The Winner (9 page)

“There will be a press conference—”

“Press conference!” LuAnn almost flipped the car over. She fought to keep it under control with her good arm as she cradled the phone under her chin.

Now Jackson sounded truly exasperated. “Haven’t you ever watched one of these things? The winner attends a press conference, usually in New York. It’s televised across the country, the world. You’ll have your photo taken holding a ceremonial check and then reporters will ask questions about your background, your child, your dreams, what you’ll do with the money. Quite nauseating, but the Lottery Commission insists. It’s terrific PR for them. That’s why ticket sales have been doubling every year for the last five years. Everybody loves a deserving winner, if for no other reason than most people believe themselves to be quite deserving.”

“Do I have to do it?”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t want to be on TV.”

“Well, I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. Keep in mind that you’re going to be at least fifty million dollars richer, LuAnn. For that kind of money, they expect you to be able to handle
one
press conference. And, frankly, they are right.”

“So I have to go?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do I have to use my real name?”

“Why wouldn’t you want to?”

“I’ve got my reasons, Mr. Jackson. Would I?”

“Yes! There is a certain statute, LuAnn, not that I would expect you to be aware of it, popularly termed the ‘right to know’ law. To put it simply, it says that the public is entitled to know the identities, the
real
identities, of all lottery winners.”

LuAnn let out a deep breath filled with disappointment. “Okay, so when do I get the money?”

Now Jackson discernibly paused. The hair on the back of LuAnn’s neck started to bristle. “Listen, don’t try pulling no crap on me here. What about the damn money?”

“There’s no cause to get testy, LuAnn. I was merely pondering how to explain it to you in the simplest terms possible. The money will be transferred into an account of your designation.”

“But I don’t have any account. I’ve never had enough money to open a damn account.”

“Calm down, LuAnn, I’ll take care of all of that. You don’t have to worry about it. The only thing you have to do is win.” Jackson’s voice tried to sound upbeat. “Go to New York with Lisa, hold that big check, smile, wave, say nice, humble things, and then spend the rest of your life on the beach.”

“How do I get to New York?”

“Good question; however, one for which I have already prepared. There’s no airport near where you live, but there is a bus station. You’ll take a bus to the train station in Atlanta. That’s on Amtrak’s Crescent line. The Gainesville station is closer to you, but they don’t sell tickets there. It’s a long ride, about eighteen hours or so with numerous stops; however, a good part of it will be while you’re sleeping. It will take you to New York and you won’t have to change trains. I’d put you on a plane to New York, but that’s a little more complicated. You have to show identification, and, frankly, I don’t want you in New York that quickly. I’ll make all the arrangements. A reserved ticket will be waiting for you at each station. You can leave for New York right after the lottery drawing takes place.”

The prone figures of Duane and the man who had tried his best to kill her flashed across LuAnn’s mind. “I’m not sure I want to hang around here that long.”

Jackson was startled. “Why not?”

“That’s my business,” she said sharply, then her tone softened. “It’s just that if I’m gonna win this thing, I don’t want to be around here when people find out, is all. It’ll be like a pack of wolves on a calf, if you know what I mean.”

“That won’t happen. You won’t be publicly identified as the winner until the press conference occurs in New York. When you arrive in the city, someone will be waiting for you and will take you to the lottery headquarters. Your winning ticket will be confirmed and then the press conference will occur the next day. It used to take weeks to verify the winning ticket. With the technology they have today, it takes hours.”

“How about if I drive to Atlanta and take the train up today?”

“You have a car? My goodness, what will Duane say?” There was considerable mirth in Jackson’s tone.

“Let me worry about that,” LuAnn snapped.

“You know, LuAnn, you might want to act a little more grateful, unless, of course, someone makes you rich beyond your wildest dreams on a routine basis.”

LuAnn swallowed hard. She was going to be rich all right. By cheating. “I am,” she said slowly. “It’s just now that I made up my mind, everything’s going to change. My whole life. And Lisa’s, too. It’s a little mind-boggling.”

“Well, I understand that. But keep in mind that this particular change is definitely of the positive variety. It’s not like you’re going to prison or anything.”

LuAnn fought back the catch in her throat and clenched her bottom lip between her teeth. “Can’t I please take the train up today? Please?”

“Hold on for one minute.” He clicked off. LuAnn looked up ahead. A police cruiser sat on the side of the road, a radar gun perched on the door. LuAnn automatically checked her speedometer and, although she was under the speed limit, slowed down slightly. She didn’t breathe again until she was several hundred yards down the road. Jackson clicked back on, his abrupt tones startling her.

“The Crescent pulls into Atlanta at seven-fifteen this evening and arrives in New York at one-thirty tomorrow afternoon. Atlanta is only a couple hours’ drive from where you are.” He paused for an instant. “You’re going to need money for the ticket, though, and I’m assuming you’ll need additional funds, perhaps for some travel-related incidentals.”

LuAnn unconsciously nodded at the phone. “Yes.” She suddenly felt very dirty, like a whore pleading for some extra cash after an hour’s work.

“There’s a Western Union office near the train station. I’ll wire you five thousand dollars there.” LuAnn gulped at the amount. “Remember my initial job offer? We’ll just call it your salary for a job well done. You just have to show proper identification—”

“I don’t have any.”

“Just a driver’s license or passport. That’s all they need.”

LuAnn almost laughed. “Passport? You don’t need a passport to go from the Piggly-Wiggly to the Wal-Mart, do you? And I don’t have a driver’s license either.”

“But you’re planning to drive a car to Atlanta.” Jackson’s astonished tone was even more amusing to her. Here the man was, orchestrating a multimillion-dollar scam, and he could not comprehend that LuAnn would operate an automobile without a license.

“You’d be surprised how many people ain’t got a license for anything and they still do it.”

“Well, you can’t get the money without proper identification.”

“Are you anywhere nearby?”

“LuAnn, I only came to glorious Rikersville to conduct my meeting with you. Once it was done, I didn’t hang around.” He paused again and LuAnn could hear the displeasure in his voice when he spoke next. “Well, we have a problem then.”

“Well, how much would the train ticket be?”

“About fifteen hundred.”

Remembering Duane’s money hoard, a sudden thought struck LuAnn. She again pulled off the road, put down the phone, and quickly searched the car’s interior. The brown leather bag she pulled from underneath the front seat didn’t disappoint her. There was enough cash in there probably to buy the train.

“A woman I work with, her husband left her some money when he passed on. I can ask her for the money. A loan. I know she’ll give it to me,” she told Jackson. “I won’t need no ID for cash, will I?” she added.

“Money is king, LuAnn. I’m sure Amtrak will accommodate you. Just don’t use your real name, of course. Use something simple, but not too phony sounding. Now go buy the lottery ticket and then call me back immediately. Do you know how to get to Atlanta?”

“It’s a big place, or so I’ve heard. I’ll find it.”

“Wear something to hide your face. The last thing we need is for you to be recognized.”

“I understand, Mr. Jackson.”

“You’re almost there, LuAnn. Congratulations.”

“I don’t feel much like celebrating.”

“Not to worry, you have the rest of your life to do that.”

LuAnn put down the phone and looked around. The car windows were tinted so she didn’t think anyone had actually seen her, but that could change. She had to ditch the car as fast as possible. The only question was where. She didn’t want to be seen getting out of the car. It would be pretty hard to miss a tall, blood-caked woman hauling a baby out of a car with tinted windows and a chrome figure doing nasty things on the vehicle’s hood. An idea finally hit her. A little dangerous perhaps, but right now she didn’t have much alternative. She did a U-turn and headed in the opposite direction. Within twenty minutes she was pulling slowly down the dirt road, and straining to see ahead as she drew nearer to her destination. The trailer finally came into view. She saw no other vehicles, no movement. As she pulled in front of the trailer cold dread poured over her as she once again felt the man’s hands around her throat, as she watched the blade swooping toward her. “You see that man coming out that house,” LuAnn said out loud to herself, “you’re gonna run right over his butt, let his lips kiss the oil pan on this thing.”

She rolled down the passenger window so she could check for sounds coming from within but heard nothing. She pulled a diaper wipe out of Lisa’s bag and methodically rubbed down all of the car’s surfaces that she had touched. She had watched a few episodes of
America’s Most Wanted.
If it hadn’t been too dangerous she would have gone back inside the trailer and wiped down the telephone. But she had lived there for almost two years. Her fingerprints would be all over the place, anyway. She climbed out of the car, stuffing as much cash from the bag as she could under the liner of Lisa’s baby seat. She pulled her torn shirt together as best she could. She noiselessly closed the car door and, holding Lisa with her good arm, she quickly made her way back down the dirt road.

From within the trailer, the pair of dark eyes watched LuAnn’s hasty departure, taking in every detail. When she suddenly glanced around the man stepped back into the shadow of the trailer’s interior. LuAnn didn’t know him, but he wasn’t taking any chances at being observed. His dark leather jacket was zipped halfway up the front, the butt of a 9-mm visible sticking out of the inside pocket. He stepped quickly over the two men lying on the floor, careful to avoid the pools of blood. He had happened along at an opportune time. He was left with the spoils of a battle he had not even had to fight. What could be better? He scooped the drug packets off both the coffee table and the floor and deposited them in a plastic bag that the man pulled from his jacket. After thinking about it for a moment, he put half the stash back where he had found it. No sense being greedy, and if the organization these boys worked for got wind that no drugs had been discovered by the police in the trailer they might start looking for who took it. If only part of the stash was missing they’d probably assume the cops had sticky fingers.

He eyed the fight scene and then noted the torn fabric on the floor; recognition spread across his features. It was from the woman’s shirt. He put it in his pocket. She owed him now. He looked at the remnants of the phone, the position of each man’s body, the knife and the dents in the wall. She must have walked right into the middle of this, he deduced. Fat man got the little man, and LuAnn somehow got the fat man. His admiration for her increased as he noted the man’s bulk.

As if he sensed this observation, the fat man started to stir again slowly. Not waiting for the fat man to recover further, the other man stooped down, used a cloth to snatch up the knife, and then plunged it repeatedly into the man’s side. The dying man grew momentarily stiff, his fingers digging into the threadbare carpet, hanging on to the last seconds of his life, desperately unwilling to let go. After a few moments, though, his entire body shook for an instant and then slowly relaxed, his fingers uncurled and splayed out, his palms flush against the floor. His face was turned to the side; one lifeless, blood-filled eye stared up at his killer.

Next, he roughly flipped over Duane, squinting in the dim light as he tried to determine if the chest was moving up or down. Just to be safe he used several carefully aimed thrusts to make certain Duane Harvey joined the fat man in the hereafter. He tossed the knife down.

In another few seconds he was through the front door and around the back of the trailer where he plunged into the woods. His car was parked off a little-used dirt trail that snaked through the heavy woods. It was windy and rough, but it would deliver him onto the main road in plenty of time to take up his real task: following LuAnn Tyler. When he climbed into his car, his car phone was ringing. He picked it up.

“Your duties are at an end,” Jackson said. “The hunt has officially been called off. The balance of your payment will be sent to you via the usual channels. I thank you for your work and I’ll keep you in mind for future employment.”

Anthony Romanello gripped the phone hard. He debated whether to tell Jackson about the two bodies in the trailer and then decided not to. He might have stumbled onto something really interesting.

“I saw the little lady tearing out of here on foot. But she doesn’t look like she has the resources to go very far,” Romanello said.

Jackson chuckled. “I think money will be the least of her worries.” Then the line went dead.

Romanello clicked off his phone and pondered the matter for a moment. Technically, he had been called off. His work was at an end and he could just return home and wait for the rest of his money. But there was something screwy going on here. Everything about the job was somehow off. Sending him down here to the sticks to kill some hick chick. And then being told not to. And there was Jackson’s passing reference to money. Dollars were something that always held Romanello’s interest. He made up his mind and put the car in gear. He was going to follow LuAnn Tyler.