Twisted: The Collected Stories (44 page)

“By then I was going crazy. I hadn’t seen Allison for weeks. Jesus, had he sent her off to a convent or something?”

Serenity returned to his face. “Then she gave me a signal. I was hiding in the bushes in a little park across the street, watching the house with binoculars. I just wanted to
see
her is all. I wanted to know she was all right. She must’ve seen me because she
lifted the shade all the way up. Oh, man, there she was! The light was behind her and it made her hair glow. Like those things, you know, gurus see.”

“Auras.”

“Right, right. She was in a nightgown, and I could just see the outline of her body beneath it. She looked like an angel. I was like I was gonna have a heart attack, it was such an incredible thing. There she was, telling me she was all right and she missed me. Then the shade went down and she shut the light out.

“I spent the next week planning. I was running out of money. Thanks again to Thomas Morgan. He’d put out the word to all the factories in town and nobody’d hire me. I added up what I had and it wasn’t much. Maybe twelve hundred bucks. I figured it’d get us to Florida. Give me a chance to find work with a printer and Allison could get a job in a hospital.”

Then Manko laughed. He studied me critically. “I can be honest with you, Frank. I feel I’m close to you.”

So I was no longer Frankie boy. I’d graduated. My pulse quickened and I was moved.

“Fact is, I look tough. Am I right? But I get scared. Real scared. I never saw any action. Grenada, Panama, Desert Storm. I missed ’em all, you know what I’m saying? I was never
tested.
I always wondered what I’d do under fire. Well, this was my chance. I was going to rescue Allison. I was going up against the old man himself.

“I called his company and told his secretary I was a reporter from
Ohio Business
magazine. I wanted
to do an interview with Mr. Morgan. We tried to find a time he could see me. I couldn’t believe it—she bought the whole story. She told me he’d be in Mexico on business from the twentieth through the twenty-second of July. I made an appointment for August 1, then hung up fast. I was worried somebody was tracing the call.

“On July twentieth I staked out the house all day. Sure enough, Morgan left with his suitcase at ten in the morning and didn’t come back that night. There was a security car parked in the driveway and I figured one of the goons was inside the house. But I’d planned on that. At ten it started to rain. Just like now.” He nodded toward the window. “I remember hiding in the bushes, real glad about the overcast. I had about a hundred feet of exposed yard to cover and the security boys would’ve spotted me for sure in the moonlight. I managed to get to the house without anybody seeing me and hide beneath this holly tree while I caught my breath.

“Then it was dues time, Frank. I leaned against the side of the house, listening to the rain and wondering if I’d have the guts to go through with it.”

“But you did.”

Manko grinned boyishly and did a decent Pacino gangster impersonation. “I broke in through the basement, snuck up to her room and busted her out of the joint.

“We didn’t take a suitcase or anything. We just got out of there fast as we could. Nobody heard us. The security guy was in the living room but he’d fallen asleep watching the
Tonight Show.
Allison and I, we got into my car and we hit the highway.
Man,
Easy Rider.
We were free! On the road, just her and me. We’d escaped. We were on that adventure Allison’d always wanted. At last, we were both happy.

“I headed for the interstate, driving sixty-two, right on the button, because they don’t arrest you if you’re doing just seven miles over the limit. It’s a state police rule, I heard somewhere. I stayed in the right lane and pointed that old Dodge east-southeast. Didn’t stop for anything. Ohio, West Virginia, Virginia, North Carolina. Once we started crossing borders, I felt better. Her father was sure to come home from his trip right away and call the local cops but whether they’d get the highway patrol in, I had my doubts. I mean, he’d have some explaining to do—about how he kept his daughter a prisoner and everything.” Manko shook his head. “But you know what I did?”

From the rueful look on his face I could guess. “You underestimated the enemy.”

Manko shook his head. “Thomas Morgan,” he mused. “I think he must’ve been a godfather or something.”

“I suppose they have them in Ohio too.”

“He had friends everywhere. Virginia troopers, Carolina, everywhere! Money is power, we were saying. We were heading south on Route Twenty-one, making for Charlotte, when I ran into ’em. I went into a 7-Eleven to buy some food and beer and what happens but there’re some good ole boys right there, Smoky hats and everything, asking the clerk about a couple on the run from Ohio. I mean,
us!
I managed to get out without them seeing us and we peeled rubber
outta there, I’ll tell you. We drove for a while but by then it was almost dawn and I figured we better lay low for the day.

“I pulled into a big forest preserve. We spent the whole day together, lying there, my arms around her, her head on my chest. We just lay in the grass beside the car and I told her stories about places we’d travel to. The Philippines, Thailand, California. And I told her what life’d be like in Florida too.”

He looked at me with a grave expression on his taut face. “I could’ve had her, Frank. You know what I’m saying? Right there. On the grass. The insects buzzing around us. You could hear this river, a waterfall, nearby.” Manko’s voice fell to a murmur. “But it wouldn’t’ve been right. I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted us to be in our own place, in Florida, in our bedroom, married. That sounds old-fashioned, I know. You think that was stupid of me? You don’t think so, do you?”

“No, Manko, it’s not stupid at all.” Awkwardly I looked for something to add. “It was good of you.”

He looked forlorn for a minute, perhaps regretting, stupid or wise, his choosing to keep their relationship chaste.

“Then,” he said, smiling devilishly, “things got hairy. At midnight we headed south again. This car passed us then hit the brakes and did a U-ie. Came right after us. Morgan’s men. I turned off the highway and headed east over back roads. Man, what a drive! One-lane bridges, dirt roads. Zipping through small towns. Whoa, Frankie boy, I had four wheels treading air! It was fan-
tastic.
You should’ve seen it. There must’ve been twenty cars after us. I managed
to lose ’em but I knew we couldn’t get very far, the two of us. I figured we better split up.

“I knew that part of the state pretty good. Had a couple buddies in the service from Winston-Salem. We’d go hunting and stayed in this old, abandoned lodge near China Grove. Took some doing but I finally found the place.

“I pulled up and made sure it was empty. We sat in the car and I put my arm around her. I pulled her close and told her what I decided—that she should stay here. If her father got his hands on her, it’d be all over. He’d send her away for sure. Maybe even brainwash her. Don’t laugh. Morgan’d do it. Even his own flesh and blood. She’d hide out here and I’d lead ’em off for a ways. Then . . .”

“Yes?”

“I’d wait for him.”

“For Morgan? What were you going to do?”

“Have it out with him once and for all. One-on-one, him and me. Oh, I don’t mean kill him. Just show him he wasn’t king of the universe. Allison begged me not to. She knew how dangerous he was. But I didn’t care. I knew he’d never leave us alone. He was the devil. He’d follow us forever if I didn’t stop him. She begged me to take her with me but I knew I couldn’t. She had to stay. It was so clear to me. See, Frank, that’s what love is, I think. Not being afraid to make a decision for someone else.”

Manko, the rough-hewn philosopher.

“I held her tight and told her not to worry. I told her how there wasn’t enough room in my heart for all the love I felt for her. We’d be together again soon.”

“Was it safe there, you think?”

“The cabin? Sure. Morgan’d never find it.”

“It was in China Grove?”

“Half hour away. On Badin Lake.”

I laughed. “You’re kidding me?”

“You know it?”

“Sure I do. I used to go skinny-dipping there eons ago.” I nodded that it was a good choice. “Hard to spot those cabins on the western shore.”

“It’s a damn pretty place too. You know, I was driving off and I looked back and I remember thinking how nice it’d be if that was our house and there Allison’d be in the doorway waiting for me to come home from work.”

Manko rose and walked to the window. He gazed through his reflection into the wet night.

“After I left I drove to a state road. I pulled right in front of them and made like I was heading back to her, but really leading the hounds off, you know. But they caught me . . . man, everybody. Cops, the security boys . . . and Morgan himself.

“He stormed up to me, all pissed off, red in the face. He threatened me. And then he begged me to tell him where she was hiding. But I just looked back at him. I didn’t say a word. And all his bucks, all his thugs . . . nothing. Money’s power, sure, but so is love. I didn’t even
have
to fight him. He looked me in the eyes and he knew that I’d won. His daughter loved me, not him. Allison was safe. We’d be together, the two of us. We’d beat Thomas Morgan—tycoon, rich son of a bitch, and father of the most beautiful woman on earth. He just turned around and walked back to his limo. End of story.”

Silence fell between us. It was nearly midnight and I’d been here for over three hours. I stretched. Manko paced slowly, his face aglow with anticipation. “You know, Frank, a lot of my life hasn’t gone the way I wanted it to. Allison’s either. But one thing we’ve got is our love. That makes everything okay.”

“A transcendent love.”

A ping sounded and I realized that Manko’d touched his cup to mine once again. We emptied them. He looked out the window into the black night. The rain had stopped and a faint moon was evident through the clouds. A distant clock started striking twelve. He smiled. “Time to go meet her, Frank.”

A solid rap struck the door, which swung open suddenly. I was startled and stood.

Manko turned calmly, the smile still on his face.

“Evening, Tim,” said a man of about sixty. He wore a rumpled brown suit. From behind him several sets of eyes peered at Manko and me.

It rankled me slightly to hear the given name. Manko’d always made it clear that he preferred his nickname and considered the use of Tim or Timothy an insult. But tonight he didn’t even notice; he smiled. There was silence for a moment as another man, wearing a pale blue uniform, stepped into the room with a tray, loaded it up with the dirty dishes.

“Enjoy it, Manko?” he asked, nodding at the tray.

“Ambrosia,” he said, lifting a wry eyebrow toward me.

The older man nodded then took a blue-backed document from his suit jacket and opened it. There
was a long pause. Then in a solemn Southern baritone he read, “Timothy Albert Mankowitz, in accordance with the sentence pronounced against you pursuant to your conviction for the kidnapping and murder of Allison Kimberly Morgan, I hereby serve upon you this death warrant issued by the governor of the State of North Carolina, to be effected at midnight this day.”

The warden handed Manko the paper. He and his lawyer had already seen the faxed version from the court and tonight he merely glanced with boredom at the document. In his face I noted none of the stark befuddlement you almost always see in the faces of condemned prisoners as they read the last correspondence they’ll ever receive.

“We got the line open to the governor, Tim,” the warden drawled, “and he’s at his desk. I just talked to him. But I don’t think . . . I mean, he probably won’t intervene.”

“I told you all along.” Manko said softly, “I didn’t even want those appeals.”

The execution operations officer, a thin, businesslike man who looked like a feed-and-grain clerk, cuffed Manko’s wrists and removed his shoes.

The warden motioned me outside and I stepped into the corridor. Unlike the popular conception of a dismal, Gothic death row, this wing of the prison resembled an overly lit Sunday school hallway. His head leaned close. “Any luck, Father?”

I lifted my eyes from the shiny linoleum. “I think so. He told me about a cabin on Badin Lake. Western shore. You know it?”

The warden shook his head. “But we’ll have the
troopers get some dogs over there. Hope it pans out,” he added, whispering, “Lord, I hope that.”

So ended my grim task on this grim evening.

Prison chaplains always walk the last hundred feet with the condemned but rarely are they enlisted as a last-ditch means to wheedle information out of the prisoners. I’d consulted my bishop and this mission didn’t seem to violate my vows. Still, it was clearly a deceit and one that would trouble me, I suspected, for a long time. Yet it would trouble me less than the thought of Allison Morgan’s body lying in an unconsecrated grave, whose location Manko adamantly refused to reveal—his ultimate way, he said, of protecting her from her father.

Allison Kimberly Morgan—stalked relentlessly for months after she dumped Manko following their second date. Kidnapped from her bed then driven through four states with the FBI and a hundred troopers in pursuit. And finally . . . finally, when it was clear that Manko’s precious plans for a life together in Florida would never happen, knifed to death while—apparently—he held her close and told her how there wasn’t enough room in his heart for all the love he felt for her.

Until tonight her parents’ only consolation was in knowing that she’d died quickly—her abundant blood in the front seat of his Dodge testified to that. Now there was at least the hope they could give her a proper burial and in doing so offer her a bit of the love that they may—or may not—have denied her in life.

Manko appeared in the hallway, wearing disposable paper slippers the condemned wear to the execution
chamber. The warden looked at his watch and motioned him down the corridor. “You’ll go peaceful, won’t you, son?”

Manko laughed. He was the only one here with serenity in his eyes.