Gone (Michael Bennett)

of the King. Then I bought some postcards for the kids and, for ten bucks, had my picture taken with a Jack Sparrow pirate look-alike who was walking around.
    I texted the pictures to Mary Catherine:
     
Just me and Johnny on the set. We’re heading over to Tom’s later to do lunch and play some hoops. How’s your day going?
     
    She texted back:
     
Not as good as yours, apparently, Mr. Movie Star. Don’t let all that fame go to your head. ☺
     
    I texted back, for some unknown reason,
     
But you’ll always be my number-one fan, won’t you?
     
    Actually, I did know. I was missing home, as well as the great relationship Mary Catherine and I had had up until pretty recently.
    I knew I’d probably pushed it when she didn’t text back. Then my phone beeped as I was starting the car.
     
?
     
    was Mary Catherine’s reply.

CHAPTER 59
     
    I DECIDED TO HEAD back to Santa Monica and Barney’s Beanery for lunch. In the midst of washing down a slice of white pizza with a pint of Guinness, I received an e-mail from Emily. It was some good news, for a change. Sort of.
    The FBI lab had finally isolated and identified the poisonous white substance found at the two Los Angeles crime scenes. Apparently, it was some kind of weaponized fentanyl, an incredibly powerful narcotic over a hundred times more potent than morphine. The Russian special forces had used a similar offshoot of the extremely toxic drug to gas some Chechen terrorists in a Moscow theater takeover in 2002, and the fentanyl ended up killing 117 people.
    It was chilling to think Perrine had access to such an incredibly sick and deadly weapon, but at least now we had another lead to follow.
    After that not-so-cheery note, I ordered another Guinness and found a booth in the back and decided to call home to see how everyone was doing.
    “Hola,” I heard Seamus say in a bad Spanish accent after the second ring.
    “ Hola? You didn’t just say hola? ” I said.
    “Oh, it’s you,” Seamus said. “Of course I said hola , Michael. It’s called tradecraft, ya know. The art of deception. Even an infirm old man like your grandfather needs to develop some when he’s running for his life. Hola is what you’ve reduced me to. Now, please tell me you’ve finally bagged the devil himself.”
    “Not yet,” I said. “How are you holding up? How are the kids?”
    “Oh, keeping me on my toes, as usual. They’re out there now, playing Wiffle ball with the new fella. What’s his name? Leo.”
    “Leo?” I said, baffled.
    “He’s the tall, nice-looking young fella. The marshal who works the night watch. He just showed up here about an hour ago with a Wiffle ball and a bat and some pizzas. Turns out he pitched in the Astros’ farm system, he did, until he tore something in his shoulder. He’s teaching the boys how to throw sliders. He’s a real wizard, like. I can see Mary Catherine laughing out there right now from the window. She’s having more fun than the kids, looks like.”
    I nodded. Aha. So that was what the question mark was all about.
    “That’s just grand,” I said.
    “’Tis,” Seamus agreed.
    “’Tisn’t, old man. I know your game,” I said. “You want me jealous so I hurry up and catch this guy already so we can all go home.”
    “Now that sounds like a plan, young Michael. Stick with that one,” Seamus said. “Gotta go now. They’re waving to me. It’s my turn to bat.”

CHAPTER 60
     
    DODGER STADIUM
DOWNTOWN LA
     
    RAYMOND BOWIE, ARMS FILLED with beers, had to open the glass door of the luxury suite with his butt in order to get out onto the patio.
    “That’s OK, guys. Really. I got it,” he said sarcastically to the three folks completely ignoring him as they leaned and cheered along the field-side railing.
    “Here, let me help you lighten the load, bro,” his best friend, Kenny Cargill, said, winking as he grabbed a brew for himself and his wife, Annie.
    “Hey, you’re welcome, jackass. Really, anytime,” Ray said, laughing.
    It had been a whopping twelve grand for Ray to rent out the Dodger Stadium luxury suite for opening day, but Kenny was leaving at the end of the month for a finance job on the East Coast. Kenny, Ray’s oldest and best friend, had introduced him to Denise, had helped him to turn his life around. It was the very least he could do.
    Ray’s wife, Denise, was sipping her Coke when they heard the crack. Down on the field. Dodger second baseman Mark Ellis took off as the frozen rope of a line