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“Who the hell are you?” I asked.

“That’s not really relevant, Jake.”

“Like hell it isn’t. Who are you?”

The man sighed, let down, it seemed, by my seemingly irrational insistence on knowing his identity. “Let’s just say I’m a friend.”

“You were in the café. In Vermont.”

“Guilty.”

“And you followed me back here. You were in that van.”

“Guilty again. Man, you smell like cheap booze and cheaper sex. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

I tried to keep from swaying. “What do you want?”

“I want us to take a ride.”

“Where?”

“Where?” He arched an eyebrow. “Let’s not play games here, Jake. You know where.”

“I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” I said. “How did you get in here anyway?”

The man almost rolled his eyes at that one. “Oh, right, Jake, that’s what we want to waste time discussing—how I managed to get past that piece-of-crap excuse for a lock on your back door. You’d be better off sealing it closed with Scotch tape.”

I opened my mouth, closed it, tried again. “Who the hell are you?”

“Bob. Okay, Jake? Since you don’t seem to be able to get past this name issue, my name is Bob. You’re Jake, I’m Bob. Now can we get moving, please?”

The man stood. I braced myself, ready to relive my bouncer days. There was no way I was letting this guy out of here without an explanation. If the man was intimidated, he was doing a pretty good job of hiding it.

“Are we ready to go now,” he asked me, “or do you want to waste more time?”

“Go where?”

Bob frowned as though I were putting him on. “Come on, Jake. Where do you think?” He gestured toward the door behind me. “To see Natalie, of course. We better hurry.”

Chapter 14

The van was parked in the faculty lot behind Moore dormitory.

The campus was still now. The music had ceased, replaced by the incessant chirping of crickets. I could see the silhouettes of a few students in the distance, but for the most part, 3:00 A.M. seemed to be the witching hour.

Bob and I walked side by side, two buddies out for a night stroll. The drink was still canoodling with certain brain synapses, but the combination of night air and surprise visitor was sobering me up pretty rapidly. As we neared the now-familiar Chevy van, the back door slid open. A man stepped out.

I didn’t like this.

The man was tall and thin with cheekbones that could dice tomatoes and perfectly coiffed hair. He looked like a male model, right down to that vaguely knowing scowl. During my years as a bouncer, I developed something of a sixth sense for trouble. It just happens after you work a job like that long enough. A man walks by you and the danger comes off in hot waves, like those squiggly lines in a cartoon. This guy gave off hot danger-waves like an exploding supernova.

I pulled up. “Who’s this?”

“Again with the names?” Bob said. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he added, “Otto. Jake, meet my friend Otto.”

“Otto and Bob,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Two palindromes.”

“You college professors and your fancy words.” We had reached the van. Otto stepped to the side to let me in, but I didn’t move. “Get in,” Bob said.

I shook my head. “My mommy told me not to get in cars with strangers.”

“Yo, Teach!”

My eyes flew open as I turned toward the voice. Barry was semi-running toward us. He had clearly imbibed, and so the steps made him look like a marionette with twisted strings. “Yo, Teach, a quick question if I—?”

Barry never finished his sentence. Without warning or hesitation, Otto stepped forward, reared back, and punched Barry square in the face. I stood there for a moment, shocked by the suddenness of it. Barry went horizontal in the air. He landed on the asphalt with a hard thud, his head lolling back. His eyes were closed. Blood streamed from his nose.

I dropped to one knee. “Barry?”

He didn’t move.

Otto took out a gun.

I positioned my body to the left a bit, so I could shield Barry from Otto’s gun.

“Otto won’t shoot you,” Bob said in the same calm voice. “He’ll just start shooting students until you get in the van.”

I cradled Barry’s head. I could see that he was breathing. I was about to check his pulse when I heard a voice cry out.

“Barry?” It was another student. “Where are you, bro?”

Fear seized me as Otto raised his gun. I debated making a move, but as though reading my mind, Otto took a step farther away from me.

Another student yelled, “I think he’s over there—by that van. Barry?”

Otto aimed the gun toward the voice. Bob looked at me and gave a half shrug.

“Okay!” I whisper-shouted. “I’m going! Don’t shoot anyone.”

I quickly rolled into the back of the van. The seats had all been cleared out. There was a bench against one side—that was it for seating. Otto lowered the gun and slid in next to me. Bob took the driver’s seat. Barry was still out cold. The students were getting closer as we pulled away. I heard one cry out, “What the . . . oh my God! Barry?”