Forty-Four
McNeal passed a sign telling him he was approaching Baltimore. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, Graff.”
“I don’t blame you for thinking I might have ulterior motives. But I’ll say it again: I can keep you alive.”
McNeal stayed quiet.
“If you don’t listen to me, there’s a very good chance you’ll be dead before dawn.”
McNeal drove on, glancing in his rearview mirror. He changed lanes. He spotted the motorbike four cars back from his, keeping in his slipstream. Just as it had been for the last ten miles.
“Are you still there, McNeal?”
“I’m still here.”
“I give you my word. This is not a trap. I want to help you avoid a trap. If you keep driving down that highway, you are dead. Do what I say, and you can live. I just want to meet up and explain a few things. You deserve to have some answers.”
McNeal had to make a snap decision. He suspected it was indeed a trap. But if it was, why would Graff give him a heads-up? He decided to go with it. He had a location in mind.
“You name the place. Where do you want to meet?”
“You need to get onto the Baltimore Beltway.”
“I’m not far away,” Graff said.
“Then take I-70 west until you hit Frederick.”
“I know it well.”
McNeal checked the map on his phone. “After Frederick, get off at Exit 52 and take 15 south toward Jefferson. A town in Maryland. There’s an old gas station three miles past the town.”
“I grew up around there.”
“So, you’re on home turf. One final thing, Graff.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t bring any friends. I’ll be watching you.”
McNeal drove on until he pulled into a truck stop just off the highway in the crummy O’Donnell Heights neighborhood of Baltimore. He scanned the area. The place was crawling with junkies. He got out of his car, making sure it was securely locked. He slung his backpack over his shoulder, the unlicensed Glock hidden in the back of his waistband. He headed to the restroom, splashed some cold water on his face. He gathered his thoughts for a few moments. His heart was racing.
McNeal headed back outside to the parking lot.
A panhandler on the ground called up to him, “Hey, man, you got a spare buck? I’m starving.”
McNeal handed him a five-dollar bill. “Get yourself some soup.”
“Bless you, sir.”
McNeal walked on. He knew the guy with rotting teeth was more likely to get a bag of meth.
“Hey, Jack, hold on!” A shout from behind.
McNeal spun round and saw his brother. “Peter, what’s going on?”
“Sorry to spook you.”
“What the hell, man?”
“I’ve been tailing you.”
“That was you?”
“I lost the tail, so I ditched the battery from my phone and turned around and headed south. I’ve been with you the last few miles.”
“Goddamn.”
Peter sighed as his gaze took in the derelicts. “Nice place to hang out, Jack.”
“I got a call.”
“From who?”
“Graff.”
“What?”
“He wants to meet up.”
“Henry Graff? No fucking way.”
McNeal nodded. “Says he wants to talk.”
“It’s a trap.”
“Maybe. But I don’t think so.”
“How come?”
“The best-laid plans you don’t see coming. This, I see.”
“It could still be a trap.”
“I sense it’s not.”
“You sense? What the hell does that mean? What’s wrong with you?”
McNeal nodded. “Think about it. Would a guy like that do something as crude as ‘let’s meet up’？ Besides, I’ve told him where we should meet up. The diner I told you about near Frederick.”
“I don’t know. The guy sounds nuts. And dangerous.”
“He’s dangerous, alright. There was something about his tone of voice and the fact that he called me that tells me something has changed. Otherwise, why would he tell me I was going to be killed if I continued driving south?”
“It could still be an elaborate plan.”
“It would be overly elaborate. The best plans rely on simplicity.”
“Could be playing a double game. I don’t know.”
McNeal closed his eyes for a moment, his heart racing.
“Jack, it’s not too late to head home. You don’t have to do this. You have nothing to prove.”