Tick Tock (Michael Bennett 4)

Now it was time to edit it, clean it up, and polish, polish, polish.

As the images fast-forwarded and rewound, he thought of his school years at Lawrenceville, the premier boarding school near Princeton.

A pudgy and slow child, he had been enrolled by his father at the über-preppy institution in order to make a gentleman out of him. But it didn’t work out. Quite the contrary. By the time Berger entered ninth grade, his physique, unique artistic sensibilities, and uncommon interests had actually earned him an alliterative nickname that had caught on famously: Big Bellied Bizarro Berger.

He was seriously considering suicide for his fifteenth birthday, when he unexpectedly made a friend. His new roommate, Javier Souza, a diminutive boy from a wealthy Brazilian family, not only called him by his Christian name, but he turned out to share some of his strange, dark interests.

It was actually Javier who dared him to burn down the school library during the freshman class movie night the week before Christmas break. Wanting to prove his mettle, Berger had purchased a case of lighter fluid as well as some lengths of chain and padlocks to bar the building’s exits.

If the suspicious owner of the Ace Hardware store in town hadn’t contacted the headmaster, he would have gone through with his plan of wiping out the entire Lawrenceville class of ’68. Instead, he was expelled, and if it hadn’t been for a hasty and hefty donation by his father to the school, there might have been criminal charges.

Coulda, woulda, shoulda, Berger thought wistfully. He’d had such passion then. If it hadn’t been for the hand of fate, he would become famous then. He would have instantly transformed from Big Bellied Bizarro Berger to The Boy Who Killed the Class of ’68!

It was, of course, that singular near brush with greatness that drove him on his little project now. After all the failure and misery and confusion that had clouded his life, he’d finally, miraculously, gotten his gumption back.

In the light of the TV screen, he dabbed at a joyful tear as he watched the bomb get glued to the library desk.

What he had done already, the sheer wondrousness of it, no one could ever take away. No matter what happened next, he had triumphed.

Berger had finally done something that was truly his.

Chapter 49

THOUGH IT WAS ONLY NINE A.M., I felt punch-drunk by the time I pulled up in front of Madison Square Garden on Seventh Avenue to pick up Agent Parker at Penn Station. Horns honked as I blatantly and highly illegally sat in my cruiser in a no-standing tow zone, washing down a bagel with a Big Gulp–size coffee.

As the loud, cruel world rushed by the window, I slowly went over what had happened with the Flaherty

s the night before. Talk about fireworks! I’d broken a few laws there, hadn’t I? Improper use of my firearm was a firing offense. Assault was a felony. But I guess the strangest thing about it was that it seemed to have worked. I’d finally spoken to Flaherty in the only language he seemed to understand. Why hadn’t I just threatened his life from the get-go?

I shook my head. I’d actually out-crazied a Westie. Was that a good thing? I wasn’t sure. Probably not.

The grind of the case wasn’t exactly doing wonders for my mental well-being, was it? I needed a vacation. Oh, wait. I was already on one.

I flipped through the Post. On page three, a state senator from Manhattan warned that the NYPD had five more days to catch the culprit before he made a motion that the state police be sent in.

Sounded good to me, I thought, licking my thumb and turning the page. I would be more than happy to let a trooper from Schenectady take a shot at cracking the case. In addition to the mayor, the papers, and the department top brass, I was almost starting to want me off this case, too.

I knew the odds were we’d eventually catch up to this monster. I’d caught up to every one of them so far. I knew I should believe the numbers on the back of my baseball card, and yet I was getting very worried.

Especially about Angela Cavuto.

There had been no word yet from her kidnapper, no demands. No news was definitely not good news. The one bright spot was the new sketch of the kidnapper the department artist had made with the help of Mr. Cavuto. They’d red-balled it to the Public Info Division this morning to get it out on the newscasts, so maybe we had a shot. How much of one, I wasn’t sure. But at least it was a start.

After another few minutes, I checked the time on my phone and got out of the car, leaving it right in the middle of the Seventh Avenue bus lane. If I got towed, maybe they’d let me get back to my vacation, I thought, as I took the escalator from the sidewalk down into Penn Station.

I really didn’t think anything could cut through my darkening mood until I saw Emily Parker’s smile and wave on the crowded underground train platform. She looked even better than I remembered, tall and porcelain-skinned, her eyes as bright and blue as ever. Her neatness and earnestness and energy were contagious. I think I actually smiled back as we came face-to-face.

We hugged, and she even gave me a peck on the cheek. Not exactly FBI protocol. It felt good.

“Finally some backup,” I said, grabbing her bag. “Honestly, Emily, you are a sight for these sore eyes.”

“It’s nice to see you, too, Mike,” she said giving my hand another squeeze. “It really is. I’m glad I came. You look great.”

“Yeah, real GQ, I’m sure,” I said, rolling my eyes “The bags under my eyes are bigger than your overnight.”

“But such handsome luggage,” she said, giving my cheek a playful tug.

I grinned back at her like a fool. Demonstrative attention from good-looking women was never a bad thing. Our reunion was off on the right foot. So far, so good.