Imola

by RICHARD SATTERLIE

  Agnes looked in both directions and burst into tears. The breathlessness of a panic attack emptied the phone booth of air.

  “You have the time and place, right?”

  She hunched over, straining to breathe.

  “Agnes?”

  The next breath came without resistance. She straightened up and pulled it in to capacity. Everything looked crisp, clear. A deep growl-like rumble squeezedthrough her lips, terminating in a single chuckle.

  “Day after tomorrow. Charlie Brown and Snoopy statue. Railroad Square. Got it?”

  She laughed a throaty laugh. “Oh, yeah. She got it.”

  Click.

  Jason slammed his fist into the steering wheel. He wasn’t lying about the job, but it twisted his gut to put Agnes off like that. He’d promised Bransome he’d set up a meeting in a public place if Agnes ever contacted him. But to hear her voice, hear her say she needed him. It cut into him as deeply as if Lilin’s razor had found its mark. He had to do it, though. It was the only way. He knew he could get Agnes to turn herself in, but what if it was Lilin instead of Agnes? Could he handle Lilin by himself, on her turf? The meeting was the best way. But Agnes needed him now …

  Something about the conversation bothered him, though. He wasn’t sure what it was until he tried to replay it in his mind. It was something right at the end. What did she say when he asked if she understood about the meeting? It sounded like she said, “Yeah. She got it.” She.

  CHAPTER 29

  Lilin opened the door to the motel room and walked over to the bed. Fluffing the pillows, she stacked them against the headboard and fell against them, grabbing the television remote on the way down.

  I don’t know how you got away from me, but I’m going to make sure you don’t do it again. I’m almost done here, and I don’t need anymore of your interference.

  Just leave.

  I have two more loose ends to take care of. It’s funny. I only had one until that call. I wasn’t going to do anything to your Jason. But don’t you realize he just set a trap for me? And for you?

  He only wants the best. He’s one of the good ones.

  When are you going to realize that you’ll never do any better than me? What were you before I camearound? Did you have a man? Any men? Had you even had any kind of sex?

  Is sex everything to you?

  No. Sex is nice, but I can go way beyond nice. And I can take you with me. You got a taste of it. It can be even better. No man can give you that. Not unless you do it my way. That’s the only way I can be satisfied by a man like I need to be satisfied.

  By inflicting pain? By killing?

  Father was a good teacher. Pain and sex are a powerful combination. Sex needs an emotional base, or it’s just rubbing. My way, I don’t have to worry about any of the baggage that comes with anything more than a one-time event. Once you realize that, you won’t question me anymore. We can feel the power together. Anytime we want to.

  If there’s no baggage, then why are you on the run? Why do you need a new identity? Why do you need to clean up loose ends?

  Shut up. You turned away from me before. You wouldn’t help. You left me alone with Father. And you know what he did. What he taught me. You’re not going to turn away from me again. I’m here because of you. I am what I am because of you. You owe me.

  You don’t understand. I was a little girl.

  I understand everything now. I understand what I have to do to get you to unite with me. To stop questioning me. You have to go away. Forever. And it’s happening. That’swhy the loose ends aren’t merely loose ends. They’re more. And you just delivered the most important one to me. And to think I was going to let him go.

  What are you going to do to Jason?

  Don’t you know?

  What you want to do? Yes. How you’ll do it? No.

  That’s because I haven’t given it any thought yet. I have to deal with the other one right now. He’s not much more than a loose end, but I need to be thorough. Besides, every time I have a man, you have him with me. And you and I become closer to one. A few more and you’ll feel the same itch I feel. You’ll have the same needs. Then we will unite, and you’ll be gone. Forever.

  You kill for the thrill. That won’t ever be acceptable. Don’t even pretend it’s to be thorough.

  Not this discussion again. Okay. I’ll humor you. You’re right. My juices are near a boil. I have a target. Someone I dealt with earlier. Someone who could talk. Someone who’ll give me what I want right now.

  Who are you after?

  You don’t know?

  No.

  You’ll find out soon. After that, I’ll have to find a way to get to your Jason. He’s working with the police. I can feel it. He won’t be alone at the Snoopy statue. But he will be surprised. I have an idea or two, but I have to think them through. You’ll be a good girl. Won’t you?

  CHAPTER 30

  Jason dialed his cell phone and had to wait only two rings. Detective Bransome’s gravelly voice blasted through the earpiece. Jason wondered why some people thought they had to shout into a phone.

  “It’s Jason. I just talked to Agnes—”

  “Agnes or Lilin?”

  “It was Agnes.”

  Bransome’s voice faded and then boomed again. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Does it matter?”

  “Lilin might see through it. Agnes wouldn’t.”

  “It was Agnes.”

  “Good. Did you arrange something?”

  Jason switched the phone to his other ear. “I told her to meet me in downtown Santa Rosa. The day aftertomorrow.”

  “Where in Santa Rosa?”

  “Railroad Square—”

  “Shit,” Bransome said. “Where in Railroad Square?”

  “Next to the Charlie Brown and—”

  “Shit.”

  Jason waited, but nothing followed the exclamation. “I guess I don’t have to ask if you know the place. What’s wrong with it?”

  “God damn it, it’s full of tourists. Easy for a person to mingle, get lost. And a surprise apprehension is tough.”

  Jason raised his voice to match Bransome’s. “You didn’t give me any instructions. No suggestions. I wanted someplace that was easy to find. Easy to remember.” And someplace safe. With lots of people around.

  “We’ll have to deal with it. What time?”

  “Noon.”

  “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

  “What did you want? Midnight?”

  “Everyone’s out at noon, milling around, eating lunch. Even the locals. You couldn’t have found a busier time.”

  “Won’t that make it harder for her to spot any of you? Harder to blow the cover?”

  “I don’t blow covers. I swear, Powers. If we pull this off, you’re going to owe me one hell of a dinner.”

  Jason nodded, as if Bransome could see him. “I know a McDonald’s with an awesome play area.”

  “They better serve a good T-bone—in a man’s size.”

  Jason thought he heard a chuckle. “So how will it come down? What should I do?”

  “There are three possibilities I can see. One, she’ll show and walk right up to you. Two, she won’t show. In that case, she could just blow you off or stay somewhere in the distance where she can watch you. Three, she could get someone else to come up to you and give you a message.”

  “Someone else?”

  “A stranger. She’s a sneaky one, particularly if she’s in the Lilin mode. I’m sure she’ll either no-show or get someone to talk to you. Probably stand back and watch in either case.”

  “So what should I do if someone else comes up to me?”

  “Do you have a hat you normally wear? Something Agnes may have seen?”

  “She’s seen me in a Giants baseball hat.”

  “Good. Wear that. If someone else comes up and gives you a message, take the hat off with your right hand and wipe your forehead with your right forearm. That’ll be easy to see.”

  “Then wh
at?”

  “Nothing for you. You just stay put. We’ll go in the search mode—everywhere within view.”

  Jason laughed. “What will you have? An army?”

  Bransome’s voice rose. “We’ll have every availableperson from three counties, short of the National Guard. I’d have them as well, but you didn’t give me enough notice. We’ll have every street and alley covered and re-covered.”

  “And how will you hide the army of officers? She’ll have to walk by at least one of your men.”

  “We’ll all be in plainclothes. Tourist clothes. Business clothes. College student clothes. Maybe even a hooker or two thrown in. You won’t know who’s who, so how could she?”

  “Okay. What if she doesn’t show and you don’t find her anywhere? Do we all just go home, pop some corn, and put on the TV?”

  Bransome snickered. “Pop some extra, because we’ll have a tail on you. If she hangs back and follows you when you leave, we’ll be right there. So just go straight home. Don’t pass Go. Don’t collect two hundred dollars.”

  Jason thought for a few seconds. “If she does show, will I be in any danger? If it’s Lilin, she could slice and run.”

  Bransome laughed so loud the phone blanked for a moment. “I suggest you wear a turtleneck.”

  “I’m serious. How quickly will you get to me if I need help?”

  “We’ll have the necessary medical backup. They’ll be close enough to save half of your blood.”

  “Gee. I feel better already. I’m serious. Should I take some protection?”

  “You plan to screw her in front of the Snoopy statue? A rubber won’t do much good there.” Bransome lost it. His laughs eventually faded in volume.

  Jason huffed. “God damn. What’s in your coffee? You just went from ‘shit-shit-shit’ to jokes and hysterical laughter in less than a minute.”

  “I’m on a high right now. I’m excited about the job, and about covering all bases. I love challenges like this. You won’t want to talk to me the morning of the job. My wife stays away when I’m like this.”

  “I don’t know if that’s comforting or not. If I hadn’t worked with you in Mendocino, I’d back out right here and now.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Look. If she’s in the Lilin mode, you probably won’t even see her. If she’s Agnes, we’ll get to her before she can finish the hug she’ll give you.”

  “A hug.” Jason nearly dropped his phone. A Lilin hug could create all sorts of problems, none with a good outcome.

  CHAPTER 31

  Charlie Brown was four feet tall, and Snoopy stood to his chin. A two-foot pedestal brought Charlie’s bronze, bowling-ball head to Jason’s height. Jason turned away and leaned against the fence that circled the sculpture. The surrounding grass lot gave good visibility in all directions.

  Railroad Square was close to the downtown off-ramps of the elevated stretch of Highway 101, which shadowed the dam-like wall of nearby Plaza Mall. Just up the road in a quarter-turn direction was Courthouse Square.

  Jason scanned the adjacent parking lot, then spun around to glimpse the brick and stone façades of the businesses that lined the quaint streets, where diagonal parking both increased the packing of cars and added to the antique feel of the old town. This part of downtownwas his favorite, even though the 12 percent business vacancy rate hadn’t declined significantly through the last twenty years of commissions, urban renewal studies, and unfunded action plans. And despite an infusion of trendy restaurants and shops, the stereotypical one-coffee-shop-per-square-half-mile, and the ubiquitous brew pub, pedestrian traffic dried up every night after the dinner rush, sinking the area into an urban coma. The great debate was over the culprit, argued in city council chambers as anything from parking problems, to the mall and adjacent Marketplace, to the roving bands of teens who migrated between Railroad Square and Courthouse Square looking for ways to satiate their group-wide attention deficit disorders that always seemed to emerge from the congregation of three or more normal juveniles.

  On this weekday at noon, the area around Railroad Square was lively. Elderly tourists arrived in buses and General Motors sedans. The statue seemed to slow their sightseeing in favor of nostalgic recollections of how the old days carried a simpler tune. Local businessmen and businesswomen took advantage of the warm weather to grab a bite or to conduct cell phone business on a park bench or patch of dry grass.

  Jason chose this area of downtown, and the Snoopy statue, for the openness and the relative quiet. The dull hum of tires on the elevated 101 was muffled and quickly ignored, like the buzz of fluorescent lights in a Walgreen’s drugstore. The homeless preferred the greater expanse of Courthouse Square, so only the odd derelict stopped to pay respects to Snoopy and his master. It was the perfect place for a clandestine meeting, and for a stakeout and ambush.

  The mall was too public for the meeting and was without good escape routes. Jason thought it would be too claustrophobic for Lilin. Courthouse Square was too busy and too large. And the deafening, staccato thumping of tires on the faux cobblestone roadway that bisected the park was best tolerated by sensory-dull drunks and groups of young men with dueling boom boxes.

  Jason paced in front of the statue, then stopped and leaned against the short fence. His wristwatch read 11:58. If Agnes was out there, would she show up? Probably. If it was Lilin? Probably not. At least not without a disguise.

  He spun around and scanned a group of elderly tourists and paused to inspect each of the women, looking for any inconsistency of appearance. It wouldn’t be a wig. The hairstyles of most elderly women looked too much like mediocre wigs overdone with wind-resistant curls. And anything could be hidden in the clothing. Including a razor. Jason shivered as he walked to the side of the octagonal fence opposite the herd of picture takers.

  He zeroed in on the women’s legs, the ankles, and he had to walk back around the fence to get a good view. Itwould be hard to hide Lilin’s shapely ankles. A few steps onto the grass and his pulse picked up to a mid-workout pace. The fence, like Linus’s blanket, was a comfort, but more. It was Jason’s station in a game of espionage. His safe house. As long as he stayed near it, his people were close, watching.

  A step back toward the statue, and a jogger nearly banged into him. She wore a seafoam green, velour running outfit with matching headband. Too much for a warm day like today. And she wasn’t drenched in sweat. Probably one of Bransome’s recruits. If so, it was a terrible disguise—too unique for more than a single pass through the square.

  Now Jason’s attention, and imagination, turned to the good guys. Who were the cops? The two men in business suits who sat on a bench at the far end of the grass? One talked nonstop on a cell phone while the other stabbed at the keypad of a Blackberry. The hippie girl next to a small throw rug covered with rows of silver bracelets and earrings? She danced to imaginary music. Was Lilin standing off somewhere, watching, playing the same game of who-are-the-cops?

  The warmth of the afternoon burst through Jason’s clothing like a soaker hose. Without shade, the sun turned up the thermostat a good ten degrees. His Levi’s felt sticky, and a vertical line of sweat stuck his shirt to his back along the length of his spine. On breeze-lessdays like this, the downtown air had a whiff of staleness. It was the kind of smell that drove most residents west, to the ocean beaches.

  The tickle of sweat bubbles ringed the headband of his San Francisco Giants baseball hat. He was a true fan: the hat was fitted, 7¼, not one of the generic ones with the adjustable strap in the back. He wanted to lift the hat and wipe his brow with his forearm, like Barry Bonds taking a curtain call from the dugout after blasting a fastball to a splash-down in McCovey Cove. But that was his signal to Bransome’s crew. No matter how much the black hat made him sweat, he had to leave it in place until a contact was made. He forced his mind back to the Giants. Like many local fans, he had mixed feelings about Barry’s departure. Glad he was gone because of his personality, but sorry to see such talent lost to baseball,
chemical enhancement or not.

  A bum swaggered toward the statue, his filthy jeans topped with a tattered sport coat, opened to show the front of a T-shirt that had probably been white at one time. Jason’s eyes shot to the man’s fingernails. The true test. They were long and stained brown, ringed in black like someone had traced their outlines with an eyeliner pen. Definitely not a cop. It was easy to grease the hair, and to make a long beard look stringy. But there was no way to fake the fingernails.

  The man had a thick stack of papers folded over hisleft forearm. The large photo on the top sheet was of four young men in the non-posed pose of a rock band publicity shot.

  The man zigzagged through the throng of people, licking the pad of his right index finger before peeling off the top sheet and shoving it toward the hand of the next person he approached. Every one of his victims hesitated, then grasped the sheet in a thumb-and-forefinger vice. Most swiveled their heads, apparently looking for the nearest trash bin, before looking at what was printed on the leaflet.

  The man approached. A bead of Jason’s sweat turned into a gusher, rolling down his forehead, around his eyebrow, and onto his cheek. He watched the man’s forefinger brush his tongue and grip the corner of another sheet.

  The man adjusted the stack of sheets on his forearm before thrusting a sheet in Jason’s direction. Not wanting to insult the fellow, Jason accepted the flyer, but dropped his hand to his side without a glance at the paper. The local venue for up-and-coming rock bands, one step up from the garage, was four blocks from the new old downtown, in a direction that changed from quaint to scary within two of the four blocks.

  The old man barely moved past before Jason spotted the tastefully decorated garbage can, fifteen feet off to his right. He fell into a single-file line of six tourists, all apparently intent on recycling the derelict’s offering. His turnat the receptacle, Jason dropped the sheet without crumpling it, and watched it flutter through the narrow opening.

  Two large words, alone in the middle of the clean white sheet, caught his attention. There was no picture, as there had been on all of the other flyers. He jammed his arm down into the bin and grasped for the paper. His hand clamped on several sheets as something wet coated the back of his wrist. He yanked his hand upward and held the handful of papers at arm’s length. The top piece had the photo of the band, as did the bottom three. He spread them in his fingers like cards in a poker hand. The second sheet was nearly blank except for something printed in large font, probably 64-point, in the middle of the page.