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quickly.”
    Steven shook his head. “I’ll make this man
suffer and then I will end his miserable life!” Steven felt blood
rushing to his head at the thought of killing the Scorpion.
    Alberto bit his lip as his face darkened.
“You are acting on your emotions and that means you will fail.
Divorce yourself from all feelings.”
    Steven nodded. “I understand.”
    “I know this goes without saying, but we
never had this conversation. For the sake of my family, swear that
you will never tell anyone we helped. As for me, understand that I
wash my hands of your blood.”
    Steven nodded.
    “You’ll need to go to Chicago to see a man
named Carlo Pontedor, who we call Charlie P. Charlie worked with
the Scorpion. Charlie has never seen him, but he may be able to set
you on the right path. Charlie is our good friend and I’ll tell him
you are coming. May God be with you! Nick will walk you to your
car.”
    Steven thanked Alberto and kissed Bebe on the
cheek before leaving. He almost stumbled, not realizing how much
he’d drunk. Outside, Nick lit a cigarette and paced back and forth
as they waited for the attendant to retrieve Steven’s car.
    “Anything I can do to change your mind?”
    Steven shook his head.
    They waited in silence until the car
arrived.
    Nick gave the valet a ten dollar bill. “I’ll
call you tomorrow and we’ll talk about Chicago.”
    Steven nodded, slid into his Toyota and
rolled down the window. “Thanks, Nick.”
    Nick rolled his eyes. “You’re a pain in the
ass and you’re insane.” Handing Steven a large manila envelope,
Nick continued, “You know who this is from but you can never thank
him.”
    Steven looked at Nick with a puzzled
expression and shook the envelope.
    “Open it,” Nick ordered.
    Steven carefully opened the envelope and saw
a vacuum-sealed freezer bag stuffed with cash. He looked at Nick in
amazement.
    “It’s $75,000,” Nick answered casually.
“You’ll need spending money. Use the cash so you don’t leave a
trail.”
    “Can you get me a gun?” Steven asked.
    Nick sneered. “Get it yourself, hotshot.
While you’re at it, get yourself a new car, too. This piece of shit
is in worse shape than Amanda’s van.” Nick turned and walked back
into the restaurant.
     
    ---------------
     
    Steven finished packing and checked his
voicemail. He had two messages from Detective Johnston, one each
from his mother and sister, and a few from friends and relatives.
Steven had already made arrangements to sell his house and all his
personal property through his brother-in-law, Marco. Other than his
hosts at Peter Luger’s, Marco was the only person who knew Steven’s
plan. Steven had Marco’s blessing and assurances that he would tell
no one.
    Steven grabbed a cold bottle of Budweiser
from the refrigerator, sat down in his recliner, and studied his
airline e-ticket bought using his credit card, which he planned to
max out, knowing that he would be dead before the bill arrived. He
ignored Nick’s advice about using cash; an amateur decision by a
novice hunter. He ran his fingers across the ticket. What am I
doing? he thought . I’m in the food business. Alberto and
Nick were right, this is suicide! Steven picked up a recent
photograph of his wife and daughter taken a few weeks before their
deaths. Amanda wore a maternity bathing suit and Catarina was
kissing her belly. He vividly remembered that wonderful day at the
beach with his family. It was the first time he had introduced his
daughter to the ocean. Steven absentmindedly rubbed the picture,
stroking his wife’s stomach and daughter’s face. He cried.
    The telephone rang and jolted Steven
painfully into the present.
    “Hello,” he answered.
    “Steven, it’s Detective Johnston. I called
earlier. Are you okay?”
    “Yeah, I’m fine,” Steven replied in a
monotone voice. “I just got home and heard your messages.”
    “Have you got a minute? I wanted to update
you on the investigation.”
    “Go