by Harlan Coben
“Then you’ll keep looking.”
There was a knock on the door. Myron put his hand over the phone and said to come in. Big Cyndi opened the door. Myron gestured to a chair. She took it. In the bright green she looked a bit like a planet.
“I’m not sure what I can do, Sophie.”
“Jared will investigate Clu’s drug test,” she said. “If there was anything amiss, he’ll find out about it. You keep your eyes open for my daughter. You may be right about Lucy’s fate. Then again you may be wrong. Don’t give up.”
Before he could reply, the line was disconnected. Myron put the phone back in the cradle.
“Well?” Big Cyndi asked.
“She still has hope.”
Big Cyndi scrunched up her face. “There’s a fine line between hope and delusion, Mr. Bolitar,” she said. “I think Ms. Mayor may have crossed it.”
Myron nodded. He shifted in his chair. “Something I can do for you?” he asked.
She shook her head. Her head was a nearly perfect cube and reminded Myron of the old game of Rock’Em Sock’Em Robots. Not sure what else to do, Myron folded his hands and put them on his desk. He wondered how many times he had been alone with Big Cyndi like this. Less than a handful for sure. Wrong to say, but she made him uncomfortable.
After some time had passed, Big Cyndi said, “My mother was a big, ugly woman.”
Myron had no comeback for that one.
“And like most big, ugly women, she was a shrinking violet. That’s how it is with big, ugly women, Mr. Bolitar. They get used to standing alone in the corner. They hide. They become angry and defensive. They keep their heads down, and they let themselves be treated with disdain and disgust and—”
She stopped suddenly, waved a meaty paw. Myron sat still.
“I hated my mother,” she said. “I swore that I would never be like that.”
Myron risked a small nod.
“That’s why you have to save Esperanza.”
“I’m not sure I see the connection.”
“She’s the only one who sees past this.”
“Past what?”
She thought about that one for a moment. “What’s the first thing you think when you see me, Mr. Bolitar?”
“I don’t know.”
“People like to stare,” she said.
“Hard to blame them, don’t you think?” Myron said. “I mean, the way you dress and stuff.”
She smiled. “I’d rather see shock on their faces than pity,” she said. “And I’d rather they see brazen or outrageous than shrinking or scared or sad. Do you understand?”
“I think so.”
“I’m not standing alone in the corner anymore. I’ve done enough of that.”
Myron, unsure what to say, settled for a nod.
“When I was nineteen, I started wrestling professionally. And of course I was cast as a villain. I sneered. I made faces. I cheated. I hit opponents when they weren’t looking. It was all an act, of course. But that was my job.”
Myron sat back and listened.
“One night I was scheduled to fight Esperanza—Little Pocahontas, I should say. It was the first time we’d met. She was already the most beloved wrestler on the circuit. Cute and pretty and small and all the things … all the things that I’m not. Anyway, we were performing in some high school gym outside Scranton. The script was the usual. A back-and-forth match. Esperanza winning with her skill. Me cheating. Twice I was supposed to nearly have her pinned when the crowd would go wild and she’d start stamping her foot, like the cheers were giving her strength, and then everyone would start clapping in unison with her stomps. You know how it works, right?”
Myron nodded.
“She was supposed to pin me with a backflip at the fifteen-minute mark. We executed it perfectly. Then as she was raising her hands in victory, I was supposed to sneak up on her and whack her in the back with a metal chair. Again it went perfectly. She collapsed to the canvas. The crowd gasped. I, the Human Volcano—that’s what I was called then—raised my hands in victory. They started booing and throwing things. I sneered. The announcers acted all concerned for poor Little Pocahontas. They brought out the stretcher. Again you’ve seen the same act a million times on cable.”
He nodded again.
“So there was another match or two, and then the crowd was ushered out. I decided not to change until I got back to the motel. I left for the bus a few minutes before the other girls. It was dark, of course. Nearly midnight. But some of the spectators were still out there. They confronted me. There must have been twenty of them. They started shouting at me. I decided to play back. I did my ring sneer and flexed”—her voice caught—“and that was when a rock hit me square in the mouth.”
Myron kept perfectly still.
“I started bleeding. Then another rock hit me in the shoulder. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I tried to head back inside, but they circled around me. I didn’t know what to do. They started moving in closer. I ducked down. Someone hit me over the head with a beer bottle. My knees hit the pavement. Then someone kicked me in the stomach and someone else pulled my hair.”
She stopped. Her eyes blinked a few times and she looked up and away. Myron thought about reaching out to her, but he didn’t. Later he’d wonder why.
“And that’s when Esperanza stepped in,” Big Cyndi said after a few moments had passed. “She jumped over someone in the crowd and landed right on me. The morons thought she was there to help beat me up. But she just wanted to put herself between me and the blows. She told them to stop. But they wouldn’t listen. One of them pulled her away so they could keep beating me. I felt another kick. Someone yanked my hair so hard my neck snapped back. I really thought they were going to kill me.”
Big Cyndi stopped again and took a deep breath. Myron stayed where he was and waited.
“You know what Esperanza did then?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“She announced that we were going to be tag team partners. Just like that. She shouted that after she’d been taken off on the stretcher, I’d visited her and we realized that we were actually long-lost sisters. The Human Volcano was now going to be called Big Chief Mama and we were going to be partners and friends. Some of the spectators backed off then. Others looked wary. ‘It’s a trap!’ they warned her. ‘The Human Volcano is setting you up!’ But Esperanza insisted. She helped me to my feet and by then the police showed up and the moment was over. The crowd dispersed pretty easily.”
Big Cyndi threw up her thick arms and smiled. “The end.”
Myron smiled back. “So that’s how you two became tag team partners?”
“That’s how. When the president of FLOW heard about the incident, he decided to capitalize on it. The rest, as they say, is history.”
They both sat back in silence, still smiling. After some time had passed, Myron said, “I had my heart broken six years ago.”
Big Cyndi nodded. “By Jessica, right?”
“Right. I walked in on her with another man. A guy named Doug.” He paused. He could not believe he was telling her this. And it still hurt. After all this time it still hurt. “Jessica left me then. Isn’t that weird? I didn’t throw her out. She just left. We didn’t speak for four years—until she came back and we started up again. But you know about that.”
Big Cyndi made a face. “Esperanza hates Jessica.”
“Yeah, I know. She doesn’t exactly go to pains to hide that fact.”
“She calls her Queen Bitch.”
“When she’s in a good mood,” Myron said. “But that’s why. Up until we broke up that first time, she was more or less indifferent. But after that—”
“Esperanza doesn’t forgive easily,” Big Cyndi said. “Not when it comes to her friends.”
“Right. Anyway, I was devastated. Win was no help. When it comes to matters of the heart, well, it’s like explaining Mozart to a deaf man. So about a week after Jess left me, I moped into the office. Esperanza had t
wo airplane tickets in her hand. ‘We’re going away,’ she said. ‘Where?’ I asked. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said. ‘I already called your folks. I told them we’d be gone for a week.’ ” Myron smiled. “My parents love Esperanza.”
“That should tell you something,” Big Cyndi said.
“I told her I didn’t have any clothes. She pointed to two suitcases on the floor. ‘I bought you all you’ll need.’ I protested, but I didn’t have much left, and you know Esperanza.”
“Stubborn,” Big Cyndi said.
“To put it mildly. You know where she took me?”
Big Cyndi smiled. “On a cruise. Esperanza told me about it.”
“Right. One of those big new ships with four hundred meals a day. And she made me go to every dumb activity. I even made a wallet. We drank. We danced. We played friggin’ bingo. We slept in the same bed and she held me and we never so much as kissed.”
They sat for another long moment, both smiling again.
“We never asked her for help,” Big Cyndi said. “Esperanza just knows and does the right thing.”
“And now it’s our turn,” Myron said.
“Yes.”
“She’s still hiding something from me.”
Big Cyndi nodded. “I know.”
“Do you know what it is?”
“No,” she said.
Myron leaned back. “We’ll save her anyway,” he said.
At eight o’clock Win called down to Myron’s office.
“Meet me at the apartment in an hour. I have a surprise for you.”
“I’m not much in the mood for surprises, Win.”
Click.
Great. He tried FJ’s office again. No answer. He didn’t much like waiting. FJ was a key in all this, he was sure of it now. But what choice did he have? It was getting late anyway. Better to go home and be surprised by whatever Win had in store and then get some rest.
The subway was still crowded at eight-thirty; the so-called Manhattan rush hour had grown to more like five or six. People worked too hard, Myron decided. He got off and walked to the Dakota. The same doorman was there. He had been given instructions to let Myron in at any time, that indeed Myron was now officially a resident of the Dakota, but the doorman still made a face like there was a bad odor whenever he passed.
Myron took the elevator up, fumbled for his key, and opened the door.
“Win?”
“He’s not here.”
Myron turned. Terese Collins gave him a small smile.
“Surprise,” she said.
He gaped. “You left the island?”
Terese glanced in a nearby mirror, then back at him. “Apparently.”
“But—”
“Not now.”
She stepped toward him and they embraced. He kissed her. They fumbled with buttons and zippers and snaps. Neither one spoke. They made it into the bedroom, and then they made love.
When it was over, they clung to each other, the sheets tangled and binding them close together. Myron rested his cheek against her soft breast, hearing her heartbeat. Her chest was hitching a bit, and he knew that she was quietly crying.
“Tell me,” he said.
“No.” Terese’s hand stroked his hair. “Why did you leave?”
“A friend is in trouble.”
“That sounds so noble.”
Again with that word. “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t do this,” he said.
“You complaining?”
“Hardly,” he said. “Just curious why you changed your mind.”
“Does it matter?”
“I don’t think so.”
She stroked his hair some more. He closed his eyes, not moving, wanting only to enjoy the wonderful suppleness of her skin against his cheek and ride the rise and fall of her chest.
“Your friend in trouble,” she said. “It’s Esperanza Diaz.”
“Win told you?”
“I read it in the papers.”
He kept his eyes closed.
“Tell me about it,” she said.
“We were never great at talking on the island.”
“Yeah, but that was then, this is now.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you look a little worse for wear,” she said. “I think you’ll need the recovery time.”
Myron smiled. “Oysters. The island had oysters.”
“So tell me.”
So he did. Everything. She stroked his hair. She interrupted a lot with follow-up questions, relaxing in the more familiar role of interviewer. It took him almost an hour.
“Some story,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Does it hurt? I mean, where you got beaten up?”
“Yes. But I’m a tough guy.”
She kissed the top of his head. “No,” she said. “You’re not.”
They sat in comfortable silence.
“I remember the Lucy Mayor disappearance,” Terese said. “At least the second round.”
“The second round?”
“When the Mayors had the money to run the big campaign to find her. Before that there really wasn’t much of a story. An eighteen-year-old runaway. No big deal.”
“You remember anything that might help me?”
“No. I hate covering stories like that. And not just for the obvious reason that lives are being shattered.”
“Then what?”
“There’s just too much denial,” she said.
“Denial?”
“Yes.”
“You mean with the family?”
“No, with the public. People block when it comes to their children. They deny because it’s too painful to accept. They tell themselves it can’t happen to them. God is not that fickle. There has to be a reason. Do you remember the Louise Woodward case a couple of years ago?”
“The nanny who killed the baby in Massachusetts?”
“Reduced to manslaughter by the judge, but yes. The public kept denying, even those who thought she was guilty. The mother shouldn’t have been working, they said. Never mind the fact that the mother worked only part-time and came home at lunch every day to breast-feed the baby. It was her fault. And the father. He should have checked out the nanny’s background better. The parents should have been more careful.”
“I remember,” Myron said.
“In the Mayors’ case it was the same kind of thing. If Lucy Mayor had been raised right, she would have never run away in the first place. That’s what I mean by denial. It’s too painful to think about, so you block and convince yourself it can’t happen to you.”
“Do you think there’s any merit to that argument in this case?”
“What do you mean?”
“Were Lucy Mayor’s parents part of the problem?”
Terese’s voice was soft. “It’s not important.”
“What makes you say that?”
She was silent, her breathing a little more hitched again.
“Terese?”
“Sometimes,” she said, “a parent is to blame. But that doesn’t change anything. Because either way—your fault or not—your child is gone and that’s all that matters.”
More silence.
Myron broke it. “You okay?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“Sophie Mayor told me that the worst part was the not knowing.”
“She’s wrong,” Terese said.
Myron wanted to ask her more, but she got out of bed then. When she came back, they made love again—languid and bittersweet, as the song says—both feeling loss, both searching for something in the moment or at least settling for the numb.
They were still snarled in the sheets when the phone woke Myron early in the morning. He reached over her head and picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“What’s so important?”
It was FJ. Myron quickly sat up.
“We need to chat,” Myron said.
“Again?”
“Yes.”
&nbs
p; “When?”
“Now.”
“Starbucks,” FJ said. “And Myron?”
“What?”
“Tell Win to stay outside.”
CHAPTER 31
FJ sat alone at the same table. He had his legs crossed at the knee and sipped as if maybe there were something in the bottom of the cup he wanted no part of. A bit of foam clung to his upper lip. His face was clean and wax-treatment smooth. Myron checked for Hans and Franz or some new goons, but nobody was there. FJ smiled and as always, something cold scrambled down Myron’s back.
“Where’s Win?” FJ asked.
“Outside,” Myron said.
“Good. Have a seat.”
“I know why Clu signed with you, FJ.”
“Care for an iced latte? You take it skim, correct?”
“It was bugging the hell out of me,” Myron said. “Why would Clu sign with you? Don’t get me wrong. He had every reason to leave MB. But he knew about TruPro’s reputation. Why would he go there?”
“Because we offer a valuable service.”
“At first I figured it was a gambling or drug debt. It’s how your dad always worked. He gets his hooks into someone, and then he gnaws on the carcass. But Clu was clean. And he had plenty of cash. So that wasn’t it.”
FJ put his elbow on the table and leaned his chin against his palm. “This is so fascinating, Myron.”
“It gets better. When I ran off to the Caribbean, you were keeping tabs on me. Because of the whole Brenda Slaughter situation. You even admitted it when I first got back, remember? You knew I’d been visiting the cemetery.”
“A very poignant moment for us all,” FJ agreed.
“When I vanished, you still wanted to keep tabs on me. If anything, my disappearance probably piqued your curiosity. You also saw an opening for TruPro, but that’s not here or there. You wanted to know where I was. But I wasn’t around. So you did the next best thing: You followed Esperanza, my partner and closest friend.”
FJ made a clucking noise. “And here I thought Win was your closest friend.”
“They both are. But that’s not the point. Following Win would be too difficult. He’d spot the tail before you even had him in place. So you followed Esperanza instead.”
“I still don’t see what any of this has to do with Clu’s decision to improve his representation.”
