Cross

the middle of the mall. Really mess her up. But he loved this little game he’d invented. Red Light, Green Light.
    Half an hour later, he was trying his luck outside the Victoria’s Secret at the nearby Tysons Corner Mall—he got to “one hour” with a dreamy blonde in a “Jersey Girl” T-shirt and short shorts. No luck though, and he was really getting hot and bothered now. He needed a win, needed to get laid, needed an adrenaline hit.
    The next girl he approached had beautiful, shimmering red hair. Great body. Long legs and small, lively tits that moved around in rhythm when she talked. At the “one hour” prompt, she folded her slender arms over her chest. Talk about body language, wow! But Red didn’t walk away from him. Conflicted? Sure. He loved that in a woman.
    “You’re in control the whole time. You choose the hotel or your place. Whatever you want, whatever seems right. It’s all up to you.”
    She looked at him for a moment, silent, and he knew that she was sizing him up—they stared right into your eyes at this point. He could tell that this one trusted her instincts.
It’s all up to you.
Plus, she either wanted, or needed, the thousand dollars. And, of course, he was cute.
    Finally, Red spoke in a quiet voice, because nobody else was supposed to hear this, right? “You have the cash on you?”
    He showed her a roll of hundreds.
    “They all hundreds?” she asked.
    He showed her that they were hundreds. “You mind if I ask you your name?” he said.
    “Sherry.”
    “That your real name?”
    “Whatever,
Jeff.
Let’s go. The clock is running. Your hour’s already begun.”
    And off they went.
    After his hour with Sherry was over, closer to an hour and a half actually, Michael Sullivan didn’t have to give her any money. Not a thousand, not a nickel. All he had to do was show Sherry his picture collection—and a scalpel he had brought along.
    Red Light, Green Light.
    Hell of a game.

Chapter 33
    TWO DAYS AFTER she walked out on us, Nana was back at the house, thank God and the heavenly choir, who had to be watching over us. The whole family, but especially me, had learned a lesson about how much we loved Nana and needed her; how many small, often unnoticed and thankless things she did for us every day; how totally indispensable she was, and the sacrifices she made.
    Not that Nana ever really let us forget her contributions under ordinary circumstances. It was just that she was even better than she thought she was.
    When she waltzed in the kitchen door that morning, she caught Jannie eating Cocoa Puffs and let her have it in her own inimitable style: “My name is Janelle Cross.
I am a substance abuser,
” Nana said.
    Jannie raised both arms over her head in surrender; then she went and emptied the chocolate cereal right into the trash. She looked Nana in the eye, said, “If you’re in a vehicle traveling at the speed of light, what happens when you switch on the headlights?” Then she hugged Nana before she could try to answer the unanswerable.
    I went and hugged Nana too and was smart enough to keep my mouth shut but my powder dry.
    When I got home from work that night, my grandmother was waiting for me in the kitchen. Uh-oh, I thought, but the second she saw me, Nana put her arms out for a hug, which surprised me. “Come,” she said.
    When I was in her arms, she continued, “I’m sorry, Alex. I had no right to run away and leave you all like that. I was in the wrong. I missed all of you as soon as I was in the cab with Abraham.”
    “You had every right —,” I started to say.
    Nana cut me off. “Now don’t argue with me, Alex. For once, quit while you’re ahead.”
    I did as I was told, and shut up.

Chapter 34
    BIG STUFF—NOW HERE WE GO. On Friday morning of that week, at a few minutes past nine o’clock, I found myself all alone in the alcove outside Director Ron Burns’s office on the ninth floor of the Hoover Building, FBI headquarters.
    The director’s assistant, Tony Woods, peeked his round, deceptively cherubic face out of Burns’s outer office.
    “Hey, Alex, there you are. Why don’t you come on in. Good job the other day on Kentucky Avenue. Under the circumstances especially. The director’s been wanting to talk to you about it and some other things he has on his mind. I heard Ned Mahoney’s going to make a full recovery.”
    Terrific job—I almost got myself killed,
I thought as I followed Woods into the inner office. Ned Mahoney got shot in the