CHAPTER ONE
Like most large cities, Pittsburgh celebrates the Christmas season
on a grand scale.
Tinsel and garlands decorate lamp posts and traffic lights. Bright
blinking lights and glittering decorations embellish storefront windows.
Wreaths and giant candy canes garnish the entrance doors of restaurants and many other businesses, and artificial snow gathered tastefully
at the bottom of window displays blends in with snowflakes sprinkling various portions
of the glass.
It was seasonably cold when I got out of my rented gray Challenger on
Liberty Avenue and went down the block that brought me to Gino's Bar &
Grill at eight o'clock that night. Liberty Avenue had been one of my favorite
haunts when I lived here more than twenty years ago, before graduating from
Carnegie-Mellon and earning my degree in Business Administration. I'd spent
much of my spare time in this area during those four years and couldn't wait to
see how much it had changed.
I hadn't been back to the Tri-state area since the day I'd left. After
being offered a key position with the new Orlando consulting firm, Crosley,
Williams, and Associates, as their new Administrative Director, I'd moved to
Winter Park, Florida, and had lived there ever since.
It had been a smart move on my part. I became their Executive Director
in eight years, earning my place as junior partner with the firm just three
years later. The company was now called Crosley, Williams, Danner, and
Associates, and along with a terrific salary, an impressive stock portfolio and
a benefits package to die for, I'd achieved in just a decade and a half what
most people dream about all their lives.
Since I hadn't been back in two decades, I'd never been in Gino's
before. I was staying at the Fairmont Hotel on Market Street. They had a
terrific bar called Andy's, but after my plane trip, I wanted to stretch my
legs and satisfy my curiosity by checking out the "new" Liberty Avenue.
I vaguely remembered that the building that was now Gino's had once been
a sandwich shop, takeout pizza, and a Chinese restaurant during the four years I
was enrolled at Carnegie-Mellon. It was also a travel agency for a few months.
Gino's was bustling when I entered the place. Like the rest of the
block, it was decorated richly for the holidays. A six-foot pine tree glorified
the foyer just a few feet from the front entrance and
in full view of the front window. The tree was decorated with Hallmark originals
as well as antique toys and trimmings I hadn't seen since I was a kid growing
up in Gibsonia, a small rural town just twelve miles north of the city. Garlands
hung loosely across the beamed ceiling, starting at the entrance and extending
the entire length of the long, narrow room. Mistletoe dangled in strategic
spots.
Since many of the patrons already appeared
drunk and happy, I kept clear of the mistletoe while inching my way to the
long, U-shaped bar. I wasn't in the mood to be groped and kissed sloppily by
drunken women I didn't even know. I didn't feel safe until I'd squeezed my butt
onto a stool between a big guy in a suit and a middle-aged woman discussing crooked
politics with her date, a slender man around sixty or so wearing a cheap green
suit and an ill-fitting blond toupee.
The barman, a big-boned Italian with
piercing black eyes, thinning black hair and a thick black mustache, shuffled
right over. I ordered a vodka and tonic and smiled when the crowd noise hushed for
a few moments when Bing Crosby began singing "White
Christmas" from the corner juke.
The barman brought over my drink long before
I expected it and placed it carefully onto a brown coaster with GINO'S monogrammed in fancy black script
in its center. I slid a five in his direction, picked up the glass and sipped.
It was strong, and warmed me instantly. I could clearly feel the jet lag subsiding
and sighed as my limbs relaxed and the rest of me warmed up and melted
comfortably into the soft leather cushion of the seat.
The barman brought me back change and
dropped it on the counter next to my glass. "You no live here?" he asked in a
strong, low-pitched voice I could hear clearly over Bing's distant mellow
crooning.
"How could you tell?"
He grinned, showing a mouthful of large yellow teeth. "Ya look like
ya just got in from somewhere else. 'Sides, I don't see many hundred-dollar ties
come in here." He nodded, pleased with himself. "Yep, definitely outa town."
I smiled. The man certainly was observant.
He tilted his head. "Am I right?"
"Dead-on."
He chuckled. "So...this your first time in town?"
"I lived here a long time ago."
"Where?"
"I grew up in Gibsonia."
"How long ago ja leave?"
"Last time I was here, this place was Chinese takeout."
He shrugged. "We been here ten, twelve years, now. This was way before, yes?"
"A few years."
"Move away?"
I nodded. "Florida, about twenty years ago."
"No like the winters here?"
"I didn't mind the winters too much. I was offered a good job in
Orlando. I've been there ever since."
"Miss it here?"
"Once in a while."
"Family still here?"
"My parents split up a long time ago. Last I heard, my father's in
North Carolina. My mom's remarried and living somewhere in Arizona. I flew up here
for a business meeting with some people who run a
company on Smithfield."
He was squinting, trying to absorb all this. "So...ya came all the way
from Florida for a business meeting? On
Christmas?"
"It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment decision. On their part-not
mine."
The barman squinted, obviously confused. "I
thought everything was done on the phone these days." He shrugged. "Email? Online?
All that other technology crapola?"
I laughed. "You're right about that."
"What's different with this?"
"When it's a big deal like this one, some people like the
old-fashioned one-on-one. And, of course, the handshake once the deal's been
made. With drinks later on, of course."
He nodded.
I didn't want to tell him that even though I had no prior intention
of returning to Pittsburgh, I really didn't mind spending Christmas here. Since
I'd recently broken up my eight-month romance with Sarah, I had no one to spend
Christmas with. So, when my boss Sam Crosley asked me to make the trip as a
personal favor to him, I agreed without hesitation. Upon reflection, I guessed
that the breakup bothered me more than I'd originally thought, urging me to
keep my mind occupied with work during the holidays.
"How's it feel to be home again?" the barman
asked.
Even during my brief trip from the Fairmont to Liberty Avenue, I noticed
how much this place had changed in twenty years. Many of the old buildings had been torn down and replaced
with new ones. At least the Gulf Building looked the same. I suspected it
always would. Even so, I experienced an unexpected sadness for leaving home,
moving nearly a thousand miles away and never once looking back. It might have
been different if my parents hadn't split up and left home...
But they had. And in doing so, they'd robbed me of many of my fondest
memories.
"I don't know yet." I didn't want to insult him by telling him I'd
stopped considering Pittsburgh my home a long time ago. "I just got off the
plane."
"Well, I hope your stay's a good one." Then he went off to tend to
another customer.
I took another sip of my drink and scanned the room. People were getting
sloppier, staggering around on the dance floor in the back and making out at
their tables. One woman had half the buttons of her frilly white blouse undone and
didn't seem to notice. Her date, on the other hand, couldn't take his eyes off
the exposed bra. The juke was now playing Andy Williams' version of "Christmas
Present."
Briefly I wondered if I should have another drink or just drive back
to the Fairmont, have one last drink at Andy's, and relax in my room until
morning. I'd never been a heavy drinker, although I'd gone through occasional spells
during the last few years when I'd hit the bottle more often than I should
have. Life often dealt unexpected blows. When it did, you reacted by doing
stupid things, like buying a sports car, growing a beard, or jumping the bones
of a woman young enough to be your daughter.
In my case, I just drank more than usual.
Nonetheless, I considered myself a solid, stand-up sort of guy. Although
I was a charter member of the social circle at Crosley, Williams, Danner, and
Associates, I rarely went out drinking with them. I went to whatever function was
scheduled and did what I was required to do. But instead
of spending the night with half a dozen or so rowdy drinkers, I invariably drove
back to my Winter Park condo and spent the rest of the evening alone, watching an
old movie with a small glass of vodka tonic or port wine.
The barman came back and glanced at my
glass. When he saw that it was half-empty, he said, "Ya come here alone?"
"I always travel alone."
"No wife? No kids?"
"No."
He looked surprised. "A prosperous, good-lookin' guy like you?"
I shrugged. "I'm not that easy to live with."
He boomed laughter. "Hear ya, buddy! Hear ya!" Then, still chuckling,
he went over to tend to someone else at the other end of the bar.
I'd been engaged three times and had dated at least twenty different
women in the last twenty years. I had no idea why none of these relationships had
turned out. I always seemed to be searching for a particular type of woman I knew
did not actually exist, a woman I saw only in my dreams. I'd had my share of teenage
crushes, but when I developed into an adult living in the real world, all my early
fantasies seemed to vanish into the dust. I was a big boy in a world filled
with real people, and that meant something totally different from what I'd
dreamed about all those years as a young man expecting a lifelong romance with
some faceless woman living only in my imagination.
A few minutes
later, just as Mel Torme broke into his "Christmas Song" from the juke,
I finished my drink and decided to shift back into the real world of the here
and now. I had to drive back to the Fairmont and wanted to do it sober. I'd only
actually driven drunk a couple of times before and knew how difficult and unpleasant
it was to handle a moving vehicle in heavy traffic. My memory of Pittsburgh
cops was one of caution and sincere respect. I was in no mood to be pulled over
and take my chances submitting to a breathalyzer.
I left a tip, waved to the barman as I got
down from my stool, and left the loud, Christmas-filled room.
I went back out into the cold night. Pulling up the collar of my
overcoat to shield my ears and the back of my neck from the freezing night air,
I went back to the Challenger. Not too many people were out. I figured they
were probably in the bars or at the restaurants.
I got out my keys and pressed the remote to unlock the door. A
moment later, something hard was shoved into my lower back just as I took one
last step toward the driver's door.
"The keys, asshole!"
The voice was high-pitched, raspy, and much
too close for comfort. I caught a strong whiff of weed and the faint scent of whiskey.
I held out the keys. They were immediately
snatched from my grasp, jarring my left shoulder. I was about to protest when
whatever was pressing against me jabbed me harder, sending a jolt of hot pain
up my spine. "And the wallet. Now!"
I made a move for my wallet and was immediately
jabbed even harder. I gasped when another spike of hot pain raced up my spine.
"Dammit!" Despite the frightening situation, the anger spewed out
from me. I was trying to cooperate, to comply with my
assailant's demands. There was no need for the bastard to be so rough. "I'm
trying to get it, so hold your water-"
"Shuddup!" He slammed me against the side of the rental and moved even
closer to me. His face was inches from the back of my neck. I could tell he was
much shorter than I was. But it wasn't his height that concerned me. It was whatever
he was ramming into my lower back. "I don't want any shit from you, asshole-just
your goddamn wallet!"
I wanted to turn around and deck him but didn't know if he was
holding a gun, knife, or blackjack. I also didn't know in which hand he held the
weapon. I remembered that this one factor was crucial in a defense-type
situation. I'd studied unarmed combat in college but never had the opportunity
to practice or apply it. Since I'd turned forty-two earlier this year and began
suffering from sciatica, I was in no shape for any sudden foolish Bruce
Lee-type heroics. I decided to just give him what he wanted and hoped he'd
slither back to his rock the instant he got what he wanted.
I tried once again to reach into my pocket for my wallet. As I did,
whatever he kept poking me with pressed firmly into the small of my back again.
"Faster!" he whispered fiercely, and another miasmatic blend of weed and
whiskey assaulted my nostrils.
I gritted my teeth as I grabbed the wallet, pulled it out and held
it out.
Without a word he snatched it from my grasp.
I stood perfectly still, anxiously waiting-hoping-to hear him running
away.
Instead, I heard approaching footsteps.
My heart practically jumped out of my chest. Could this possibly be
a cop coming to my rescue? Was it someone from the street witnessing
my predicament and rushing over to help?
Was I about to be saved after all?
Just as I expected to hear something like, "Police! Freeze!" I heard
someone whisper, "We need to get the fuck outa here, Jake!"
Before I could react, something hard whacked me on the back of my
skull.
Blackness consumed me.