“It might be avoidance or it might mean you’re in the right place, after all,” she responded. “You should probably explore your feelings about that, too.”
“There’s the F-word again. You mention it a lot.”
She shook her head. “You are hopeless. Look, I’m starving. Let’s eat.”
They shared a Cabernet over dinner and the talk stayed away from Carol Irwin. When they finished, Linda said she wanted to turn in early because she had to leave to go to Vail first thing in the morning for a wedding shower. Streeter didn’t try to talk her into staying out. He was preoccupied with Jack Nevers’ story, so he just walked Linda to her car. When they kissed good night, the wine smelled rich and organic on her breath. He kissed her again and told her he’d call her Monday.
EIGHTEEN
As he combed his hair at the bathroom mirror, Brian was still amazed at his good luck with Laurie. He knew he had been taking a chance of infuriating her by going into her house with flowers. She takes it the wrong way, she’s gone forever. Judging by the look on her face when he first got to the condo, that almost happened. But crank up the old tear machine, humble yourself, and—bingo—you’re moving in with her. He smiled at his reflection. Everything was going better than he could have hoped. But his smile faded as he thought of how he hadn’t just cranked up the old tear machine. His crying was genuine. This last year without Laurie had been much harder than he’d ever imagined. She was his best friend, and his feelings for her ran deep. Since their breakup, his life had gone downhill. He’d been drinking heavily and, other than a few one-night stands, he hadn’t dated.
No, the swinging-single life hadn’t worked for Brian, and not just because his ladykiller days were behind him. It was Laurie. She was irreplaceable. She had a fire inside her and a way of making life seem interesting and important. A way of making him seem interesting and important. By the time he finished thinking about it, he was leaning forward, both hands on the sides of the sink, his head lowered. Spending the rest of his life without Laurie terrified him much more than Kevin Swallow could ever hope to. He shuddered and put his comb in his back pocket.
As they were leaving his office, shortly after five, he had told Laurie he’d go home, pick up his shaving kit and some clothes, and be at her condo by seven. He said he’d take her out for a nice dinner, somewhere dark and expensive. One of the big hotels in the Denver Tech Center, just south of town.
“That’ll be nice, Brian,” she had said cautiously.
Now he glanced at his reflection and smiled. He’d get back with Laurie and not screw it up this time. Plus, opening up and leveling with her the night before felt good. Made him feel lighter. Close to her, too. This sincerity hustle worked better than he’d ever imagined. He pondered whether or not to take a shower. It would be his second that day, a rarity, but why not? Maybe a little steak and wine, and Laurie might not mind so much if he ended up in her room later. He looked at his watch and realized he didn’t have time to clean up again. Instead, he opted for what he referred to as a Polish shower: warm water on the face and a couple of blasts under each arm with Right Guard. Throw on a little cologne and God only knows where he’d actually end up sleeping that night.
Washing up, he whistled softly. As he returned the towel to a rack behind him, he studied his profile in the mirror. He was wearing just tan slacks, and his round white stomach reminded him of a vanilla ice-cream cone. Brian frowned and thought of what Laurie had said about his body. “Starting tomorrow,” he whispered, “we cut back on the groceries.” No doubt about that.
Then he opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out the Right Guard can. Fluorocarbons and the possibility of their poking a hole in the earth’s ozone layer didn’t concern Brian. He grew up using the spray cans and he wasn’t about to change. It felt heavier than he recalled. Lifting his left elbow to get under that arm, he simultaneously pulled on the plastic top. Just as he started to pull, he heard a loud car horn out the window to his right. He turned his head to look in that direction, which almost certainly saved him from severe facial burns. It probably saved his life, too.
The pull wire connecting the top of the Right Guard can to the toggle switch Kevin had put where the nozzle used to be was about three inches long. A little longer than usual in a bomb like that. The extra length gave Brian’s face time to turn fully away before the can blew up. The explosive charge inside wasn’t quite as large as Kevin wanted, but he figured it would be enough to instantly kill whoever opened it. He figured wrong. For some unknown reason, the bulk of the blast went down and away from Brian. He saw a hard flash of light and heard the blast that would permanently reduce the hearing in his left ear to nearly nothing. Flames shot through his entire left armpit, up the arm, and along that side of his stomach, scorching hair and skin. His left hand felt like it had been slammed by a hot jackhammer. Brian was tossed to his right, straight into the bathtub. Tossed hard, but he didn’t die.
Kevin was slumped against the backboard in bed when the 10:00 P.M. news began. Gina was in the bathroom, brushing her teeth for maybe the twelfth time that day. On television, a tentative but drop-dead Hispanic anchorwoman led off the night’s stories with an item she didn’t know quite how to handle. It was violent, but so offbeat and quirky that her face struggled not to smile. Kevin’s own grainy mug shot was displayed behind her as she spoke.
“In Denver tonight, a forty-six-year-old man was severely burned when the aerosol deodorant can he was using—which was actually a crude homemade bomb—exploded into his armpit. Police believe the bombing is part of a series of attacks by a Kevin Swallow. Swallow had been convicted of the 1991 car-bombing murders of a Denver couple, but was later released when the convictions were overturned by the Colorado Court of Appeals. Brian Cullen, a longtime private investigator, is in serious condition at St. Joseph’s Hospital tonight with second-degree burns and a severe concussion. The bomb went off in the bathroom of his home on South Ogden Street, near Washington Park, shortly after seven p.m. Cullen was alone at the time.”
“The fuck does she mean, ‘crude’ bomb?” Kevin muttered. “Damned PIs. None of them want to go down like they should. Gina!” he yelled, his eyes still on the set. “Get in here, babe. You have got to see this.”
The bathroom door opened and a flood of light swept into the room, outlining Gina’s figure. She was wearing a sheer black baby-doll pajama top and a pink thong bottom that was smaller than her fading tan line. The toothbrush was shoved far into her mouth. As wet toothpaste dribbled down her chin she twisted maniacally on the brush. “Wah ist?” she asked, frowning and studying the TV as she walked.
Kevin looked up and said, “They had a story on Cullen getting blown up. Only he didn’t die, either.” He turned back to the set. “How the hell did he live through that? I bet that can was no more than three inches from his stupid armpit when it went off.”
He’d gone through Brian’s house a week earlier, searching for the right vehicle for the bomb. When he saw the deodorant can, he thought he’d found the perfect thing. Putting the actual bomb together was child’s play, and he slipped back into the house on Friday, the day before, to exchange it for the Right Guard in the bathroom.
For her part, Gina sat on the bed, her shoulders slumped. The toothbrush was in her balled fist and a small pool of wet white toothpaste had sloshed over her thigh. Secretly, she was glad that Cullen hadn’t died. She didn’t want another death on her increasingly guilty conscience. “Does this mean we have to wait around, Kev? You promised me that we’d leave town Monday, you know.”
He stared at her without saying a word. At times like this, Gina looked like she just fell out of a comic book. Toothpaste mustache, mismatched lingerie, excessive eyeliner, and a self-absorbed pout. That once-pretty face that now appeared to be forty and strained to look twenty. “I know I did, babe,” he said evenly. “And by Monday night we’ll be headed north. You don’t have to come back here until you’re good and ready.”
Gina smiled, h
er tongue shooting out like a poodle’s to wipe the toothpaste from around her mouth. “Oh, Kev, you’re the best. I always knew that.”
“Yeah. Why wait? Besides, those two guys you saw out there today might be trouble. We nearly did what we were after with Cullen. He’s hurting plenty. I give a shit if he actually dies or not.”
Gina stared at him in admiration. “You can be a very kind man sometimes, Kev.”
He looked closely at her to see if she was serious, but he couldn’t tell. “Besides, that damned break-in this afternoon has me worried,” he said. They had taken a long motorcycle ride a few hours earlier. When they got back, they found that someone had broken in and ransacked the place. They weren’t sure if anything was missing, but it was obvious that whoever did it was looking for something specific. “Anyhow,” he continued, “I’ve got my plans nailed down. We’ve got some serious work tomorrow, but we should be ready to make our move first thing Monday morning.”
Gina frowned deeply and looked around the room. “Who would do such a terrible thing? I’ve never had a break-in up here before.”
Kevin was pretty sure he knew who did and why, but he didn’t want to think about that now. Had to be the same guy who made the hang-up calls the day before. The man was getting close, Swallow reasoned, but he probably wouldn’t be back for a while. And Kevin didn’t want Gina any more spooked than she already was. Just keep her focused on completing the plan and then hit the road Monday. “I’m sure it was just some Mexicans. Your standard break-in. Crime in this country’s getting out of hand. It’s enough to make you wanna puke.”
She nodded knowingly. “What happens Monday?”
Kevin walked to the television set and turned it off. Then he glanced at Gina on the bed. “We’re going to bomb Irwin and you get to deliver it yourself.”
Gina’s eyes widened in fear and confusion. “Me? That’s cool, Kev, but it don’t sound all that safe.” She put the toothbrush back in her mouth and idly worked it, her mind focusing on what he had just told her.
Kevin walked to the bed and looked squarely into her eyes. “Do you think for a minute I’d have you do something that was dangerous? I’d never take any chances with your personal safety.”
She pulled the toothbrush out for a second. “I surely hope so, Kev.”
“You’ll be fine.” He kept steady eye contact as he spoke, his words coming in warm tones. “Just deliver the thing and leave. That’s all there is to it.”
Out came the toothbrush again. “What thing?”
“The dynamite, babe. Just a few sticks of dynamite with a little old timer and triggering device. Let me worry about all that.”
The word “dynamite” sent her forehead into frown spasms. “Dynamite? Now, sir, I know for a fact that’s dangerous.”
“Not the way I’ll have it set up.” Pacing in front of her, he explained, “The way I figure, between what happened to Cullen and that note I left Irwin this morning, they’re going to tighten security. Don’t worry yourself about the details, but she’s got to be in court most of the week, so we’ll nail her as she heads out Monday morning. We’ll need a shopping cart and some old ratty clothes for you.”
“I don’t get what you’re saying.” Terror was obvious in her voice. She frowned and seemed about to cry.
Kevin spent the next ten minutes patiently laying out the broad strokes of his plan and how Gina would be the star of the show. She studied him as he paced and talked, but the frown never left her face.
“That’s a lot for me to remember,” she said when he’d finished. “What if something goes wrong?”
Kevin wanted to slap her. “Gina, quit getting all chicken on me.” Then he knelt down in front of her again. “You were so gung ho on this plan when we started. I swear, if you wimp out on me now, you’ll fuckin’ wish that dynamite was for you.” Suddenly, his voice lightened. “Don’t worry, babe. We’ll go over it so much tomorrow you’ll be able to do it in your sleep. Think of how well you handled that call when we nailed Gagliano.”
A weak smile trickled across her mouth and she nodded. “I did good that time.”
“Damned straight you did. And you’ll be perfect this time, too. Just imagine how excited you’ll be, walking down the street with all that dynamite in your cart. It’ll be one major rush. That much power under your control.”
“Cool,” Gina concurred, nodding her head, but still confused. “I never thought of it like that. Just you make sure it’s safe for me.”
He reached up and carefully pulled her head onto his shoulder. “I wouldn’t let nothing in the world happen to you. That’s a promise.”
NINETEEN
When Streeter got home from Marlowe’s, Frank gave him the message from Nathan about Brian. He immediately drove to St. Joseph’s Hospital. Traffic on 17th was light, so he got there fast. It was shortly after eleven when he found Terry alone in the fourth-floor waiting room. Cullen had just gotten out of surgery, and Laurie was down the hall by the intensive-care unit, pacing and having a nicotine fit. Brian’s upper left side and arm were badly burned, he was temporarily deaf in his left ear, and he’d have a bitching headache for a couple of days. But he was stable and out of mortal danger.
“What the hell’s going on, Terry?” Streeter asked. There was a TV flickering Saturday Night Live in the corner, but the volume was off. “Brian decides to move in with Laurie and then this happens. All he had to do was make it to her place and he probably would have been okay.”
“Go figure.” Terry’s voice was calm, but there was pain in his eyes and his hands seemed unsteady. “They tell me he’s going to pull through, but who knows how you come out of something like this?”
“How long do you think he’ll be laid up?”
Terry shrugged. “Looks like I’ll be running the business for the next couple of months, at least.”
“What do the cops say?”
“Some cracker police sergeant by the name of Haney was running around here before. I didn’t talk to him much. The bomb was in a damned deodorant can. You believe that?”
“You’re kidding. I didn’t even know you could do that.”
“It’s possible. He put it in a can of Right Guard. All you need for a booby-trap bomb are explosives and a way to detonate them. I’ve heard about bombs in all sorts of things. Radios, flashlights, floor mats. Some guy out in New York City even sent a bottle of champagne with a bomb inside.”
“Pop the cork, huh? What’ll they think of next?”
“Better still, what’ll Kevin Swallow think of next?”
Streeter shook his head.
“All I know is I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on him for about half an hour,” Nathan continued. “Wouldn’t mind that at all right about now.”
“You’d have to get in line for that one, Terry.”
“Does Carol know about this, Streeter?”
“I didn’t tell her before I left and she didn’t see the news. She can find out in the morning. It wouldn’t be a good idea for her to be running around tonight more upset than she already is. Swallow might be counting on that.”
Terry looked off, deep in thought. Then he turned back to Streeter. “I expect she should know soon. The lady’s got to be next. No one left but her.”
“That’s what I figure,” Streeter said. “And that’ll be what she figures, too, once she learns about Cullen. Even with the doubled security and everyone trying to keep her under wraps, she’s in the box and I’m sure she knows it.”
Ironically, just then Carol herself swept into the waiting room, accompanied by two uniformed officers. One was Ruiz, normally the day guy, and the other was a chubby female Streeter hadn’t seen before. Carol was wearing a long London Fog trench coat with baggy black sweatpants extending below it. She was pale and looked thin in the oversized clothes.
“My God, Streeter!” She stopped when she spotted him. “Why didn’t you tell me about this? Didn’t you think I’d be interested?”
The bounty hunter walke
d up to her and looked closely at her face. “You shouldn’t have come here, Carol. Swallow probably anticipated that you would. You could be opening yourself up for trouble. How’d you find out about Cullen?”
“Frank told me. I went downstairs looking for you and he told me all he knew was that Cullen was hurt and that you went to the hospital.”
Streeter looked at Ruiz. “Why’d you let her leave the church?”
The cop’s face tightened. “Because she wanted to. She’s under police protection, not house arrest. I told her it’s best not to, but I can’t force her to stay home.”
Streeter turned back to Carol. “Brian’s going to make it,” he told her. “But he’s in intensive care and he can’t have visitors. Let’s you and I and your entourage head back home and lay low. Okay?” He glanced at her left hand and flashed on what Jack Nevers had told him. He also thought of what Linda had said about avoiding stress.
Carol slowly shook her head. “I want to talk to his wife. She must feel terrible. A bomb in a deodorant can. We’re not even safe in the bathroom anymore.”
Her words troubled him but he couldn’t figure out why. “Cullen didn’t have police protection,” he told her. “You’ll be safe if you just stay close to the church from now on and let the police do their job. I guarantee nothing’ll happen to you.”
“You know you can’t make that kind of promise. Just remember what happened this morning. And I have to be in court most of next week as well as going to the office from time to time. I can’t stop living just because someone’s trying to kill me.” That last thought didn’t come out right, so she added weakly, “You know what I mean.”
Suddenly, Laurie Cullen walked in. She moved more slowly and less confidently than usual. Coincidentally, she was wearing the same kind of long raincoat that Carol wore, only she filled it out more. Her face was lined with concern, but she looked composed.
Streeter Box Set Page 33
