room, throwing her over my shoulder and tossing her in the car, taking her somewhere more suited to explaining the whole story; after all, of all the hardware in my toolbox, force has been a chrome Craftsman. But it would be so much more powerful if she makes the choice on her own.
And so I stare and hope and pray. If there are other sounds, other cars passing up and down Route 13, I don’t acknowledge them. A storm could be rising behind me: federal agents carefully slipping between parked cars and placing the back of my head in the crosshairs of their rifle scopes; the charge of another marshal as he winds up his arm in preparation to pistol-whip me; the surge of tires over gravel from an Impala with New York plates, then the sluggish exit of crew members, the tap on my shoulder and ruffling of my hair as someone mutters, “We’ll take it from here, Johnny.”
The fifth minute ends, departs like a train rolling down a dusty track, slowly vanishing out of sight. Can’t help but think it’s a real shame she didn’t make it to the station on time.
Though it appears her decision has been made, I refuse to give up. As much as common sense would suggest I throw the car in gear and return to New York, I’m stuck. In the sixth minute, I repeatedly think, C’mon, Melody. In the seventh minute, I start whispering it.
But in the eighth:
Melody walks around the corner, her hands in her pockets again, bottom lip tightly clenched between her teeth. She keeps looking back and around and over her shoulder like a kid about to make her first drug buy. As she slowly draws closer, I try to avoid smiling, but no amount of strength can prevent it; it feels silly when it happens. This must be how a man unsure of his lover’s affection feels when his offer of marriage is tearfully accepted. She chose me.
Melody approaches like a child having just been offered a piece of candy by a lurking stranger. The closer she gets the more confused she looks. She stops about ten feet away. Though I expect her first words to be you better not hurt me or I demand to know what’s going on, she pops this fly:
“Why not just paint a target on the back?”
The steadiness in her voice surprises me, suggests she’s been transported so many times under such terrifying conditions that I am nothing more than a new driver. I wave her closer.
“Meaning what?”
She doesn’t budge. “Meaning I cannot think of a more conspicuous way for you to get me out of here.” Read: You’re an amateur and we don’t stand a chance.
“What do I care?” I say. “I’ve committed no crime.” Except, of course, the breaking and entering thing. I clarify. “At least none that would concern the pukemeister back there. And let’s be clear: I’m not holding a gun to your head or a knife to your throat. You’re coming willingly.”
She chuckles as though my stab at wangling her with semantics pales in comparison to the manipulation she’s received from the government. “You kidding? The gun or knife is implied, Jonathan.”
“I specifically told you I would not hurt you.”
“And I specifically told you I perceive you to be a manipulative liar.”
Still going through the hatred phase, I see. Though I’m now getting the sense she’s forcing it. She may say I’m a liar, but as she finally steps a little closer, I can tell Melody wants to know what it is she’d be giving up. She inches toward the car, and once having finally reached it, places her hand on the frame of the passenger door, looks over the interior like a dieter staring down a hot fudge sundae.
“Besides,” she says, letting her eyes eventually make their way to mine, “you did have a knife to my throat not too long ago, remember?”
“You mean this?” I reach into my pocket and pull out the pen I’d put to her neck. She stares at the Montblanc, cocks her head as though thinking, It did sorta feel like a pen instead of a knife. When I was a middle schooler, Tommy Fingers taught me the art of staying fully armed without carrying a single weapon, achieved by way of everyday things that can cause immense damage—paper clips, pens, a roll of coins, even dental floss. You can wipe someone out, and when the cops arrive they find nothing incriminating