by R. J. Jagger
The knife was there, on the floorboard to the right, but the gun wasn’t visible.
He twisted to see if it was on the back seat.
It wasn’t.
Damn it.
He pulled to the side, left the engine running with the clutch in neutral, and searched under the seat. It wasn’t there. It wasn’t anywhere.
It was gone.
It must have flown out the window during a roll. If he went back he might be able to find it, but then again—maybe not.
What to do?
He was weak.
The sane thing to do was to abort before he ended up dead. He kept the front end pointed south with his foot on the pedal. There were no other cars. He was alone in the universe.
Five minutes passed.
The knife wound was losing its pain, receding more into a dull throb.
He checked the rearview mirror and saw something he didn’t expect.
A car was back there, a quarter mile or so, too far to see how many people were inside or if they were male or female.
It wasn’t closing.
It wasn’t dropping back.
It was a perfect shadow.
River watched it for a number of heartbeats, then took his foot off the pedal, coasted to the side of the road and stopped. He picked the knife off the floorboard, secured it behind his back under his belt and stepped out.
The sky spun.
He leaned against the vehicle to keep from falling.
A drop of blood dripped into his eye.
82
Day Three
July 23, 1952
Wednesday Morning
Wilde stood up and pulled London to her feet, then put his arms around her. “Tell me,” he said. “Tell me what it is that’s not pretty.” London squeezed him and looked up into his eyes for a heartbeat before pulling away.
“I wish I hadn’t done it,” she said. “Believe me when I say that.”
“Done what?”
She slumped onto the bed next to the suitcase.
“Me and Crockett were partners in the Mexican deal,” she said. “It was actually my idea, not his. I was the one who approached him, not the opposite. The deal was simple. He bankrolled all my trips down there over the years. He greased the skids so that I could be away from the law firm for months at a time without getting fired. He was also in the wings to help me if I got caught or ended up in jail or something like that. In return, if it turned out that I actually did come across something of value, we’d split it fifty-fifty. On my last trip down there, I came across the map. You already know about that part.”
The cigarette was down to Wilde’s fingertips.
“Hold on.”
He stepped into the bathroom and threw the butt in the toilet after lighting a new one from it.
He blew fresh smoke.
“You said he hired the guy who tried to kill you last night.”
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
London exhaled.
“Okay, when I got back from Mexico, I didn’t tell him about the map—not at first,” she said. “I pretended like nothing out of the ordinary happened.”
Wilde wrinkled his face.
“So you double-crossed him.”
“No,” London said. “Well, yes, but only at first. He could tell I was lying and kept pressuring me to find out what I was hiding. Then someone broke into my house.”
“Him?”
London shrugged.
“Maybe but I don’t think so,” she said. “I think it was some third party.”
“Who?”
“I don’t have a clue,” she said. “Anyway, I was scared at that point. I came to you for protection.”
Wilde nodded.
“Right, I know.”
Her eyes held his briefly then flicked away. “I wasn’t completely honest with you though,” she said. “I gave you a map to hold. It wasn’t the original one. It was a decoy.”
“What are you saying, that it was a copy?”
“It wasn’t even a copy,” she said. “It was just something I made up.”
“So it doesn’t show the location of a treasure?”
London shook her head.
“No, it’s just a worthless piece of paper,” she said.
Wilde tilted his head.
“So where’s the original?”
“I have it,” London said. “It’s somewhere safe.”
“Where?”
“That’s something I can’t tell you,” she said. “Here’s the thing—at the same time I was going to you for protection, Crockett was putting more and more pressure on me. I decided to do the same thing with him that I did with you, namely give him a false map.”
“Did he think it was real?”
She nodded.
“Yes, the same as you.”
“So you double-crossed him at that point.”
Her breath shortened.
“I’m not proud of it,” she said. “But I was the one taking all the chances. I was the one with my ass in the dirt. I was the one who figured out where to look.” A beat then, “I was going to pay him back in the end, everything he invested—tenfold. The only thing I didn’t want to do was to cut him in for a full fifty percent. He hadn’t earned it.”
Wilde frowned.
“But that was the deal.”
London hardened her face.
“Well, the deal changed.”
Wilde inhaled deep and long, then blew a ring.
“Let me fill in the next part,” he said. “Crockett figured out what you did and hired someone to kill you.”
London shook her head.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“He actually thought he had the original map,” she said. “At the same time, he denied that he was the one who broke into my house. I think he was telling the truth when he said that. If he was, then there was definitely a third party in the mix.”
“Okay.”
“We came up with a plan,” she said. “This is the part where it starts to not get pretty, at least where you’re concerned. The plan was that I would have you come over to my house last night to protect me.”
Wilde’s chest tightened.
“Go on.”
“I was supposed to slip something into your drink.” She pulled a pill out of her purse and held it up. “This. It wouldn’t make you pass out completely but it would slow you down to the point where you wouldn’t be able to hold your own in a fight.”
She put the pill back in her purse.
“I don’t remember feeling groggy,” Wilde said.
“That’s because I never slipped it to you,” London said. “Like I was saying, the plan was that I would slip it to you. Then, at exactly one o’clock in the morning, Crocket would break in. He’d attack you. He wouldn’t kill you or hurt you too bad, but you’d know you were attacked. Then he’d abduct me. I’d disappear and you’d make a police report the following morning. I’d never show back up again. Then, whoever the third party was, they’d think I was actually gone forever. They’d get off my tail.”
Wilde frowned.
His vision blurred.
Then he focused and said, “So I was your witness?”
“Right.”
“That was wrong.”
She nodded.
“To a point,” she said. “Remember, though, I was fighting for my life. I hired you to protect me. The plan—if it had actually gone as planned—would have gotten the result. You would have played your part, although I admit it wasn’t the way you envisioned. You also got paid pretty well.”
Wilde shook his head.
“That’s bullshit,” he said. “Don’t try to justify what you did.”
London shrugged.
“If you’re looking for an apology I’ll give you one,” she said. “But someday when it’s your neck on the line, you’ll understand.”
“I already unde
rstand.”
“Do you? Deep down?”
“Yes,” he said.
But he wasn’t sure.
Not really.
Not down in his bones.
“Anyway,” London said, “I didn’t go through with the plan.”
True.
Very true.
“Why not?”
“Simple. I had a feeling that Crocket was going to double-cross me,” she said. “He had the map, or at least he thought he had the map. He didn’t need me anymore. I had a sneaky feeling that what he was actually going to do was kill me instead of pretending to abduct me.” Her lower lip trembled. “So instead of slipping you something, I kept you as you were. Then when he came in, I woke you. Good thing too, because I was right. He actually tried to kill me. Not directly—the guy who showed up was hired by him.”
“You still don’t know that.”
“Wake up, Wilde,” she said. “It’s for sure. If it was a third party looking for the map, they wouldn’t kill me. I wouldn’t be any use to them dead. The only person who had a motive to see me dead is someone who thought they already had the map. That’s Crocket Bluetone.”
It made sense.
“That’s why he showed up this morning,” she said. “Everything went wrong last night. He knew I was skipping town and headed over to grab me. The only thing that stopped him was you being here.”
Wilde chewed on it.
It fit.
It all fit.
His fingers were hot.
He looked down to see the cigarette almost burned to the end.
He threw it in the toilet.
Then he lit a book of matches on fire, watched the flames for a few heartbeats and lit another cigarette. He waved the flames out and threw them in the toilet.
He looked at London.
“You set me up to kill Bluetone last night. You knew he’d show up. You knew I’d kill him. You turned me into a murderer. You did it so you could have the whole treasure for yourself.”
London buried her head in her hands.
Then she looked up and held his eyes with hers.
“I told you it wasn’t pretty,” she said.
“Well you were right.”
“I felt bad afterwards,” she said. “When I said I was going to cut you in on half, that was the truth. That part of it was real. It still is real, Wilde. Let’s do it. Let’s go get the treasure and then live the rest of our lives on an island. Come on, just you and me. Screw the rest of the world.”
83
Day Three
July 23, 1952
Wednesday Morning
Waverly put a nickle in the payphone every ten minutes but never got anything except ringing until just before her flight was called for boarding—then Su-Moon answered. She had big news. “A woman named Bobbi Litton got killed in Cleveland in May of last year,” she said. “She fell off a building in the middle of the night. Bristol killed her, I can feel it in my gut. Where are you by the way?”
Waverly explained.
She was getting ready to board a plane to follow Bristol and the spanked woman to Denver.
“Why are they going to Denver?”
“I don’t know,” Waverly said.
Silence.
“I know,” Su-Moon said. “He killed the woman there Friday night but now something’s gone wrong. For some reason it’s coming unraveled. He’s going there to clean it up.”
“What do you mean, unraveled?”
“I don’t know,” Su-Moon said. “Maybe there was a witness and he found out about it. Maybe he figured out that a hotel clerk or someone had too much information. I don’t know. Did you call that guy you know at Bristol’s firm, the Marlboro Man—”
“—Sean Waterfield—”
“—right, him. Did you call him to see if Bristol has business in Denver?”
“No.”
“Do it. If he doesn’t have business there, that means he’s going back to clean up a mess.” A beat then, “We’re to blame, no doubt. It’s because of the pressure we’re putting on him that he needs to be extra careful.”
“You think?”
Yes.
She thought.
“I’m going to go to Cleveland and run down Bobbi Litton’s murder,” Su-Moon said.
Waverly wrinkled her forehead.
“Why? This isn’t your fight.”
“It is now. We’re too close. Are you going to be staying at your house in Denver?”
“Apartment, not house.”
“Give me the number there.”
She did.
“I’ll call you,” Su-Moon said. “Be careful.”
“You too.”
Waverly dropped another nickel in the phone and dialed the Marlboro Man. “Where’s Bristol?”
A beat.
“Let’s have lunch,” he said.
“Can’t.”
“Sure you can.”
“Not today, honest. Where’s Bristol?”
“I don’t know. He left the office.”
“To where?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “He just up and left. Supposedly he won’t be back for a day or two.”
“Did he go somewhere on business?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Would you know, if that was the reason?”
“Yes, I’d know.”
Waverly exhaled.
“Thanks,” she said. “I don’t know if it means anything, but I actually do like being with you.”
“Then prove it.”
“Maybe I will but I can’t at the moment.”
Thirty minutes later she was buckled into a window seat of a shaky four-prop plane with the armrests in a death grip, swooping up into a turbulent cloudy sky.
Bristol.
Bristol.
Bristol.
I’m going to nail your ass so hard that they’ll hear your screams in China.
84
Day Three
July 23, 1952
Wednesday Morning
The vehicle from River’s rearview mirror skidded to a stop next to him. A man in a black T-shirt with a rough, no-nonsense face got out. He flicked a butt to the ground and headed over. It wasn’t until he came around the front end that River saw his right hand.
In it was a gun.
It came up and pointed into his eyes.
“Do you know who I am?”
River studied him.
He was cold.
He was capable.
A scar ran down his forehead, across the right eye, down the cheek and over the upper lip. He wasn’t nearly as big as River but was still a good size, six-one or more. His body belonged to a street cat, sinewy and hard. The cuffs of his T were rolled up, flaunting taut arms built for pull-ups. A red rose was tattooed on his left forearm. Sticking in the rose was a black dagger. He looked like he’d been kicked around and had learned how to kick back ten times harder.
River didn’t know him.
He didn’t want to know him.
“Where’s January?”
“You mean the little tattoo bitch?” The man tilted his head towards the trunk. “In there.”
“Let me see her.”
“She’s a crappy lay. You can do better.”
River fought down thunder in his blood.
“I want to see her.”
The man pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his back pocket and tossed them to River. “Sure, put these on first, behind your back.”
River hesitated.
The man hardened his face.
“Do it or things are going to get real ugly real fast.”
River’s chest tightened.
He’d been stupid to stop. He should have aborted. He should have set a trap. He should have done anything except what he did.
“Do it I said!”
River pictured the cuffs on his wrists. He’d be totally beaten at that point. He’d be defenseless. He’d be a mouse in the tiger cage.
The man twisted hi
s face, pointed the barrel of the gun at the trunk and cocked the trigger.
“You have three seconds. Then she gets some air holes.”
River swallowed.
It could be a fake. January might not even be in there. River didn’t know that for sure though.
He snapped a cuff on one wrist.
It was cold as death.
“Behind your back.”
River exhaled and then complied.
He was cuffed.
Everything in the world was instantly different.
The man smiled.
“There, that wasn’t so hard now, was it? Now we can get down to the business we came here for. Where’s Alexa Blank?”
“I’ll take you to her.”
“Damn right you will.”
“First let January go.”
“That’s good, a sense of humor. I like that.”
“I’m serious,” River said.
The man whipped the weapon, so fast that it caught the side of River’s head in spite of his pull back. Rage exploded inside his skull.
He’d kill the little bastard.
He’d kick him to death.
“There’s a lot more of that if you want it,” the man said. “Take me to Alexa Blank.”
“Screw you.”
The man opened the trunk. Inside was a woman, tightly hogtied with multiple wraps of rope. Her mouth was gagged. Her eyes were open and flicked with life but had so much fear in them that they were hardly recognizable as January’s. The man put the gun to her forehead and looked at River.
“I’m done being nice, asshole.”
85
Day Three
July 23, 1952
Wednesday Morning
“When I said I was going to cut you in on half, that was the truth. That part of it was real. It still is real, Wilde. Let’s do it. Let’s go get the treasure and then live the rest of our lives on an island. Come on, just you and me. Screw the rest of the world.”
Screw the rest of the world.
Get the treasure.
Live on an island.
The images filled Wilde’s brain. He let himself get drunk on them, just for an instant, then broke loose. He took a deep look into the woman’s eyes, those beautiful eyes, those tricky little eyes. Then he headed for the door.
