The Bubble Gum Thief Read Online Free Page B

At forty-six years old, Harrison was in the prime of his life.
    As the senator worked the crowd at the Warwick Museum of Art, he kept checking his watch. Across the room, a skinny girl in tight jeans was twisting the cap off a Miller Genuine Draft. She had jet-black hair and when she stretched, her shirt lifted to expose her midriff, showing off her belly ring. Harrison imagined that she owned a secondhand guitar and wrote songs in minor keys about her feelings. Good Lord, she was sexy.
    Harrison started toward her, but Margaret Meddlebaum, the museum’s matronly director, caught his arm. He concealed his annoyance and turned on the charm. “Margaret, my lovely dear, is it time already?”
    “Yes, Senator, if you don’t mind.”
    She walked him to the podium and the crowd grew quiet. While she introduced him, he glanced at his watch. His appointment was at nine thirty, so he had to keep it short. Maybe he’d abandon his ten-minute speech for the five-minute one instead. He surveyed the crowd of social do-gooders, aging hippies, and young free spirits. Every one of them voted for me, he thought, and will again. He flashed his broad smile and pushed his blond hair away from his eyes. Keep it short, he reminded himself.
    “It’s great to be here, but I have to run.”
    Harrison had jettisoned the five-minute speech for a five-second one. He offered poor stunned Margaret a quick good-bye, kissed her cheek, and left through the back door. A minute later, he was driving his Lexus down Route 117 into West Warwick, following very explicit directions. Suspiciously explicit, in fact.
    If it was a setup, Harrison had his story—he was conducting research for a bill pending before the Senate. This actually seemed like a good cover to Harrison, but then again, he was a little drunk.
    The senator parked in a lot at the corner of Saint Mary’s Street and Legion Way. It was 9:24 p.m. He fiddled with the radio, then turned it off. When a police car approached on Legion Way, Harrison’s throat closed tight and he couldn’t breathe. After the policeman drove past, he laughed nervously, then fiddled with the radio again.
    At 9:32, a black Ford Explorer turned into the lot and pulled next to Harrison’s driver’s-side door. The other driver turned off his engine and lowered his window. Harrison did the same.
    Shadows hid the man’s eyes. “It’s five hundred.” The man’s warm breath drifted into Harrison’s car.
    “You said it was two hundred.” Harrison knew he was being taken, but he wasn’t surprised. He had brought $1,000 just in case.
    “It’s five hundred.”
    Harrison didn’t budge, and the man in the Explorer started his engine. “Okay,” Harrison relented. “Five hundred.”
    The man turned off his car. “It’s six now.”
    Good Lord, if only Harrison were just some street junkie, then the guy would have given it to him for two. “Okay, six.” The senator fumbled with his wallet and then placed six hundred-dollar bills in the palm of the man’s white latex glove. The man took the cash and then leaned forward into the light, revealing his face.
    “Look at me. Do you see me?”
    Harrison stared back into the man’s eyes. So cold, Harrison thought, as cold as the winter air. Harrison looked away.
    “Look at me!” he commanded. “Do you remember me?”
    Harrison looked back at the man’s face. He did look vaguely familiar.
    “Do you?” the man barked.
    “No,” Harrison said, looking away again.
    “You will.” The man turned the key to his car, starting the engine.
    His voice was so haunting that the senator nearly forgot about the merchandise. “Hey, what about the...”
    The man in the Explorer grunted, or maybe laughed. He receded back into the shadows and tossed a bag of cocaine through Harrison’s window, onto the senator’s lap. A white card was attached. Harrison tore it from the bag. It looked like a business card and had a piece of gum taped to the back. The card read:
    THIS IS MY