Convicted
Page 55
From the time Phil left Claire on the island, he’d been staking out the bank. She’d told him the name of the institution where she’d secured her new fortune. It only made sense that sooner or later, Rawlings would show up at the same place. Claire never told him what she’d left for Rawlings in the safety deposit box, but whatever it was, Rawlings didn’t appear happy about it when he left the bank. He hardly looked like a man who’d just accessed his hidden millions.
Flagging down a cab, Phil instructed the driver to follow the cab up ahead. It may not have been the best detective work he’d ever done, but this wasn’t about learning. Phil didn’t want to know any more about Anthony Rawlings than he already did. In all honesty, he knew more than he wanted to know. Phil had something he wanted to tell Rawlings.
The cab with Rawlings pulled up to a small tavern, Mulligan’s, not far from the train station. Again, Phil wondered what Rawlings was thinking. This was way too public for someone who was supposedly missing. When Phil entered the tavern, it took all his self-control not to stand and gape at the scene unfolding in front of him. Even Rawlings seemed bewildered as he tried to comprehend the reality. Harrison Baldwin was meeting Rawlings mid-room. Yes, there were other patrons, sounds—talking, music, chairs moving, yet as Phil slipped into a dark corner, none of that registered. It was like a movie where the rest of the room turns to fuzz. All Phil could watch were the two men standing chest to chest. If it were a western, then their hands would be on their revolvers.
When Rawlings left the hotel, he didn’t look happy. Unhappy was an understatement to describe his current demeanor. Phil couldn’t hear their conversation, but he could feel the waves of tension radiating from their encounter. For a second, when Baldwin took out his badge, Phil was afraid Rawlings would deck him. It wasn’t true fear—actually, Phil would’ve enjoyed the show; however, for Claire’s sake, it was something that shouldn’t happen—at least, not in public.
Phil wanted to hear what they were saying; however, slipping into the neighboring booth wouldn’t add to the warmth of their reunion. If Phil were to trust his own intuition, this meeting had blindsided Rawlings. Phil wondered who Rawlings thought he was meeting. Shaking his head, he assessed—if this was set up by the FBI, it seemed pretty shitty.
Phil ordered a beer and continued to watch. Neither man in the booth across the room ordered when the waitress approached. Although they sat calmly, an aura of discontent fell like a cloud all around them. Phil didn’t think it was his imagination or the fact he knew their background. Even strangers were steering clear of that corner of the bar. Despite their too low voices, their body language suggested a heated discussion. Baldwin was talking, and Rawlings wasn’t interested; however, when Baldwin pulled out his phone and showed something to Rawlings, Phil thought he saw virtual sparks fly. Rawlings’ finger pointed at Baldwin and moved to emphasize every word of his retort. Without warning, Rawlings stood and headed toward the door.
Phil watched to see if Baldwin would go after him. When he didn’t, Phil laid a few Euros on the tabletop and slid out after Rawlings. As he watched the cab stop and Rawlings begin to enter, Phil let out a breath and told himself, this is for Claire.
The next second, Phil reached for the handle of the cab’s door. When it opened, he eased onto the seat next to Rawlings.
“Excuse me, this cab is—” Tony’s words, in French, stopped when their eyes met. It’s understandable that he didn’t recognize Phil right away; after all, they’d only met a few times in person. Most of their correspondence had been via email and text message, but when Rawlings realized who’d just entered his cab, his eyes darkened and he growled, “What the hell?”
Also in French, Phil replied, “I’d address you by name”—Phil moved his eyes to the driver—“however, I’m not sure what that is.”
“Collins,” Rawlings said, as he exhaled and laid his head against the seat.
“Monsieur Collins, I’m sure you’ll want to hear me out.”
“This fuck’n day won’t ever end, will it?”
The cab driver looked back at Tony and asked if everything was all right. Tony nodded and replied, “Oui, to my hotel.” Then under his breath, he continued the conversation, “Monsieur, I assume you’ll be joining me?”
Phil nodded. “Bien sûr.”
A little more persistence, a little more effort, and what seemed hopeless failure may turn to glorious success.
—Elbert Hubbard
Flagging down a cab, Phil instructed the driver to follow the cab up ahead. It may not have been the best detective work he’d ever done, but this wasn’t about learning. Phil didn’t want to know any more about Anthony Rawlings than he already did. In all honesty, he knew more than he wanted to know. Phil had something he wanted to tell Rawlings.
The cab with Rawlings pulled up to a small tavern, Mulligan’s, not far from the train station. Again, Phil wondered what Rawlings was thinking. This was way too public for someone who was supposedly missing. When Phil entered the tavern, it took all his self-control not to stand and gape at the scene unfolding in front of him. Even Rawlings seemed bewildered as he tried to comprehend the reality. Harrison Baldwin was meeting Rawlings mid-room. Yes, there were other patrons, sounds—talking, music, chairs moving, yet as Phil slipped into a dark corner, none of that registered. It was like a movie where the rest of the room turns to fuzz. All Phil could watch were the two men standing chest to chest. If it were a western, then their hands would be on their revolvers.
When Rawlings left the hotel, he didn’t look happy. Unhappy was an understatement to describe his current demeanor. Phil couldn’t hear their conversation, but he could feel the waves of tension radiating from their encounter. For a second, when Baldwin took out his badge, Phil was afraid Rawlings would deck him. It wasn’t true fear—actually, Phil would’ve enjoyed the show; however, for Claire’s sake, it was something that shouldn’t happen—at least, not in public.
Phil wanted to hear what they were saying; however, slipping into the neighboring booth wouldn’t add to the warmth of their reunion. If Phil were to trust his own intuition, this meeting had blindsided Rawlings. Phil wondered who Rawlings thought he was meeting. Shaking his head, he assessed—if this was set up by the FBI, it seemed pretty shitty.
Phil ordered a beer and continued to watch. Neither man in the booth across the room ordered when the waitress approached. Although they sat calmly, an aura of discontent fell like a cloud all around them. Phil didn’t think it was his imagination or the fact he knew their background. Even strangers were steering clear of that corner of the bar. Despite their too low voices, their body language suggested a heated discussion. Baldwin was talking, and Rawlings wasn’t interested; however, when Baldwin pulled out his phone and showed something to Rawlings, Phil thought he saw virtual sparks fly. Rawlings’ finger pointed at Baldwin and moved to emphasize every word of his retort. Without warning, Rawlings stood and headed toward the door.
Phil watched to see if Baldwin would go after him. When he didn’t, Phil laid a few Euros on the tabletop and slid out after Rawlings. As he watched the cab stop and Rawlings begin to enter, Phil let out a breath and told himself, this is for Claire.
The next second, Phil reached for the handle of the cab’s door. When it opened, he eased onto the seat next to Rawlings.
“Excuse me, this cab is—” Tony’s words, in French, stopped when their eyes met. It’s understandable that he didn’t recognize Phil right away; after all, they’d only met a few times in person. Most of their correspondence had been via email and text message, but when Rawlings realized who’d just entered his cab, his eyes darkened and he growled, “What the hell?”
Also in French, Phil replied, “I’d address you by name”—Phil moved his eyes to the driver—“however, I’m not sure what that is.”
“Collins,” Rawlings said, as he exhaled and laid his head against the seat.
“Monsieur Collins, I’m sure you’ll want to hear me out.”
“This fuck’n day won’t ever end, will it?”
The cab driver looked back at Tony and asked if everything was all right. Tony nodded and replied, “Oui, to my hotel.” Then under his breath, he continued the conversation, “Monsieur, I assume you’ll be joining me?”
Phil nodded. “Bien sûr.”
A little more persistence, a little more effort, and what seemed hopeless failure may turn to glorious success.
—Elbert Hubbard
