The Thousand - Kevin Guilfoile [133]
It turned dark and Denny drove mostly in silence. Wayne wanted to sleep but knew he couldn’t. Denny took more pills. They passed the Grand Island exit, and Wayne thought it could be a casino name, the Grand Island Resort, and a series of comforting images from home—his apartment, his office, laser tag with Peter, the In-and-Out Burger off Tropicana—started him drifting, head bobbing, but he shook himself awake and picked up the gun. He didn’t think he could fall asleep with a gun in his hand.
“You married, Denny?” Wayne asked.
Denny considered it. “You could call it that. State of Illinois does.”
“You live in Chicago?”
“Yeah.”
“Your house have power?”
“Apparently. Don’t call home often. Wife don’t say much when I do.”
“Sorry.”
“You know them trucker hags I was talking about? Iris’d be one of those. She’d be on the CB right now, wavin’ ’em on off the highway right into bed. She’s had so many truckers on toppa her, she’s like a goddamn weigh station.”
Wayne wasn’t sure it was a punch line, so he didn’t laugh.
Across the miles into Iowa, Wayne heard the litany of wrongs done to Denny by his wife, Iris. She had cheated on him, abused him mentally and physically, borne children by other men, cuckolded him—he actually used the word cuckolded—stolen from him, made a fool of him, blackmailed him, spied on him, called the police on him, set his motorcycle on fire. Denny hadn’t done anything to deserve this, and he admitted that he loved her once, and even started to cry again as he described their first dates together, back in high school—going to the movies, playing miniature golf, and necking down by the lake.
“I’ve been around some rough characters and I know a few who seem crazy enou—” He stopped. “I know a handful who probably have what it takes to do it. But it seems like every time you turn on the TV there’s some stupid moron tried to hire somebody like that and the person they thought would do the job calls the police and wears a wire, and it just seems like a good way to get caught.”
What the fuck? Wayne thought. “Denny, stop it,” Wayne said.
“I’ve thought a lot about this,” Denny said, and Wayne believed him. “I got about seven grand in a safe, unless she’s been dippin’ in it. Make it look like a robbery and get paid at the same time.”
“Denny, get a divorce.”
“The guy’d do his thing, cutting and shooting and whatnot. Then open the safe. There’s almost seven grand cash in there from some off-the-book jobs I didn’t want Uncle Sam to know about. He could take it and be on his merry getaway. I’d come home and report a robbery and I’ll boo hoo hoo. No one’s the wiser.”
“Bad idea, Denny,” Wayne said.
Mile markers rolled by far below the cab. Wayne didn’t think he’d ever been this high above the road. It was almost like flying. He turned on the AM radio and tried to find some news. After about twenty minutes, he heard a story about the crisis in Chicago. Cooling centers had been set up across the city. Eight hospitals had closed, and the ones that were open were overcrowded and chaotic. A man had been shot in the ER of Stroger Hospital when he wouldn’t give up his seat. There was pressure on the Commonwealth Edison CEO to resign. A spokeswoman asked for patience. The mayor was urging everyone to check on elderly relatives and neighbors. An expert came on and compared the disaster in Chicago to a hurricane hitting a coastal city. “We might see the death toll rising very suddenly, exponentially, if the power doesn’t come back on soon,” he said.
“You mind if I ask you?” Denny said.
“Ask me what?”
“Why you did it?”
“Why I did what?” Wayne wasn’t even sure what they were saying about him on the news.
“You know.” Denny had some balls to come out and ask a stranger to kill his wife, but he seemed afraid to be too forward with Wayne. “How you got here. You know, wanted and on the run and like that.”
Wayne slid down in his seat so he could just see the crest of the road on the dim horizon.
“A girl,” he said.
49
SOME 41,000 FEET over