Michael cast around for a way to change the subject. After a moment he said, "Do you like cars?"
Aaron smiled and wiped his eyes with the backs of his fingers. "I love cars," he replied.
"Follow me," Michael said. "I have something I want to show you." Then he led Aaron down to the underground parking garage.
– The garage floor glistened with moisture, and the sound of dripping water could be heard echoing in the distance. Michael and Aaron walked past two dozen vehicles of every class and description parked in neat rows. At
the end of the garage, in a space tucked away from the others, they stopped next to a tungsten silver Aston Martin DBS.
Aaron's jaw dropped. "Oh my gosh… This is yours?"
Michael held out his wrist to Aaron. "Touch your finger here," he said, indicating the little OPEN zone between eight and nine o'clock on his transponder chronograph wristwatch.
Aaron stared at the exquisite marvel of miniaturization.
"A light touch is all it takes," Michael said.
Aaron touched his fingertip to the face of the titanium watch, and the Aston unlocked itself and its dazzling electronics sparkled to life.
"Oh my gosh!" Aaron said. "That is crazy."
"Hop in," Michael said.
Aaron opened the passenger door then hesitated, knowing he was breaking another cardinal rule; then he slid into the low-slung seat.
He looked around the interior, running his hands over the hand-stitched leather and carbon-fiber accents. "This car is unbelievable," he said. "Aren't these like 300 grand or something?"
"'Saturday Night Crash' — Have you seen that?" Michael asked.
"I loved that movie," Aaron replied.
Michael gave the steering wheel a little pat. "I can thank that movie for this car."
Aaron cocked his head, puzzled.
"I wrote it — the book, I mean," Michael said. "My novel was adapted into the movie."
"No way!" Aaron said. "That's very cool. You know, I'm thinking about becoming a writer, too."
Michael smiled, but he had heard it a million times. It seemed that nearly everyone he talked to was either trying to become a writer or had thought about it.
"That's a worthy goal," he said finally. "My advice would be to read every day and write every day — and write for the love of writing, or you'll never be able to do the necessary work."
Aaron deflated a little.
"Maybe you and I could talk more about it sometime," Michael said, looking at him.
Aaron smiled. "That'd be great."
Michael fired up the DBS's sweetly tuned engine. "But for now, let's get you home."
– From his seat behind the wheel of the white van, Needles saw the silver Aston Martin exit the underground garage and head west. It passed under a street lamp and he recognized the boy in the passenger seat. Then he pulled away from the curb to follow.
Michael hit the gas for a few seconds to give Aaron a feel for the V-12's awesome power. Aaron giggled and held on. Needles struggled to keep pace, while at the same time trying to keep his distance.
"Do you have any brothers and sisters?" Michael asked as they approached Aaron's neighborhood.
"Nope, just me."
"Pets?"
Aaron laughed. "Yeah, like Tom would ever let me have a pet."
"I take it Tom's your stepdad," Michael said.
"Unfortunately," Aaron said, sorry for the reminder. "How ‘bout you? Any family?"
Michael paused. Leafing through those memories was difficult for him — talking about it only served to make it real again. But it was he who had brought up the subject and he felt obliged to follow through.
"My wife and only son were killed in an auto accident," he said. The horrible memory flooded his senses.
"Oh, wow…" Aaron said, unprepared for such a dismal reply. But he was able to relate — at least to some degree. "I'm so sorry."
"Thank you," Michael said. He hadn't spoken to anyone about it in years, and he felt the need to elaborate. "I wasn't with them that night. The other driver was drunk — he crossed over the center divide. Little Tyler was three; he was killed instantly. Jennie lived for 4 days." He paused for a moment to let his breath catch up. "It's been five-and-a-half years, now."
Aaron couldn't say anything, so he didn't try.
– The Aston purred to a stop in front of Aaron's apartment. Aaron and Michael got out and walked up the front steps.
Michael removed a pad and pen from the inside pocket of his jacket, then scribbled something and tore out the page. "Here's my cell number," he said. "Call me tomorrow and let me know you're all right, okay?"
"Okay," Aaron said as he took the slip of paper.
Michael jotted down Aaron's number as well then raised a high-five. "You cool?" he asked.
Aaron fived him back. "Yeah, I'm cool. Thanks for the brownies."
He removed a key from under the welcome mat, unlocked the door, and replaced the key, then stepped inside and closed the heavy door behind him.
Michael laid his hand on the door and felt the grain of the wood.
"Good night, Aaron," he said.
– As Michael drove away, he passed the white van, parked across the street from Aaron's apartment.
Johnny Souther was six blocks away, cruising the streets in a black van. He picked up Needles's call and listened for a moment.
"Hold your position," he said. "I'm on my way."