game / written by R B Conroy.
ISBN 978-1-927360-26-2
Also available in print format.
I. Title.
PS3603.O57D43 2010 813'.6 C2010-906050-4
Additional cataloguing data available from Library and Archives Canada
Original cover art design by Jinger Heaston: www.jingraphix.org
Author photo by Julie DuBois: www.sunrisephoto.com
Disclaimer: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, and incidents either are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Extreme care has been taken to ensure that all information presented in this book is accurate and up to date at the time of publishing. Neither the author nor the publisher can be held responsible for any errors or omissions. Additionally, neither is any liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the express written permission of the publisher.
Publisher:
CCB Publishing
British Columbia, Canada
Acknowledgements
Writing a novel takes time, patience, perseverance, and a little help along the way. A heartfelt thanks to all my friends and family for their support and encouragement. You have had a tremendous effect on my desire and motivation to write—your support means every-thing to me.
My sincere gratitude to my publisher Paul Rabinovitch, who is a bright light in the difficult world of book publishing. He is honest, precise, always on time and a joy to work with. Much appreciation to my talented friend, Jay Overmeyer, for his laser editing. The man can find a needle in a haystack. And last, but certainly not least, with love to my wife Cheryl for her unwavering devotion to my work. Without her guiding hand throughout this project, this book, as well as my other novels, would never have been written.
Dedication
In memory of Stan Fox—a caring person, a dear friend and sorely missed.
Chapter 1
Branch closings, budget cuts, and staff reductions—it had been another long day for Alex Crane. Exhausted, he spun around to catch a glimpse of the setting sun through the ceiling high windows behind his desk. He soaked up the tranquil scene for a few moments and then looked below at the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Monument in the center of downtown Indianapolis. He watched as a city worker in a green uniform stabbed at tiny pieces of litter and dropped them in a canvas bag—preparing “the circle”—as the locals liked to call it, for another day. An annoying beep from his direct phone line interrupted this relaxing end-of-day ritual. He reached back and lifted the receiver just in front of the fifth and final ring.
“Hello.”
“Alex?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Did you forget?”
Alex rubbed his forehead. “Why…uh no. Dinner with the Everett’s tonight.” He breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he remembered the dinner date with their neighbors.
There was a pause on the other end of the line, a long, exasperating pause which screamed at Alex, I know you didn’t remember, but I’m not going to say anything. “We’re picking them up at eight; it is now seven thirty and you have a twenty-five minute commute.”
“It’s past rush hour; I-65 should be running pretty well. I should be home in fifteen or twenty.”
“Hope so,” Nicky sighed. “Hmmm….there it is again.”
“There’s what again?”
“That car.”
“Come again?”
“That car with dark windows, it just drove by again for the third time.”
“Lots of cars have tinted windows and there are a couple of houses for sale near us. Probably lookers.”
“Guess so.”
“Gotta run babe, bye.”
“Bye.”
Anxious to leave, Alex slid his last file into the center desk drawer, typed some morning instructions for his secretary and exited the room.
Dinner with the Everett’s was important; arriving home late again would not be well received by his very punctual wife. When Nicky said eight, she meant eight. It was a big deal for her to be late and Alex knew it. He hoped traffic would be light on Interstate 65. Parts of the road had been under repair for over a year so bottlenecks, even at this time of day, were common.
“Hello Will.” Alex smiled warmly at the security guard who was standing with his ample backside pushed against the open elevator door.
“How’s the big boss man tonight?”
“Just fine, thank you.”
“With all these late hours, your wife’s gonna think you’re havin’ an affair or somethin’.” The stout man’s belly shook from laughter.
“She knows better, Will. Besides, with you here watching me, how could I get away with anything?”
“You’re right; I probably would have to tell her. That Nicky is one sweet lady,” the good humored sentinel snickered.
Will was part of the security agreement Alex negotiated with his bank’s board two years ago after an extortion attempt against one of his senior officers. Still chuckling, the guard stepped out of the entryway, laying his hand against the inside of the door.
“I pushed the main floor Mr. Crane. At this time of day you probably gonna ride all twenty-two without stoppin’.
“Probably so, Will. See you tomorrow.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
The door closed; the elevator jerked to a start, shuddered briefly and then gained speed on its way to the bottom. As Will predicted, Alex reached ground level without stopping. He waited anxiously for the accordion-like door to rattle open. When he stepped out of the tiny cubicle
