by Gail Dayton
"I'm startin' a harem." Eli shut the window on the sound of Dusty's wheezing laughter.
Marilyn started to sit up, but Eli's arm tightened, holding her where she was. "Not yet," he said. "Wait till he's gone."
"No problem." Not a bit of one, except that she liked cuddling up to Eli a little too much more than was good for either one of them. "So what do we do now? Wait and see if anybody knows more? What are our options?"
Eli sighed, his chest rising and falling under her cheek. "Stay here and see who else turns up, or drive around looking for Flash's car. Neither one of them have much chance of working."
"You think you'd be able to spot it--Flash's car?"
"Oh yeah. He's the Flashman for a reason. He likes flash, likes to be noticed. If he doesn't have it hidden where we can't see it. He's driving a red Corvette right now."
Marilyn tried to sit up and this time Eli let her, but she kept the quilt tucked tight around her neck and he kept his arm tucked tight around her shoulders. "Which is it going to be? Stay or go?"
Eli took a deep breath, looking longingly at the bar. She could tell he wanted to go inside and ask questions, but he obviously understood he needed four good limbs to do it.
"What if I go in?" she said. "Ask around?"
"Bad idea. Bad, bad idea. No."
"Why not? Maybe I could find something out."
"It's a gay bar."
"I could pretend."
"Wouldn't work." He twisted in his seat, adjusting his grip on the crutch-weapon. "You look exactly like what you are, a nice, suburban housewife. Maybe you could pretend that you just figured out you liked girls, but that wouldn't explain why you were looking for Flash."
Eli pulled his arm back to his side. "Start the car. I got a few places to start looking."
Marilyn scooted back to her side of the car, shivering a little with the loss of Eli's warmth, and cranked the engine. The air coming out of the heater vents was slightly warmer than the air in the car, for which she was grateful. Traffic was almost non-existent here this time of day, so she pulled into the street and followed Eli's direction.
They cruised slowly through gloomy neighborhoods. The overcast sky contributed its own gloom, but Marilyn didn't think bright sunshine would help much. They passed boarded-up shops and rusting warehouses. Most all of the shuttered steel mills had been torn down, new things built in their place, but the ripple effect still showed, especially in this part of town.
"Are they abandoned?" she asked, passing down a street with more than its share of boards.
"Some of them. Some of them, the people can't afford to have the windows fixed or can't get the landlords to fix them." Eli shoved the quilt in the back seat, now the car had warmed up again. He seemed to be gripping the crutch tighter as they drove down certain streets.
She watched for any flash of red. Usually the glimpse turned out to be a coat or a hat rather than a car, but she saw a few. None of them Corvettes. Their cruising area widened. Now and again, Eli would ask her to pull to the curb and he'd call someone over to the car. After taking a minute to catch up with old times, he would ask about Teresa.
No one ever knew anything. With every block they drove and re-drove, with every person they asked, with every minute that ticked away, Marilyn could sense Eli's tension winding tighter. Darkness fell, making it hard to see into the shadows. They stopped at the drive-through of the fried chicken place and ate while still searching.
"How long ago?" Marilyn asked, as she wiped her fingers while sitting at a stoplight.
"What are you talking about?" Eli tossed a bone back in the box and reached for his own napkin.
"Never mind." She couldn't believe she'd asked the question. It didn't matter when Eli had been Teresa's lover. So what if she'd been wondering all afternoon long? She didn't care. Really. It was over now. More than a year over, according to what he'd told her and she believed he told her the truth. But more, it didn't matter because she wasn't interested in Eli.
"Marilyn, what are you asking? How long ago what?"
Oh hell, who was she kidding? She was interested, even if she wasn't about to indulge the interest and take him up on his offer. Which meant she couldn't indulge her curiosity either.
"Just--it doesn't matter." She shook her head, trying to wave him off. "Don't you think it's time we went to the police?"
"Don't try to distract me, Marilyn. You wouldn't have said anything if it didn't matter. Ask."
She slid a glance at him. He wasn't going to let go of it, was he? Marilyn sighed. "How long ago were you and Teresa lovers?"
Eli stared at her a second in the light of passing streetlamps, then puffed out his cheeks in a deep breath. "I don't know. Ten years? No, seven. It's been seven, I'm almost sure."
Almost? What did that mean? She ground her teeth together to keep the question from popping out. She had no right to her jealousy, and okay, she was jealous. Just a little. Which made her feel low as dirt, given that the woman's life was in danger.
But--what kind of hold did she have on Eli for him to be this worried about her if they hadn't been lovers for--maybe--seven years? It made Marilyn wonder about his claim that they hadn't been in love. It made her wonder...lots of things.
"I came through town a few times back then to check on things," Eli said, apparently taking her silence as a demand for details. "And we'd--you know. A couple of times. I'm not sure when the last time was but about seven years sounds right. I was eighteen. I pretty much gave up sex for a while after that."
Marilyn waved a hand, hoping to shut him up. "It doesn't matter. Maybe we should call the police. It's getting late and we haven't found anything."
"It's barely past seven." Eli tipped his head toward the clock in the dash, accepting her change of topic this time.
"That means there's less than five hours to find her. And a red car is going to be harder to spot in the dark."
"I don't do cops."
"Fine. Don't." The situation had Marilyn's patience running thin and she didn't bother trying to hide her irritation. "I'll call them." She held her hand out for Eli's cell phone.
"Let me try something first." Eli punched a few buttons and waited. "This is Court. Get me the Flashman."
Marilyn pulled into the curb for the conversation. She couldn't tell a Corvette from a Porsche and Eli didn't need to be splitting his concentration. Besides, she wanted to listen.
"Flash. No, I don't have the kid. I told you, I don't know where she stashed him." A pause. "If you'll shut up and listen, I'll tell you why I called. I got cash. Crinkly green spending money that I'm willing to trade for the woman."
Marilyn watched Eli negotiate, shivers running through her at the implacable expression in his eyes. He truly did think this Flash person would kill his friend. She wrapped her arms around herself, peering into the deep, cold, black night outside her car. It hadn't quite been real to her. People threatening to murder other people, using death for extortion purposes, was something that happened on television or in the movies.
Death was real. All too real. She knew that. But in her world, death came from illness or accident. Since she'd been working at the youth center, she'd become aware of another kind of death, ruthless heat-of-the-moment killing. But even that hadn't seemed quite real to her or she'd have been more afraid when those gang members confronted her the day Eli rescued her.
Or maybe she hadn't cared whether she lived or died.
"Ten thou," Eli said. "I got ten thousand cash I can deliver right now in exchange for Teresa."
Marilyn started to shake, not from the cold. Maybe in delayed reaction from the would-be muggers, a month late. Or maybe because, dear God, this man actually would kill Eli's friend if they didn't stop him somehow.
"Fifty?" Eli laughed. "She's not worth fifty grand." A pause. "Maybe. But it'll take time. Years. If you accept my offer, you'll have the money now, bulk sum, all at once, instead of waiting for it to trickle in."
This time, the pause was short.
"Flash? Flash?" Eli swore and raised the phone like he wanted to throw it, didn't, and swore again. Obviously, he'd been hung up on.
"Now what?" Marilyn got her shakes back under control.
Eli handed her the phone. "Make the call."
Marilyn hesitated, then dialed 9-1-1.
"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?"
"Um--" She should have decided what to say, first. "A woman's life is in danger."
"What's your location?"
"My location?" Why did they want to know that? She looked out the windows, trying to see a street sign. Eli told her and she repeated it to the operator. "But the woman isn't here with me. She's been kidnapped. I don't know where he took her."
Marilyn gave the operator Teresa's name and Flash's--his real name turned out to be Dwayne Gardner--and where they'd last been seen. She told him her own name and address and Eli's phone number, and anything else he wanted to know that Eli approved. The operator told her to go home and let the police handle it. Marilyn agreed, then hung up.
"Where to now?"
"The river." Eli took his phone back and pocketed it.
"Which one?"
He sighed. "All of them."
The evening dragged on just like the afternoon had, with them driving slowly through the streets, hoping against hope that they'd see something, hear something, learn something that would tell them where Teresa was. Something that would allow them to find her, possibly save her life.
Eli commented once that he hoped Flash didn't decide to kill her before midnight, which made Marilyn stop the car short in the middle of the block and made the driver behind them jam on his brakes too and hit his horn in protest. She tried to summon up her anger again, but the dread was too strong in the dark. Eli didn't say anything more about that particular worry.
The clock purred toward midnight, and with every minute that ticked off, Marilyn felt sicker. They weren't going to find Teresa. They weren't going to stop him. Just before midnight, Eli set his cell phone on the seat between them.
"You expecting a call?" she asked.
"Wouldn't put it past him to gloat." Eli's voice was steel on stone, harder than she'd ever heard it. "Or call so I can hear it happen."
"Oh God." Marilyn's eyes filled with tears. She blinked furiously to hold them back, but one or two managed to escape.
Eli gripped her hand hard for a second. "Go back to Nicky's. It's as good a place as any to wait."
"Maybe the police will call." She wheeled the car away from the Allegheny River. "Maybe they found her."
"Maybe."
But she could tell he didn't believe it.
Eleven
***
Nicky's had closed hours ago and still Eli sat in Marilyn's car watching the place. It was useless, yeah, but pretty much everything he'd done today had been useless, so why worry about it now? Besides, Marilyn was asleep on his shoulder and he didn't feel like waking her up. Thank God nothing had happened to Marilyn while they wasted the day hunting Teresa. He felt bad enough as it was, but if it had been Marilyn...
He thrust the thought away. He didn't want to think it, it was too horrible. Eli turned his head and kissed her forehead, then brushed back the silver-sparkled darkness of her hair. While she slept, he could kiss her all he wanted--all he could reach, which was pretty much just her forehead--and she wouldn't stop him. It was cheating. Stealing, in a way. But it was only her forehead, so he figured it was a misdemeanor. Fine only, not even jail time.
His cell phone shrilled. He had to unlace his fingers from hers and fumble in his sling where he'd put it.
"Yeah. Court here."
"I'm calling for Marilyn Ballard." The voice sounded official. Cop-like. Fortunately, Marilyn was waking.
"Yeah, just a second." Eli nudged her with his shoulder and put the phone in her hand. "Sounds like cops," he said softly.
Marilyn nodded and pushed her hair out of her face, finishing her yawn before she put the phone to her ear. "This is Marilyn. Can I help you?"
As Eli watched, the polite interest on her face faded to white horror. Oh God. He knew it.
"Yes, of course," she said. "Now?"
And then, "All right. Where? I mean where is it? I've never been there." She nodded, handed the phone to Eli, scooted across the seat to her place behind the wheel and started the engine.
"They found a body." She confirmed what her expression had already told him. "They want us to come identify it."
"You can't. You don't know her." Eli didn't want Marilyn anywhere around dead bodies--murdered ones. He supposed she'd been around her husband after he died. But murder was different.
"I know. But you're with me. I figure we can explain things when we get there. What time is it?" She glanced at the dashboard clock.
"Six-thirty-ish. Sun'll be up in another hour or so."
"That late? I'm sorry I slept so long. But 6:30 isn't as strange as being called to the--to that place at four in the morning."
"You needed the sleep." And he'd needed her close.
He appreciated her chit-chat. Helped him keep from obsessing about what he'd find at the morgue. Morgue--the word Marilyn couldn't say. He didn't blame her.
They parked out front, but the front door was still locked, so Eli led the way around the corner hunting for one that might be open. When he found a cluster of police cars and ambulances, he figured they were getting close.
Marilyn hovered as he worked his way slowly up the stairs--crutch and bad leg, good leg, one after the other. He thought about telling her to back off, then decided he liked the hovering. The door ahead opened with a thunk, sending Marilyn jumping back. A tall, broad, black man with a shaved head and black overcoat peered out through the opening.
"Ms. Ballard? I'm Detective Terrell Jackson. I'm sorry, I should have told you to come around to the side. I didn't think about the main door being locked at this hour." He shook Marilyn's hand, then looked past her to Eli standing beyond and his eyebrows shot up.
"Court?" he said. "Eli Court? Man, I thought you were dead."
Eli shook the hand that was offered with his left hand, surprised by the offer. "Not yet. Just a little battered." He lifted his broken arm in illustration.
"Hell. You're still getting the sh--crap beat out of you. But I have to say it's better than being dead. After Fat Fred bought it and you vanished, I knew sure you were dead too." Jackson looked Eli up and down, grinning like an idiot. "But you're not."
Then Eli placed him. Jackson had been a patrol cop back in the day. One of the better ones. A walking cliché--tough as nails, mean as a junkyard dog, straight as an arrow. A real "truth, justice and the American Way" kind of guy. He deserved the promotion to detective.
"Come inside out of the cold." Jackson motioned them inside. "How'd you survive, Court?"
"Left town. Got a job." He didn't want to stand around in this house of death making small talk. "You found Teresa?"
"Some patrol officers found a body. We couldn't identify it from her arrest photos. That's why they called me in, because I knew Teresa Howell. I couldn't ID her either. Thought maybe Ms. Ballard could." Jackson led them down the green-painted hall. Eli touched Marilyn's arm with his fingertips and she laid her hand on his cast.
"I don't know her," she said. "I made the call for Eli."
Jackson gave her a quick, sharp glance. "You a relative of his?"
"No, we're--he's staying with me. While he heals." Marilyn looked so cute when she blushed.
"Now, Marilyn--" Eli brought her hand up and kissed the back. "You know it's more than that." He stuck with innuendo because he couldn't resist teasing her, but he didn't dare joke outright about them being lovers. Not now that it had an outside--way outside--chance of actually happening.
She glared at him. "Teresa?" she said, reminding him of their purpose here.
The detective was looking curiously from one of them to the other, but at Marilyn's not-so-subtle hint, he opened a door. "There's a video viewing room here.
"
Eli released her hand. "I want you to wait here."
Marilyn shook her head. "I'll go inside. It's video, right? She looked at Jackson who nodded. "So I don't have to look. I--don't really want to stay out here by myself."
Which might be the truth, or part of it. Eli figured the rest of the truth had to do with Marilyn's hovering tendencies, and since he'd already decided he liked them, he didn't see any need to object. He let her lay her hand over his on the crutch as they followed Jackson into the room.
It was glaring white after the green hall. The file cabinets on every wall but one surrounded them like disapproving sentinels. The center of the room held a row of seats, like in waiting rooms everywhere, fastened together to make a sort of bench. The far, file-cabinet-free wall had glass windows in the top half, covered with a heavy white curtain on the other side of the glass, and a video monitor on a swing arm attached above that.
Jackson pulled the monitor lower. "Ready?"
No. But he wouldn't be any readier later. Eli glanced at Marilyn. She'd turned partially away from the TV. Holding his hand, she stared resolutely at the file cabinets past his opposite shoulder. She'd be okay. He took a deep breath and nodded.
The TV clicked and hummed when Jackson turned it on. Eli took another deep breath, closed his eyes, opened them again and looked.
The monitor showed the upper half of a woman's body. She was naked, but Eli scarcely noticed, his attention captured by the lurid ruin of her face. She'd been beaten. To death.
Shattered bones destroyed every recognizable landmark of her face. The red, purple and black lividity of the injuries made her look even less human, but Eli knew. Whether this was Teresa or not, Flash had done it. As a message to him.
He doubled over and threw up. All over Jackson's polished wingtips. He'd seen stuff as bad before, but not anybody he might have cared about.
"What--?" Marilyn's hand settled on his back. "Oh, my God."
Oh, shit. She looked. She had to have. He'd have given anything to keep that from her. Eli straightened, looking for something to wipe his mouth.
