Dead Man's Time

the floor, crying in pain and terror, holding his hands in the air, in front of his face as if they could stop the next bullet.
    ‘Gavin!’ Rosenblaum said. ‘Stop, man! Have you gone crazy?’ He took another step towards his desk.
    Daly pointed the gun at Rosenblaum. ‘Don’t move.’
    He swung the gun back at Pollock.
    ‘No, for God’s sake, no. Please. Oh God, no!’ Pollock squealed, crabbing his way across the carpet on his back.
    Daly took careful aim at Pollock’s crotch. ‘This one’s for Aileen.’
    ‘No!’ he screeched. ‘Please no, please no, please no!’
    He fired straight into the dark stain.
    Pollock let out an animal howl. He sat up straight, his face contorted, his hands pressing desperately at his groin, his whole body convulsing; a low yammering, which was getting louder and
louder every second, came from somewhere deep inside his throat.
    ‘Jesus Christ, Gavin!’ Rosenblaum said.
    He pointed the gun at Lucas. ‘We’re out of here, son.’
    Lucas was frozen to the spot.
    Gavin Daly walked across to the door, swinging the gun towards his son and then Julius Rosenblaum, then his son again. ‘I’m sorry, Julius, sorry it had to be here.’
    Pollock’s screams were almost deafening now.
    Daly reached the door, still keeping Rosenblaum motionless with his gun. Then he looked down at Pollock, sheet white, his face a contorted, agonized, clammy mass of perspiration, his eyes
rolling; he was breathing in short, fast gasps, still clutching his groin, his hands covered in blood.
    ‘Have fun next time you try to screw someone, Pollock.’ Then he pointed the gun at his son, who was holding the chart and looking like a rabbit caught in headlights. ‘You,
you’re coming with me.’
    Then he threw the gun on the floor. ‘I’m done with it,’ he said. ‘Maybe my dad sent it to me for a purpose. I don’t know. But I’m done with it.’
    Followed by Lucas, Gavin Daly stomped past the secretary, who looked frozen in shock, out and into the elevator.
    ‘Dad, this is insane!’ Lucas said as the elevator clanked its way down. ‘Have you lost your fucking mind?’
    ‘Just shut the fuck up. I’ve not even started with you yet, boy.’
    Lucas Daly said nothing. When they reached the ground floor, Gavin stepped out into the busy street.
    The black Town Car limousine was right outside. The driver jumped out as they emerged, and held the back door open.
    Lucas climbed in first, then slid across the wide seat.
    ‘How’s your day been so far, sir?’ the driver asked, taking the cane, helpfully, as Gavin Daly lowered himself onto the seat.
    ‘Pretty average,’ he replied.

113
    Inside the car, Gavin heard a siren. Anxiously, he looked over his shoulder through the darkened rear window. To his relief it was an ambulance, not a police car. Moments later
it went wailing past.
    ‘Driver, go two blocks, make a right, then stop where you can,’ he instructed.
    ‘You realize what you’ve done, Dad,’ Lucas said, peering back anxiously at the door to Julius Rosenblaum’s offices. ‘Shit, you know what kind of a mess you’re
in?’
    ‘Give me that chart.’
    ‘Why did you do that? Why?’
    ‘You want to know why? Because I might not live much longer and I don’t trust the justice system. I’m satisfied now; I’ve got some justice for Aileen. Some, at least.
Give me that chart,’ he said again.
    Lucas handed it to him, and he scrutinized it carefully. Then he pulled out the Patek Philippe watch, and studied that for some moments, before returning to the chart.
    The limousine made a right turn, then pulled over to the kerb. Gavin Daly, keeping a weather eye on his son, leaned forward and said to the driver, ‘You have any kind of internet
connection in here?’
    ‘Got my iPhone, sir.’
    ‘I want you to look up scuba-diving companies in Manhattan for me.’ Gavin Daly pulled out his wallet and handed the man two fifty-dollar bills.
    ‘That’s not necessary, sir, but thank you. Scuba-diving companies, you say?’
    ‘Please.’
    The driver picked his phone off the seat beside him and began tapping. In the distance, Gavin Daly heard another siren, followed by another. Both of them stopped a short distance away. Then he
heard another.
    ‘Got a whole list here!’ the driver said, and passed the phone to him.
    Daly ran his eyes down them. One in particular stood out for him.
Hudson Scuba. Lessons on our own dive boat, moored in central Manhattan.
    ‘Call them for me,