by Jack Kinsley
"Whoa, whoa, whoa...just hold a sec there, partner. Sit your ass back down. I ain't even heard your offer. If there be one? You've been just pussy footin', and let me tell you...one implied ain't the same as one given." His demeanor had gone from a strong chance of unbridled rage to one of calm curiosity. "Just exactly what you proposin', Mr. Martin?"
Travis sat back down, but was still wary. "Well... uh... the way...the way I see it, is we both need something from each other. You need to stay in rehab, but you're forty-five thousand short, maybe ninety thousand if you choose to stay for two months. And as sure as I am that your money's coming in, you're already late on your extended credit. But my point is that money doesn't have to go into my pocket. We can have an exchange of services — a ninety thousand dollar barter that can put both our lives back on the right track."
He watched the man internalize the proposition. The giant was such an enigma, and Travis had misread him so many times before, that he had no idea what the hell to expect.
"Are you following me?"
"Oh, I'm followin' you," Dallas said. His gaze trailed off somewhere in the yard. He methodically stroked the massive casing of his jaw with a thumb and forefinger, then his attentiveness suddenly shot back to Travis. "I just might be interested in somethin' like that. But that's a pretty big goddamn risk for some fuckin' rehab. This ain't Mexico."
"I'll give you that. But let's be realistic here. I've been paying for your rehab. I'm already invested in you for thirteen grand — probably closer to fifteen with your extra services — and all of it has been on your word. There's no other facility that would do that for you. How do I really know your money's coming in?"
Travis knew he had pushed too hard. He could feel a dangerous energy building inside Dallas again, like rancid stew inside a pressure cooker getting ready to blow its top. He had indirectly called the giant a liar, a murderer for hire, and was threatening his rehabilitation efforts. He had to think quickly and sweeten the deal.
"Let's look at it from another angle. Give you a second option. You can stay for two months for free, or you can stay only one month for free...and leave with forty-five thousand cash in your pocket. I'll even throw in the thirteen grand you owe me now. Does that sound better?"
From the looks of him, Travis felt there was still a pretty good chance he was going to be tossed around the yard like a cheap piñata. But then a calm, almost serene quality enveloped the giant; everything softened in his expression. The tension evaporated between them.
And for the second time, Dallas held out his hand for Travis to seal their deal. Travis reached for the great catcher's mitt and shook it, half expecting it to be a trick — thinking he'd be pulled in and dealt a meaty left hook to the temple. But after three ordinary pumps, Dallas released his hand and appeared genuinely at peace.
"I do have some requests," Travis told him.
It raised an eyebrow from Dallas, since they had just shaken on what he clearly considered a done deal.
"These requests are nonnegotiable. And we can shake again after you hear them...if it makes you feel better. First, I want my daughter, Bella, to be miles away when it happens. We'll have to coordinate a time — we can work on that together. Secondly, I want it to be as quick and painless for Ana as possible. She was my wife at one time, and this is hard enough for me as it is. Also, she vanishes for good. No body. As far as this part of the world knows...she went back to Romania."
He wasn't sure how to phrase the next request, so he just came right out and said it. "And I don't want you fucking her — alive or dead."
Dallas seemed in agreement with all the requests — except the last one. Travis could see his final demand had pissed him off royally. The blackness washed over his green eyes again; he either felt cheated of an opportunity or was legitimately insulted. Either way, it didn't matter to Travis. He was able to somehow justify the killing of his wife, knew he would find a way to live with himself for his daughter, but he could never look freely into Bella's eyes if her mother had suffered a horrible or prolonged death — and certainly not if she had been violated before or after the fact.
"I'm sorry, but I just can't have the mother of my child going out like that," Travis added. "Understand?"
"Okay, we'll let that one slide," Dallas told him. "But I got me some of them conditions, too. You try screwin' me, pull some wool my way — thinkin' you goin' and gettin' smart on me? You better think thrice, because you'll be the one I fuck after killin' you."
Neither of them offered to shake again.
Chapter 13 / Moons Over My Hammy
"It couldn't have been better timing," Sarah told Travis as she rolled one of Betsy's suitcases into the Montecito suite. "FedEx finally delivered the wedge pillow I ordered for her. At least they reimbursed the shipping cost."
Travis looked up at her from the bathroom, but kept busy. He was on his knees scrubbing the Jacuzzi tub. The toilet would be next. His dress shirt hung off a towel rod, and he wore a wife-beater while he did the dirty work. He could have waited for the maid to come in the morning — there was no chance Betsy was taking a bath this late at night — but there was a sense of humility in doing it himself that he appreciated. He took his time and did a thorough job.
While jamming the toilet brush into the mouth of the bowl, he caught Sarah from the corner of his eye rolling in another suitcase. She stopped and briefly watched him from the door, but he didn't let on that he knew she was looking at him.
When finished, he stepped back, approved of the job well done, and then remembered the bath pillow behind the wicker laundry hamper in the closet. It was still new in the box. He blew the dust off the cardboard top, removed it, and secured it to one end of the tub. His mood dampened when he realized Betsy would be lucky to use it even once. She would soon require sponge baths, and it was doubtful the thinning hair on her head would ever find comfort on the pad. The visible signs of her rapidly declining physical state were increasing daily; Travis thought of it like an amusement park, closing its doors permanently — the lights shutting down one by one, leaving just the frame of its existence in dark silhouette against a moonlit sky.
Still, Travis was pleased she would have the suite she wanted. There was an abundance of natural light in the day and an unobstructed ocean view from the bed that often revealed a horizon so crisp you would believe the world was flat. He hoped it would be an ideal canvas against which she could replay her memories and be grateful for a life well spent.
"You know," Sarah told Travis, reappearing in the bathroom doorway, this time with a pile of fresh linens in her hands, "I can't think of a time when Betsy ever led with her money."
Travis looked at her, confused.
"She's never let her wealth speak for her, is what I mean. If a stranger met her at the supermarket, I bet they didn't have a clue she was one of the wealthiest women in California."
"A living saint," he said and sprayed blooms of Windex on the bathroom mirror. "I doubt the homeless in the soup lines ever guessed she was living in Chateaux Sterling."
"Sarah, did you bring the sheets?" Diane asked her from the bedroom. Travis had forgotten she was even there.
"Yes," she replied and went to her.
Travis wiped down the mirror, catching the very top foggy corners the maid had been unable to reach. He still hadn't wrapped his head around the fact that Betsy was here alone. Where were her friends — her rich friends? Were they only acquaintances in disguise? What about all the charity organizations she'd worked for? She must have made a ton of close connections along the way. But tonight he reached the conclusion that no one was here because she hadn't told anyone. She didn't want people knowing where she was. Travis didn't know why, but something told him she had been living with a dark secret for most of her life.
Out in the bedroom, Travis assisted the women in replacing the pillow cases. He noticed a pair of Isotoner terry ballerina slippers near the nightstand. They were still in their package.
"Something I b
rought for her," Diane told him.
"Be sure to give Sarah the receipt and we'll reimburse you."
"No, please," she told him. "I wanted to." Her voice shook on the brink of tears. These small acts of generosity from the staff seemed to be increasing as Betsy's condition worsened.
"Don't you start," Sarah told her, and left the room. Travis and Diane watched her walk out. "I'm getting her books," Sarah said over her shoulder as she disappeared out the bedroom door.
Travis was organizing the walk-in closet when Sarah came back in with a stack of new novels in her arms. The apparent storm she'd fought off moments before was gone, and she smiled at him. She'd sent Lucy out earlier that afternoon to purchase books for Betsy, mostly sweeping romantic novels by the likes of Danielle Steel, Jane Austen, and one from Nicholas Sparks — which Travis caught when it slipped off the top.
"Thanks," she said, and read his thoughts as he looked over the books. They commanded far more time than Betsy had left. "She can choose one. Okay?" she said impatiently. She marched over to the nightstand and stood them up in a row at the back, arranging them by author.
Travis didn't say a word. He knew that tone, no matter what woman it came from. He opened the closet and began counting hangers — but he was actually stealing a nice glimpse of Sarah's rump in her tight pencil skirt. She was bent at the knees and the lamp shade threw a generous pyramid of light, revealing her shapely little bubble butt. He imagined the sound and feel of his hand if he spanked her amazing ass; he had to force himself to look away in order to keep a slow rise in his trousers at bay.
For the past few days, she had come to work wearing her new looks and outfits. Everyone had taken notice and complimented her — except for Travis, worried that any flattery from him would be an obvious testament to what he was really thinking. He was also secretly impressed at how successful she'd been in walking the delicate line of being a professional worthy of respect while also giving the distinct impression that there was some interesting business going on in the bedroom as well. It was a line he promised himself he wouldn't cross, but it was exciting to think about it just the same.
"Everything accounted for in here?" she asked, surprising him in the closet. He grabbed at his heart. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." She laughed.
"That's okay," he told her. His eyes betrayed him when he quickly chased her pearl pendant down into the cleavage of her blouse. It was just a glance, but she caught him and seemed to enjoy his embarrassment. He flicked his eyes away.
"So, are we all done here?" she asked in amusement.
"I think we're all G-double-O-D," he said, and he slid a lone hanger over to the rest of them.
"I believe we is," she shot back, surprisingly flirtatious.
Diane reentered the room carrying a waffle-knit robe and fresh towels. Her presence quickly injected the room with an air of professionalism. Travis asked her if there was anything else needed.
"We're going to let Betsy sleep, right? Bring her in tomorrow?" Diane asked.
"Yeah, there's no point in waking her," said Sarah.
"Then I can handle whatever's left here. No point in you two staying." It was clear by Diane's tone that she wanted them out of there.
"Okay," Sarah said. She looked around absently. "I'm so hungry right now."
"Me too," Travis added on the heel of her sentence. "And I've already checked the fridge — nothing but a cricket in there. No big surprise with Dallas feeding his flanks and Dani already cheating on her diet."
Sarah laughed. "Yeah, I can't believe Dani hid the Doritos under her mattress. She knew damn well we were coming here tonight to change the bedding."
Diane stood waiting for them to move so she could get between them and hang the robe in the closet. "Hey, I have an idea. Why don't you both go out and get something to eat. Nothing but love for you guys, but you need to get the hell out of my way. This tired bitch needs to finish and get some rest."
Travis shook his head at Sarah. "You see how I'm treated? I'd be a monkey's uncle if I weren't the owner of this place."
"You're a monkey no matter what." Sarah pulled him away from the closet.
Diane went in and hung the robe. Then she stuffed the waffle sleeves into its front pockets and parked the new slippers just underneath it.
"Are you trying to scare somebody?" he asked Diane. "It looks like the invisible man hanging in there."
"Why does it have to be a man?" she asked him and left before he had a comeback.
"It's eleven-fifteen," Sarah said, "what's open?"
A spontaneous smile beamed from him. "Moons Over My Hammy?"
"Denny's? Are you serious?"
"Why not breakfast? By the time we're served, it'll be morning."
She just stared at him and then reluctantly agreed.
— — —
Denny's was hopping with its usual bright lights and pockets of late-night drunks with merry marijuana eyes. As Travis and Sarah followed the hostess to their table, he witnessed random acts of asininity from the eclectic mix of folks: at one table there was excessive giggling from a group ordering from the Hobbit Hole breakfast menu; at another table, a teenage girl had just taken a full shot of maple syrup that was followed by a round of applause from her peers (one of the fat ones cried 'encore'); and at another, Travis caught a glimpse of a chick groping her boyfriend's crotch under the table and heard him whisper something about wanting a real Grand Slam.
Sarah apparently caught it too. She sent her eyes holy rollin' at Travis. "The romance in here is killing me."
"Are we on a date?" he asked.
She rolled her eyes a second time.
"Try to think of these people as our future clients," he told her. "You never know who's gonna be successful in life. And if we're lucky...it's Highway to Hell straight to Crystal Heights."
She gave him a blah-blah-blah hand motion for him to shut up. "No more work talk after midnight." She slid into a large corner booth with a rounded bench. She scooted all the way to the back, where she had a good view of the hungry circus. Travis slid in next to her.
The hostess gave them two menus, and Travis pushed his out to the middle of the table without looking at it.
"Already know what you're having?" Sarah opened her menu.
"I knew before we left."
"You're one of those guys, huh?"
"I'm predictable once you get to know me."
"I know you." She shot him a teasing glance. "I spoke with Helen earlier this evening." She flipped over the menu and scanned the back of it.
"And?"
"She told me she went to see Devon yesterday."
"I thought we weren't talking about work."
She checked her watch. "It's not midnight yet. Besides, we don't work with him anymore." She flipped the menu to the front and started from the beginning again. "Do they serve this food in a trough or on an actual plate?"
"I think it depends on who's ordering."
Travis was curious what Helen had to say, but he didn't want to seem too interested. He didn't give a shit about Devon's injuries, but wanted to know what kind of puzzle Helen was working on. If she hadn't been a therapist, she would have made a damn good detective, like she'd retained a sixth sense from some distant ancestor.
Sarah still hadn't looked up from her menu. The longer she waited to continue, the more he began to worry. She finally made a decision and then tossed the menu onto the table as if it didn't matter what she ordered.
"She told me someone broke into his place and beat the living shit out of him — broke his nose in three places, knocked out a couple teeth. And except for one missing dog, nothing was stolen. Everyone's assuming it was a drug dealer."
Travis couldn't hide his satisfaction from Sarah. It was a good beating for Devon and for Travis — it had been long overdue. And he had gotten away with it. Right now, Chili was probably curled up sleeping peacefully with a full belly right next to Willy. There was some justice in the world.
Subconsc
iously, Travis's fingers went to the small dots of rough skin on his jaw. "Well, life is full of surprises. You never know what might happen next," he told Sarah.
"You couldn't be more correct. Turns out it knocked some sense into him. He's actually working the twelve steps in another program."
"No way. I don't believe it."
"It's true. But, he still swears to Helen he had nothing to do with Little Jack."
"See? Now I definitely don't believe it."
Sarah slid over a little closer to him and rested her hand on the sleeve of his forearm. A red row of freshly painted fingernails looked up at him.
"Thank you, Travis."
What? He mouthed, but no sound came out.
"Just let me believe you did it for me. Okay?" Her eyes searched his face. She was sincere.
"Are you guys all set?" A full-figured waitress suddenly appeared at the edge of their table. She collected their menus and a pen hovered over her pad. They gave their order and after scribbling it down, she said, "Thanks. It's nice to see some normal folk at this hour." She left.
Sarah still had her hand on his arm; the growing heat from it created a slight stir in his gabardines. "I did do it for you, Sarah." He tucked a loose strand of hair gently behind her ear. He wanted to reach out and pull her in very close. They were definitely in uncharted waters. There had always been a mutual respect for one another, but he'd never imagined she could have his heart racing like it was now — and inside of a shitty Denny's, of all places.
She removed her hand from his arm to readjust her pencil skirt with both hands. He missed her touch the moment it was gone — his forearm quickly grew cold where she had held him. But he noticed she'd subtly inched toward him some more while rearranging herself.
"There's one more thing I need you to do for me," she said, and he instantly understood business was back on the plate.
He checked his watch. "Sorry, it's two minutes past midnight."
She slapped his arm to calm down. "Just relax. We're only talking. And this will be it. Okay? No more talk about work after this. I promise."
