their car.
“You guys need some help?” Nico asked as he hopped out of the cab.
“You from Triple A?” the woman asked.
“No. It just looked like you needed an assist, so we thought we’d pitch in.”
“I actually think I’m done,” the boyfriend said, tightening the last lug nut.
“Wow, a real Good Samaritan,” the woman teased.
“Funny,” Nico replied, stepping into the woman’s personal space. “Though I much prefer the term guardian angel.”
The woman stepped back. But not nearly fast enough.
61
Key West, Florida
Here you go,” the cabdriver says as his bright pink Key West cab jerks to a stop. He’s got thick white sunblock caked all over his nose, and a ratty Shrek beach blanket with the words Can I Get a Whoop Whoop draped over the back of his seat. “Three twenty-seven William Street.”
“You kidding? We barely went three blocks,” Lisbeth barks from our seats in the back. “Why didn’t you just tell us we could walk?”
“You got in the cab,” the driver says, not the least bit riled as he turns up the dial on the Paul & Young Ron radio show. Standard Key West—everything’s sunny. “That’ll be two bucks,” he adds, poking a button on the meter.
“I shouldn’t pay you a single—”
“Thanks for the ride,” I interrupt, tossing three bucks into the front seat. When our helicopter touched down on another private yacht in Key West’s Historic Seaport, we decided that the rest of the trip should be low-key and untraceable. The driver studies my face in his rearview mirror, and I realize we’re already well off course.