A PERFECT RENDEZVOUS

Trustee

Harry's elderly next-door neighbors, the Eldridge twins, were seated upon the swing on their front porch, a favorite vantage point that enabled them to observe most of their neighbors' activities along a four-block stretch of Elm Street. At the moment, the two spinsters were watching Harry toss his overnight bag into the back seat of the Blazer.

"Good morning, Harry," Flossie Eldridge called out, and Harry jerked around, startled to find that the two white-haired ladies were already up and outside at 6 A.M.

"Good morning, Miss Flossie," he called softly, dutifully turning toward them and walking across the damp grass to pay him respects. "Good morning, Miss Ada." Although they were in their middle seventies, the two ladies still looked remarkably alike, a resemblance that was reinforced by their lifelong habit of wearing identical dresses. However, there the similarities between them ended, for Flossie Eldridge was plump, sweet, docile, and cheerful, whereas her sister was thin, sour, domineering, and nosy. Gossip had it that when Miss Flossie was young, he'd been in love with Herman Henkleman, but that Miss Ada had put a spike in the couple's marital plans by convincing her submissive sister that Herman, who was several years younger than Flossie, was interested only in Flossie's share of their modest inheritance and that he'd squander it all on liquor and make Flossie into the town laughingstock to boot.

"It's a beautiful morning," Miss Flossie added, tugging her shawl around her against the crisp January air. "These mild days that happen now and again certainly make winter seem shorter and easier, don't they, Harry?"

Before Harry could answer, Ada Eldridge got directly to her primary interest: "Are you going away again, Harry? You just got back a few weeks ago."

"I'll only be gone for two days."

"Another business trip or is it pleasure this time?" Ada persisted.

"Business, sort of." Ada lifted her brows, silently demanding additional information and Harry yielded rather than being rude. "I'm going up to Amarillo to talk to a man about donating some money to a school program."

Ada nodded, digesting this information. "I hear your brother is having trouble finishing Mayor Addelson's house. He should know better than to hire Herman Henkleman. That man is a complete ne'er-do-well."

Suppressing the urge to glance at Miss Flossie to see how he reacted to this condemnation of her alleged former sweetheart, Harry said to Ada, "Carl is the best builder this side of Dallas, which is why Mayor Addelson's architect selected him. Everything in that house has to be custom-made. It takes time and patience." Ada opened her mouth to continue her inquisition, but Harry forestalled her by glancing at his watch and saying quickly, "I'd better get on the road. It's a long drive to Amarillo. Bye, Miss Flossie, Miss Ada."

"Be careful," Miss Flossie admonihed. "I heard a cold front's coming through here tomorrow or the day after, from up near Amarillo. They get an awful lot of snow up there in the Panhandle. You wouldn't want to get caught in a blizzard now."

Harry smiled affectionately at the plump twin. "Don't worry. I have Carl's Blazer. Besides, the weather forecast says there's only a twenty percent chance of snow up there."

The two elderly ladies watched the Blazer back out of the driveway, then Miss Flossie gave a wistful little sigh. "Harry leads such an adventurous life. He went to Paris, France, with all those teachers last summer, and he went to the Grand Canyon the year before. I declare, he travels all the time."

"So do hobos," said Ada in an acid voice. "If you ask me, he ought to stay home and marry that assistant pastors daughter who's sweet on him while he's still got the chance."

Rather than put herself through the pointless misery of a verbal confrontation with her strong-willed twin, Flossie did what he always did: He simply changed the subject. "Reverend and Mrs. Mathison must be very proud of all their children."

"They won't be if they discover their Ted spends half the night with that girl he's going around with now. Irma Bauder said he didn't hear his car pull away until almost four o'clock in the morning two nights ago!"

Flossie's expression turned dreamy. "Oh, but, Ada, they may have lots to talk about. I'll bet they're already in love!"

***********************************

Zayn was standing before a small shaving mirror above the sinks in the showers, staring blindly at his reflection, trying to tell himself that Hadley wouldn't change his plans again today, when Sandini hurried in wearing a look of suppressed excitement and threw a cautious look over his shoulder into the hall behind him. Satisfied that no one was lurking within hearing, Sandini moved close and said in an elated whisper, "Hadley sent word he wants to leave for Amarillo at three o'clock! This is it!"

Tension and impatience had been eating Zayn alive for so long that he could hardly adjust to the fact that the payoff was actually here: Two long years of pretending to go along with the system, of becoming a model prisoner so they'd make him a trustee with all the attendant freedoms—all the months of planning and scheming—they were finally coming to fruition. In a few hours, if the delay hadn't caused irreparable damage to his arrangements, he'd be on the road in a rented car with a new identity, a minutely planned itinerary, and plane tickets that would lead the authorities on a wild-goose chase.

At the sink beside him, Sandini said, "Jesus, I wish I could go with you. I'd sure like to be at Gina's wedding!"

Zayn bent down and splashed water on his face, but he heard the suppressed excitement in Sandini's voice and it scared the hell out of him. "Don't even consider it! You'll be out of here in four weeks," he added, yanking a towel off the rack.

"Yeah," he said. "You're right. Here, take this," he added, holding out his hand.

"What is it?" Zayn asked, wiping his face. He tossed the towel down and looked at the piece of paper in Sandini's outstretched hand.

"This is Mama's address and phone number. If things don't work out like they should, you get your ass to Mama, and he'll get you to my uncle. He has connections everywhere," he boasted. "I know you've had your doubts about whether he'll come through for you, but in a few hours, you'll see that everything's waiting in Amarillo, just like you want. He's a great guy," Sandini added proudly.

Zayn absently rolled down the sleeves of his rough white cotton prison shirt, trying not to think about anything now except each moment as it happened, but his hands were unsteady when he tried to button his shirt cuffs. He warned himself to calm down and concentrate on the conversation. "There's something I've wanted to ask you for a long time, Dom," Zayn said cautiously. "If he's such a 'great guy' and he's got so many 'connections,' why the hell didn't he pull some strings to keep you from doing hard time in here?"

"Oh. That. I made an innocent mistake, and Uncle Enrico thought I needed to learn a lesson."

Sandini sounded so chagrined that Zayn glanced up at him. "Why?"

"Because one of the cars I stole the last time belonged to him."

"Then you're lucky you're still alive."

"That's what he said."

Tension strangled Zayn Malik's laugh.

"He'll be at Gina's wedding. I sure hate to miss that." Changing the subject, he said, "It's a good thing Hadley likes people to recognize you when you drive him around. If you had to keep your hair as short as the rest of the cons, you'd be a lot more conspicuous when you're outside. That little bit of extra hair you've got is gonna—"

Both men started as another trustee walked into the showers and jerked his thumb to the door. "Get a move on, Sandini," he snapped. "You, too, Malik. The warden wants his car in five minutes."