The Return: A Novel Read Online Free PDF

off at the nearest saloon?”
    “A saloon, thank you. If you cut right up there on Forty-Fourth Street, there’s Mahoney’s on Ninth Avenue.”
    Marder drove as directed. After a while, Skelly asked, “So how long do you figure this trip is going to take?”
    “I don’t know,” said Marder. “It’ll be a while. Ours is a big country.”
    He pulled the truck to the curb across from the dimly lit little tavern. He held out his hand and Skelly took it.
    “Goodbye, Skelly.”
    Skelly gave him an odd look, a smile edged onto his mouth. “Yeah, well, I’ll see you when I see you. Have a safe trip, and I know you’ll obey all the relevant traffic laws.”
    Skelly left the truck and crossed the avenue. More than anything else, more than giving up his profession and his home, more than bidding his child farewell, this parting told Marder that the life he’d known was truly over. Or not. It would depend on Skelly.

2
    In the morning Marder made himself a plate of eggs and bacon, toasted a bagel, and dripped a full pot of coffee. He had worked hard on making this kitchen as perfect and as well supplied as he could, and he had vowed not to miss it, but he knew he would. After eating his meal and drinking a couple of cups, he poured the rest of the pot into a thermos. Marder was traveling light, but it took several trips to load his truck. He put the rifle in the back of the wardrobe in the main cabin, together with his pistol cases, stuck his bag in an overhead, locked everything up, and went back for his laptop, the money, and the blue ceramic urn that held the earthly remains of Maria Soledad Beatriz de Haro d’Ariés y Casals, or Chole Marder, as she was known in New York. He placed this in a cabinet drawer, buffered by towels so it wouldn’t roll. His bedroll he tossed up into the sleeping loft. The time was just past dawn; the garbage trucks rumbled, a siren wailed from afar, the sky above the canyons of Manhattan was taking on a tint of blue. It would be a good day for traveling.
    As it turned out to be, the weather clear and mild, the traffic light until he got to Philadelphia and caught the morning rush on the interstate. Yes, something terrific about leaving a city at dawn on a long journey. He planned to drive a simple, swift route, down 95 to Jacksonville, where he’d pick up 10 west, and then across the bottom of the country to Tucson, hang a left, and cross the Mexican border at Nogales. He would leave the interstate when he became tired, would stay at no-name RV parks and pay for meals and parking space with cash. He was behaving like a fugitive, he knew, although he had committed no crime under the law. But he often felt like a fugitive, like someone who would be found out someday and brought to justice. He’d felt like that for a long time, since the war, in fact. Survivor’s guilt? He had that, and plenty of the other types as well.
    *   *   *
    He stopped at a plaza north of Richmond, Virginia, dashed in for just a moment to pick up a bag of burgers and coffee to go, looking nervously out the window at his rig. When he got back to it, he found it untroubled by thieves and Skelly sitting in the passenger seat. Marder was not surprised; he had counted on it, in fact, but now he assumed a hard face, stepped into the driver’s seat, and put his paper bag on the console between the seats.
    Skelly said, “Hey, great! I was starving,” and lifted out a foil-wrapped burger. “So where are we going, chief?” he said around the first mouthful.
    “To the nearest airport and put you on a plane back to the city.”
    “Not a good plan, chief. You need someone to look out for you.”
    “ I need someone? That’s a laugh. Look, Skelly, no offense, but this is a one-man trip. For one thing, this camper has only one bed.”
    “Bullshit! It’s rated to sleep three. There’s a padded seat in the main cabin that’ll do me fine.”
    “Oh, the camper expert! No, I’m sorry, it’s impossible. This is not