When he was upright again, a cold barrel jabbed into his neck.
“Put the gun on the seat,” the woman said.
“Jennifer?”
“Yes, Stan. I’m here.”
She was at the passenger window, aiming an assault rifle at him. Thing was so big and heavy, she was stooped over from cradling it.
“Put your dinky gun down on the seat,” the other woman said. “I don’t want to have to shoot you and mess up the upholstery with a lot of gore and gristle.”
Stan dropped the pistol on the passenger seat and Jennifer reached in and picked it up.
“That’s good. Now turn the headlights off and get out of the car. And don’t even think of trying to make a run for it.”
A car came whizzing out of the dark, lighting them up, then roaring away in the same direction they were headed. But if anybody saw the assault rifle, they didn’t slow down.
“I got a fucking broken leg,” Stan said. “I’m not running anywhere.”
“So get out of the fucking car, macho man.”
Stan did as he was told, dragging his heavy plaster cast out the door. And the girl ordered him to turn around and walk to the other side of the car, over toward a ditch.
“Jesus Christ, Jennifer, are you going to let this woman shoot me?”
“You know what I found out, Stan? You know what I learned these last few hundred miles? I discovered a common household cockroach is a better lover than you are. That’s what I discovered.”
“A roach?”
“That’s right. A common household pest.”
“Jesus, have you been drinking? They slip you some drugs, or what?”
“I’ve come to my senses, Stan. I see which side my bread is buttered on. It took me awhile, but I finally realized it. You’re a man, and you’ve spent your whole life learning how to be something that’s very sick and twisted. And even if you started right now, you’re never going to get over it.”
“Give him hell, Jen.”
“I’m sorry, Stan. It isn’t going to work out between us. I’m involved with someone else.”
“You are? Since when?”
“Enough of this shit,” Emma said. “Stand back out of the way, Jen. You don’t want to mess up that nice silk blouse.”
Stan said, “Wait a minute. Let’s talk about this. You can’t just walk up to a man and kill him on the side of the road without any provocation whatsoever. It isn’t done. That’s not how it works.”
“Oh, no?”
There was a loud crack, and Stan felt a jolt in his back. He went sprawling forward like somebody had blindsided him with an illegal block. One of those cheap shots that started bench-clearing brawls. People pouring down from the stands to get in a few licks, coaches running onto the field, trying to separate everyone. That’s what it felt like. A wallop to his spine, numbing and hard, and it made him mad.
But he couldn’t do anything with that anger because his face was in the dewy grass and he was numb. And he knew they’d have to bring out the stretcher for him on this one. The golf cart and the stretcher and take him off to the hospital and lay him down on the clean sheets, where he’d wake hours later not remembering any of it, amnesiac, and there would be a couple of his teammates, all showered and dressed, and their girlfriends, and there’d be some of the cheerleaders, too, with expectant smiles.
“Hey, he’s waking up. He’s waking. Can you hear us, Stan?”
And he’d smile because there was that one cheerleader. Alexandra Collins. The best-looking damn girl in school. And smart, too, and funny, but with a sad side. Like Stan had. A sad and quiet part of her that was the thing that drove Stan crazy about her. He wanted a girl he could confess to. A girl he could tell about Margie, what they’d done together, and his feelings of inadequacy, a girl who’d share her own secrets, and they’d be close because of that. So close they could say anything at all to each other.
His face was in the dewy grass, and she was there at his bedside when he woke. Alexandra Collins.
“Is he dead?”
“No, he’s still breathing.”
“Then you do the honors, Jen.”
“Oh, Christ, Emma. No, I can’t.”
“You have to, Jen. You don’t have a choice.”
“Emma, please.”
“Come on, sweetheart. We’re all in this together now. It’s a joint venture.”
Stan heard Jennifer whine; then a long while went by, Stan breathing in the scent of the wet grass.
Then he felt another jolt in his back. No pain, though. None at all, just a golden radiance expanding in his head. A silence deeper and more pure than any he’d ever known.
Gathered around his bed in the hospital were his other high school buddies. His teammates. All those guys. What were their names? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember their girlfriends, either. He couldn’t even remember his own sweetheart’s name. Jesus, his best friends in the whole world and he couldn’t remember their fucking names. Not even his own girlfriend, the girl he wanted to marry. Man, what the hell was wrong with him, he couldn’t remember that wonderful girl’s name?
And then Stan couldn’t remember anything.
There was just the dew.
TWENTY-FOUR
They were in a high-backed booth at Bud and Alley’s, a waterfront restaurant on the dunes across from Seaside. Lawton and Jason on one side, Alex on the other. Her father was wearing his jumpsuit, clean and dry. Hair combed, face with color again, but acting subdued, staring around the room as if he were trying to reconstruct the chain of events that had brought him to this place. Missing a few links.
Jason had gotten his suitcase out of his rental car, taken it into Lawton’s bedroom, and changed into tan jeans and a dark blue shirt printed with golden palm trees. First time she’d seen him in street clothes. She’d been trying not to look at him too often, but her eyes kept straying.
Bud and Alley’s was an L-shaped building with crank windows that opened out on the cool Gulf breezes. Modeled on beachfront joints from the same era as the homes across the highway, the restaurant seemed less make-believe than the town it served. It was both spare and elegant with its polished oak floors, a small homey bar, and basic cherry chairs and tables. Decorating the walls were black-and-white photos that showed the barren dunes and rolling hills as they’d been in the last century, before the Redneck Riviera became a chic getaway for Atlanta dentists and Tuscaloosa plastic surgeons. At least that’s what they looked like, the raucous, boozy folks in the adjacent booths in their swanky sports clothes and hundred-dollar haircuts.
The dinner at Bud and Alley’s was superb. Best meal she’d had in years. Flaky yellowtail, delicious roasted potatoes, a crisp wine Jason had selected. Everything fresh, homemade, subtly seasoned—the sauces, the savory vegetables, the warm, grainy bread. Even the service was executed with easy efficiency. A crew of keen young people in shorts and T-shirts who were neither jaded nor too eager. There seemed to be a golden hue in the air, a firelight glow that radiated from the walls and wrapped the dining room in its protective halo, as if they were sipping sherry before the hearth in some wintry English country inn. At any other moment in Alexandra’s life, the evening would have seemed flawless.
“Walk me through this one more time, Alex. You stumble onto this house in the Grove and find a bag of loot just sitting there?” Jason topped off her glass with chardonnay and wedged the bottle back into the ice. “Like right out in the open. I mean, come on, that’s pretty wild.”
“It wasn’t out in the open; it was on a shelf,” Lawton said. “And don’t forget, son, she was accompanied by a trained investigator. Me.”
“And,” Alex said, “we’re not exactly dealing with master criminals here.”
“These people who chased you, they were the same ones who murdered Gabriella Hernandez? You’re sure about that?”
“In a blue pool truck,” she said. “Same people, absolutely. Either they’re working with Stan or they’ve homed in
on the cash from some other direction.”
“Okay, so why’d you run? Why haven’t you just called one of your buddies at Miami PD, told them the whole story, turned the money over? You trying to cut a deal, or protect Stan or something?”
“I like this young man,” Lawton said, beaming at Jason. “I like how he thinks. He’s got a head on his shoulders. Not like so many young folks you run into these days. Take that Frank Sinatra character, for instance. Now there’s a born loser.”
Alexandra wiped her lips and set her napkin beside her plate.
“I’m not protecting Stan. The bastard’s going to jail. He’s a thief and murderer.”
“And he’s having an affair, too,” Lawton said. “Little bitty girl, size six. Disco bunny is how I picture her.”
Jason gave her father a vague smile, still not sure what to make of him.
“I don’t see the problem, Alex. Just pick up the phone, turn him in. Or were you thinking of holding on to the money?”
Her mouth tightened.
“There’s more to it than the robbery,” she said.
Lawton said, “Yeah, Stan knows about Darnel Flint. He’s threatened to expose the whole sordid mess.”
Jason glanced around the dining room as if checking for eavesdroppers, then steered his eyes back to Alexandra, his voice dropping a few decibels.
“And who is this Darnel Flint?”
“He’s a boy,” Lawton said. “A long time ago, he took a bullet in the face.”
“Dad, please. I don’t want to talk about this.”
“I guess not,” he said. “It makes for pretty unpleasant dinner conversation.”
Jason straightened his shoulders. His face was flushed and he was staring hard at Alexandra, as if he were trying to see past her eyes, read her thoughts. She flinched and turned away.
“A bullet in the face? What the hell’s this about, Alex?”
She looked back at him, kept her face as empty as she could manage.
“Let’s just say my husband and I are having a standoff. He’s made threats, and I take them very seriously. Leave it at that, okay?”
He filled his lungs and released the breath carefully. He stared down at his empty plate.
“Fine. Whatever you want.”
Lawton busied himself with the last of his angel-hair pasta, rolling a clump onto his fork, aiming it unsteadily toward his mouth.
“Now it’s your turn, Jason. I want to hear the story. What are you doing up here?”
He looked at her, pushed a dark strand of hair away from his eyes, and finger-combed it back into place. He feigned a smile.
“So,” he said, “do we want dessert? Coffee?”
“No dessert for me,” Lawton said. “Got to watch my waistline. Don’t want to turn out like that goddamn George Murphy, balloon up to three hundred pounds. The girls wouldn’t take a second look at me then. No, sir.”
Jason raised his hand, got the waiter’s attention, and did an air-scribble for the check. He swung his smile back at Alex and had a sip of wine.
“I thought we’d walk on the beach, look at the stars. Bathe in the moonlight.”
“No thanks,” her father said. “I believe I’ve bathed enough for one day.”
“It’s not a coincidence, is it, Jason? Your being here.”
He watched a young family rise from their booth and head toward the exit.
“Like I said. I was looking for you.”
“And you came here? Out of the blue you picked Seaside?”
“You mentioned it on the beach Thursday, remember? Your romantic getaway. It’s all I could think of, so I took a shot.”
“But why, Jason? Why did you come at all?”
“You were in the Herald this morning, Alex, the story about Gabriella Hernandez’s murder. Your car was found in her driveway. I saw that and I’ve been scrambling ever since.”
“You got on a plane and came all this way, on the off chance I might be here.”
“It’s a trek all right,” he said. “Had to fly to Atlanta, change planes, turn around, take a puddle jumper back to Panama City, rent a car; then it’s still an hour’s drive on top of that. A real odyssey.” He finished the last of his wine and pushed the glass aside.
“I want to hear why, Jason.”
“Because I was worried,” he said. “Stan’s involved in a violent wreck. Money’s flying all over the street, a national news story. Then the very next day your car’s found at a murder scene. And as if that’s not enough, the two of you disappear.”
Alex bent forward, her voice a strained whisper.
“Stan’s out of the hospital?”
“Apparently, he walked out last evening,” Jason said. “Police checked your house. You weren’t there; he wasn’t, either. TV people are speculating that the same Cuban extremists who hit the Hernandez woman had something to do with you and Stan. That the two of you were innocent bystanders, dragged into the line of fire by associating with that woman.”
“That woman,” Alex said, “was my friend. My closest friend in the world.”
He was quiet for a moment, studying his empty plate.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I sounded callous. I’m very sorry, Alex.”
She tried once more to swallow away the hot mass that had been bunching in her throat for the last few hours, but it wouldn’t budge. She stared out the window at the sea oats that blazed in the restaurant lights like a field of platinum wheat bowing to the evening breeze.
“Anyway,” Jason said. “I listened to the TV coverage, read the paper, and somehow the Cuban angle didn’t wash.”
“And what did you assume? That Stan and I ran off together? That you’d find him here, too?”
He shrugged.
“You thought we were accomplices, that my disappearing was related to the Brinks money.”
“It crossed my mind.”
“And you decided to play bounty hunter.”
“Like I said, I was worried about you, Alex. Concerned. It didn’t sound like something you’d do. Unless you were coerced.”
“Coerced. You thought Stan coerced me into being his accomplice?”
“I don’t think anyone could coerce you into anything, not Stan, not anybody.”
Lawton turned to Jason, tapped on his arm.
“Know what’s thicker than water?” He sucked the last inch of a string of pasta into his lips. “The answer is blood. Blood’s thicker than water. A lot thicker.” He smiled at Alex. “See. I can remember things. I just have to concentrate, that’s all. Bear down.”
Alex reached over and patted his hand.
“Dad’s been having some memory lapses for the last few months. But he’s been working hard on it, as you can see.”
“Yes. He’s very sharp,” said Jason. “I’m impressed.”
Their waiter, a young blond man with a ponytail, set the bill next to Jason’s hand.
Jason set a credit card atop the bill and the waiter scooted away.
“I’m ready for bed,” Lawton said. “I think I’m coming down with jet lag.”
Alex gave Jason an apologetic smile.
“We’ll have to take a rain check on the moonlight walk.”
“Sure,” he said. “Tomorrow night perhaps. Or the next.”
Outside, they ambled through the promenade of outdoor shops, tasteful T-shirts on display, high-end bric-a-brac. Down the boardwalk, Lawton paused at the window of a small and charming bookshop.
“What the hell’s it doing in there? That’s my goddamn book.” He thumped his finger against the windowpane, pointing at a coffee-table book of Seaside. “Somebody stole it.”
“It’s okay, Dad. The store’s closed now. We’ll come by tomorrow and get it back.”
“Probably that goddamn Frank Sinatra again. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to find that thief’s been dogging our every move.”
“Everything’s fine, Dad. Feel that cool breeze. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Goddamn Sinatra. I shoul
d have filled him full of buckshot when I had the chance.”
There was a pleasant chill in the air as they meandered silently through the winding streets and sandy footpaths back to East Ruskin. Most of the houses dark, only a few stragglers moseying down the lanes. At the front gate of the Chattaway, the three of them stood for a minute and looked up at the sky. It was cluttered with stars, more than she’d seen in the decades since her last visit there.
“Do you have a place to stay, Jason?”
“I saw a motel down the road when I drove in this afternoon.”
“Stay with us,” Lawton said. “We could use the company. In case we want to play some hearts or gin rummy. Three’s better than two. We always play a lot of card games when we come up here. Especially if it rains.”
“Thanks, but no, the motel’s fine. I’ll see you all in the morning.”
“We have a couch,” Alex heard herself say. “It looks fairly comfortable.”
“No, really. I couldn’t.”
“You could sleep with my daughter,” Lawton said. “I think she’d like that. She’s been giving you a dreamy look all evening. I’m not so old I don’t recognize a dreamy look when I see one.”
“Dad! Stop it. You’re being impolite.”
“Well, maybe the couch,” Jason said, chuckling. “Just for tonight.”
Alex looked off at the sky for a moment more, glimpsed something flittering overhead, perhaps a bat doing its erratic dance, or just a lifeless scrap of paper bumped along by the wind. She felt both of them looking at her, the eyes of the two men standing in the dark, the silent touch of their gaze.
The bat circled overhead, dipped and flashed like a frantic angel. As if some departing soul were taking one last flyby, one final sip of the earthly atmosphere before it sailed forever beyond the limits of the planet.
“I remember this place,” Lawton said. “It’s all coming back to me now.”
“What do you remember?” said Jason.
“This place. Seaside. We were happy here. Walking on the beach, playing gin rummy. ‘Mellow Yellow,’ that’s what we called the house where we stayed. We enjoyed ourselves. It was only for a month, thirty short days, but I remember every one of them like it had all just happened. Like it’s still happening right now.”
Body Language Page 23
