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“That’s my job,” Otto said.
“Tell me about you, Otto. You married? Kids?”
“Married fifteen years, a thirteen-year-old daughter.”
“What’s her name?”
“The wife is Betty, the daughter is Caroline. She’s something, Caroline-smartest kid you ever saw. Won a scholarship to Choate Rosemary Hall!”
“Funny, I went there,” Dink said. “Good thing she won a scholarship. It’s an expensive school.”
“Well, the scholarship pays only half. I’ve got to come up with the rest.”
“Jeez, that’s what, twenty grand?”
“Twenty-one,” Otto said. “I can manage the one. Betty wants to get a job to help, but she’s not well-really bad asthma.”
“Do me a favor, Otto,” Dink said. “Let me use your cell phone.”
“What for?” Otto said. “And you’re not allowed to have a cell phone. I’d get in trouble.”
“Okay, you dial a number for me. Don’t worry, it’s just my bank-you won’t get into trouble.”
Otto picked up his jacket and came up with his phone.
Dink gave Otto the number. “What’s your last name?”
“Krieger.” Otto tapped in the number and listened. “Whaddaya know?” he said. “It’s your bank.” He handed Dink the phone.
“Lora Trenkle, please,” Dink said. “Hello, Lora? Dink Brennan. Just fine. I assume you’ve made the necessary adjustments to my accounts since I have access to my trust. Good. I’d like to send a wire transfer to the bursar at Choate Rosemary Hall School. You’ll have to call them for the account information. Twenty-one thousand, for the tuition of Caroline Krieger. Can you still get that out today? Great, and please deposit one hundred thousand from my trust into my checking account. Thanks so much.” Dink handed the phone back to Otto. “Done.”
Otto stared at him in disbelief. “That was a joke, right?”
“Call the bursar in an hour,” Dink said.
“Dink, why would you do that?”
“It is for a worthy cause. Caroline sounds like a great kid.”
“I’m overwhelmed,” Otto said. He looked at Dink suspiciously. “You want something from me?”
Dink got up and grabbed the basketball. “Just another game. I’ll spot you two points.” He threw the ball to Otto.
During the next few days, Otto became Dink’s manservant. He brought burgers from a fast-food place, books from the library-self-help books, mostly. He couldn’t do enough.
“I’ve spoken to the director,” Otto said one day, “and told him I think you should be returned to your old quarters. I talked to Dr. Morton, too, and he seemed to agree with me. It’ll probably be tomorrow. I’ll get your things out of storage.”
“Gee, thanks, Otto,” Dink said.
The following day, Dink walked into his old room and found his civilian clothes on his bed and an envelope containing his wallet. There were no credit cards, of course-Herb Fisher had cut those in half-but his driver’s license was there, and a little over a hundred dollars. The next morning, Dink was having coffee with Otto in the rec room. “There’s a terrific movie on in town,” he said. “I saw it in the local paper. I hear the management allows trips to the village. Why don’t we go this afternoon?”
“They’ll sometimes let us take a day trip,” Otto said. “I’ll see what I can do.” He left and walked toward the administrative offices, then returned ten minutes later. “We’re on,” he said. “Starts at two-thirty.”
Otto drove Dink into the village and parked on Main Street. The theater was two buildings from the corner gas station, as Dink had remembered. Otto bought him a ticket, and they went inside. Twenty minutes into the feature, Dink grabbed his gut and made a grunting sound. “I’ve got to go to the john,” he whispered to Otto.
“Okay.”
Dink left the theater and walked quickly down to the gas station, where he found the owner reading a newspaper. “Hi,” Dink said. “My name’s Brennan. You’ve got my car stored here.”
