The Last American Martyr by Tom Winton Read Free Book Online Page A

work again; tell her I’m going to need a longer leave of absence than I thought.”
    “That’s exactly what I was thinking. Alright…that takes care of the apartment and your job. As for the money, look at the huge resurgence in sales the book has experienced. Since the media announced I’d be getting the prize two months ago, sales have gone through the roof again.”
    “Yeah, and we’ve already agreed there’s no way in hell we’re going to take it off the market. That’s a done deal.”
    “Right, like I said, I’ll die before I’ll do that. But let me get back to the money thing now. Between the royalties coming in the way they are, and what I’ve gotten for the Nobel, money is a non-issue. I can easily make the donation to Habitat for Humanity and still have far more than we need for the trip. Once we get back, and decide what we want to do, we’ll set ourselves up, hopefully return to a normal life, and continue our philanthropy.”
    Elaina thought the plan was perfect, except for one small hitch. The only stipulation she insisted on was that after we come back, we keep fifty-thousand dollars in our bank account. And it made sense. With neither of us getting any younger, it was time we had some kind of small nest egg. We had to have something to fall back on.
    After agreeing on that, I called Avis at the airport and reserved a car. Elaina and I did not own an automobile. Living in Flushing for so many years like we had, with public transportation being so convenient, it had been a long time since we’d owned one. But thankfully we’d always renewed our driver’s licenses. With the rental car already secured, we packed our belongings and considering the circumstances, went to bed in reasonably good spirits.
     
    * * *
     
    The only thing separating the hotel from LaGuardia was the Van Wyck Expressway. Under cover of darkness early the next morning, Elaina and I hustled across it via an overpass that brought us right into the airport. There we picked up a Ford Taurus. As it was so early and a Saturday, traffic was nearly nonexistent. We made excellent time heading toward New Jersey. We zipped right through Queens, Brooklyn, and Staten Island, entering “The Garden State” just as a fresh new sun glinted on the eastern horizon. Crossing that invisible state line under such a glorious dawn sky made us both feel as if we’d been reborn. As if we had a chance. We not only felt somewhat safer but a heightened sense of anonymity as well.
    Nevertheless, we weren’t about to let down our guard. I may have stopped checking the rearview mirror, but I was still damned glad I had the Glock .45 automatic I’d bought the previous year. Buying the pistol seemed like a necessary evil after sales of Enough is Enough skyrocketed and the response from the business world escalated from mere grumblings to a loud vicious growl. As much as we needed the gun now, I wasn’t very happy when I had bought it. I’d broken a promise I once made to myself. A vow I swore to myself the day I left Viet Nam. I can remember as if it was last week, being on that “freedom bird,” rising above the jungle and rice paddies, watching them shrink and swearing up and down I’d never touch another firearm. Unfortunately, circumstances sometimes dictate that we go back on our word.
    The first stop on our itinerary was Cherry Hill, New Jersey. We had checked our laptop before leaving the hotel and found out that two large RV dealers were in that area. Both seemed to have large inventories, so we figured they would be good places to shop prices and maybe strike up a deal. Also, both dealerships were convenient since we were heading south to begin with. With winter not all that far off, which direction to go in had been an easy decision. If Elaina and I were being forced to hide out, or if we had to keep on running, we might as well do it where it’s sunny and warm.
    After exiting the Jersey Turnpike in Cherry Hill, we stopped at a