by Unknown
did by day, young Casio undid by night at the drive-through window of a Popeyes fried-chicken place. There are a lot of miles in Miami, but not as many as there are calories in a couple buckets of extra-crispy. The father wanted me to keep the money, but I gave it back to him anyway. Despite the fact that it was off-season, the hotel, which was under partial renovation, was full, but Casio managed to squeeze a pair of rooms out for us. No one spoke on the elevator. We emerged on the sixth floor and walked along a hallway still littered with building debris and smelling like fresh paint. The deal was we would have to be gone before the day crew showed up in the morning; otherwise Casio might be out of a job. "I'm staying with you," Vivian announced, slipping her arm through mine as though we were on our way to the prom. I didn't say anything. I was too tired to think. The thought of a bed with or without Miss Patterson in it was more than enough for me. I just wanted to close my eyes and wake up in another life. Nick didn't seem to enjoy the pros- pect of being alone very much, but there were limits to my concern about that. He went into his room, and I heard him put the latch on. He had good reason to be afraid. He'd seen Williams plowing through those hard boys back at Embers, and his dreams would be less than serene. Our room was down the hall. The moment I saw the bed, I went for it as if it were the last bed on earth. I heard Vivian talking behind me, but her voice began to dissolve as I stretched out and closed my eyes. The glow from the lamp on the nightstand should have kept me awake, but I didn't even have enough energy left to shut it off. Sleep reached up for me through the mattress like a warm hand coming out of the ground, and I gave myself to it unreservedly. Then the light was off, and I felt Vivian against me, breath- ing into my ear like a cat anxious to be fed. She began undo- 183
ing my shirt, and I told her to just let me sleep, but I didn't push her hand away. There was no need to be nasty about it simply because I was three-quarters dead from exhaustion and needed rest far more than anyone had ever needed sex in the whole history of the world. She had lied to me, betrayed me, and nearly gotten me killed. It was enough to make a man bitter. I was bitter. I was bitter as hell. She was tugging my shirt out of my trousers; her hand felt like a roving but- terfly fluttering against the hairs on my chest. Soon I began thinking that there were times in a man's life when he has to let bygones be bygones, so I kicked off my shoes and began to cooperate with the situation. "You'll sleep better if you let me relax you," she said. "I have been under a lot of stress lately," I told her. "Lie back, Jack," she said I found that fairly easy to do. After a second I sat up on my elbows and watched her black hair slide down my stomach like a retreating wave. I reached down and got a fistful of it and lifted her head. Her eyes were already as glazed over as they'd been in Matson's little movie. A thought came to me. "You're on it, aren't you?" "What?" "The Morphitrex." By way of answer, she moistened her already moist lips with her tongue and lowered her head, and I left her to her work. After a while she straddled me like a cowgirl and began to surge back and forth, her dark hair whipping around like the shadow of a condor. I held on to her hips for dear life and wondered if she was still human. I was afraid she might actually turn into something else, and I wasn't sure I wanted to be under her when it happened. She grabbed the top of the headboard and rocked and screamed and howled like a thunderstorm trying to rip itself free from the sky. Time passed. There was a pool of sweat at the center of 184
my chest, and Vivian was making soft swirls in it with her index finger. The room had cooled off, and the sheets were warm and luxurious against my back. It would have been a fine way to end the night if only the day preceding it had been different. There's something about having the cops after you that puts a damper on things. "The drug," I said. "How does it work?" "I don't know. It's the weirdest shit I've ever taken, weirder even than peyote or mushrooms. It's like it listens to you. It knows what you want. You want something to speed you up, then that's what it does. If you want to chill out and look at a brick wall, then that wall will be the most beautiful thing in the world. I'm telling you, Jack, the stuff is unbelievable. Even Williams has taken it. I only use it for sex." "I never thought you needed any help." "Not with you, but even so, it just makes everything more intense. You're not complaining, are you?" "What does Williams use it for, to grow back his hair?" "Strength, endurance. He told me once that it was the best drug he's had since Vietnam." "Maybe they can use that for the advertising campaign." "There won't be one. It will all be word of mouth. That's the way ecstasy got started. The next thing you know, it's worth twenty dollars a pill--more, once people realize what it's like." "I guess this would be a good time to talk about money," I said. "What do you have in mind?" Vivian asked. I ignored her question. I was almost enjoying myself. "Williams will catch on eventually that the Colonel has been squeezed out of the play, and he won't like it very much. Also, he knows I'm alive now. He won't like that either, which means he'll be coming after all three of us. I'll prob- ably have to kill him. I'll have to be compensated for that. 185
I've gone through a lot of trouble for your family. It's time for the payoff." She tensed up at that, but only for a moment. She'd told me once that her entire body was a G-spot, but the only one I had never probed was the one in her bank account. It was the one place she didn't accept visitors--especially those there to make a withdrawal. "How much do you want?" she asked. Her eyes were bright as coins. "Well, there's the fifty grand you still owe me for the dead-body removal. We'll have to double that because of Mr. Duncan, of course. But as the new enforcer in this little operation, I'll have to be an equal partner. I get a third of the profits. What do you say to that?" She kissed me. "Jack," she said, "there's hope for you after all." "More than you think. Roll over. It's my turn on top." THREE
I AWOKE JUST BEFORE DAWN and got dressed in the dark. I was still tired but felt fairly close to form. Then I woke Vivian. She turned over onto her back and blinked her eyes, and I recalled that, like most night stalkers, she was not a particularly pleasant person in the morning. She sat up in bed and looked around. "Where are we?" she asked. "Up in Hollywood. The Holiday Inn. Your brother's down the hall." "What time is it?" "About five-thirty." She noticed then that I was dressed. "Where are you going? " "Not just me. You, too. We're going to the mansion to get the disk." 188
"It's not on a disk," she said after a yawn. "It's on one of those little portable hard drives." "Whatever. We're going to go find it. Get dressed." "It's too early. Come back to bed." "Get up." "What about Nick?" she asked. "Let him sleep. We'll pick him up on the way back." "I need a shower," she said. "I smell like sex." "Later. Hurry up." "You're worse than Williams." "I need to be. You're worse than us both." I sat on the edge of the bed and watched her dress, which was nearly as much fun as watching the reverse. It didn't take her long; she traveled light: a pair of black thong pant- ies, no bra, and the black party dress so incongruous in the innocent morning light. Vivian watched me watching her and smiled like the succubus she was. She reveled in her body the way a rich man revels in gold. The smooth skin, the breasts like minarets on a mosque, the fluted ribs lined now with shadow, now with light, the flat belly with just a trace of muscle visible. The black dress went on over her head, and she moved her hips from side to side as it slid over her ass. Maybe she's right, I thought. Maybe it is too early. It was Sunday morning, and the traffic heading south was light. The sun, in a haze of cirrus clouds, rose slowly, red-eyed and sluggish in the east, as though unsure whether daylight was worth the effort. Vivian begged me to stop for coffee, so I pulled in to the same gas station where I'd stopped the night before and got one of those giant-size cups full of java while Vivian half dozed in the front seat of the car by one of the pumps. We made Sunset Beach in twenty minutes. A sleep-de- prived young guard in a uniform with a gold braid looped around one shoulder stepped out from his little box, in which 189
a small TV set was flickering on a counter next to a thermos. He walked over to the driver's side with his clipboard in front of his chest, leaned down, pen in hand
. "Hey, Seth," Vivian said. "Long night?" "There's no other kind, Ms. Patterson. Not for me." "You don't happen to know if Williams is home, do you?" she asked. "Haven't seen Mr. Williams in two or three days, not since your father left." "Thanks, Reggie," Vivian said, her eyes twinkling the promise of a time that would never come. "Do me a favor, okay? If Mr. Williams should come by while we're here, give me a call at the house, would you?" "Sure." "Thanks, I really appreciate that," she told him. I was just about to hit the gas when Reggie thought of something else. "Hey, I forgot to tell you: Three guys came by here last night." "Who?" I asked. Seth looked annoyed. He'd been speak- ing to Vivian. Still, he answered anyway. "They didn't say, but they looked kind of official, if you know what I mean. I told them nobody was home." "They look like cops?" I asked. The guard eyed me skeptically. He was wondering who the hell I was to be asking him questions. Vivian picked up on it. "This is my bodyguard," she said. "They might have been," Reginald said. "They had that look. Oh, and yeah, they left you a card. Hold on." He stepped back into the guardhouse. Vivian and I ex- changed glances. The sun was more cheerful-looking, having thrown off its white cloak of clouds. I took a sip of coffee. Reggie came out, reached across my body with 190
his outstretched arm, and handed Vivian a business card. I could tell by the tightness of his mouth that he had read the name on it and was trying hard to act unimpressed. Vivian read the card as we drove away from the gatehouse. I watched the guard through the rearview mirror, wondering if he might already be going for the phone. Vivian put the card on the dashboard. "Agent Hackbart," she said. "FBI. Shit. What now?" "Same as before," I said, "only quicker. I want to be in and out in ten minutes. Get your key ready." "I don't want to go to jail, Jack." "Why not? I thought you liked girls." Vivian didn't say anything. She was leaning forward, looking straight ahead, as though we were on a roller coaster that was sweeping downward at full speed. The mansion of glass had already captured the sunlight and was sitting quietly on the rise with its glistening back to the sea. The flagpole still had no flag, and the Bentley, still parked outside the garage, was covered with drops of dew. I looked over at the small guesthouse where Dominguez, the Colonel's chauffeur, lived. His little white Toyota was gone, and the windows were covered with hurricane shutters. I parked the car behind the massive garage and killed the engine. Vivian watched me intently as I took Space's .45 out from beneath the seat. Just to be sure, I checked the clip and snapped it back in again. Despite the gun I felt vaguely un- armed, and for a moment I didn't want to get out of the car. "Let's use the back door," I said. "The one by the pool." Vivian followed behind me, her stiletto heels typing away on the pavement. We went quickly along the side of the house, down a path flanked by rosebushes, until we emerged in the backyard. I stopped suddenly. "What's wrong?" Vivian asked. I had expected to see the welcoming, jewel-blue water of 191
the swimming pool just as I had a few days before, but it was empty. The pool had been drained. "I guess your father doesn't plan on doing much swim- ming here for a while," I said. My heart beat out a mild version of the fandango as we stepped through the French doors and into the house. I grabbed Vivian's wrist and put my finger to my lips as I listened to the nothing there was to hear. Then, very quietly, like a pair of thieves, we scurried down the hall that led to the living room and main stairway, and I couldn't help thinking about the last time I'd raced up a staircase with a gun in my hand. There was a lot more light this time around, yet in another way just as much darkness. It occurred to me that nothing in me had changed. I shook the thought from my head and turned back to Vivian. Her dark eyes glowed with fear. The sound of her heels clicking on the marble tiles had begun to drive me crazy. "Take off your shoes," I said. "You're making too much damned noise." "That gun of yours is making me nervous," she told me in a tight whisper. "Can't you put it away? There's nobody home." "Sorry, I don't believe in concealed weapons," I said. "Sends the wrong message." The faces in the paintings stared at us as we approached Vivian's bedroom at the end of the hall. The house of glass felt empty, but in a place that big it was hard to tell. Vivian unlocked the door while I stood facing back down the hallway. Then we were inside. Vivian locked the door behind her while I scanned the room with eyes and gun. The closet door was open, as were most of the drawers, and there were heaps of clothing on the floor just about everywhere you looked. 192
The place had been gone through, no doubt by Williams. Otherwise everything looked as it had a few days earlier: The teddy bear still reigned from atop the satin pillows stacked on the waterbed and the big-bellied brass Buddha was still smoking his cigarette amid an audience of dead flowers. "Hurry up," I said. "This place has a bad feel to it." Vivian, still carrying her shoes by their skinny straps, darted to the bed, grabbed the teddy bear as though it were a delinquent child, and began twisting its small, brown, dis- believing head. I watched in amazement as she unscrewed the head and tossed it onto the floor next to her shoes. Then she got the decapitated bear by its leg and shook it over the white quilt. Something that looked like a gray seedpod fell out and bounced on the quilt. It was one of those extremely compact, extremely portable minidrives with a USB connector at one end. Vivian reached down to pick it up, but I was faster and scooped it up before she could grab it. I checked it out for a second, then put it in my pocket. "I'll hold on to this, if you don't mind. Nice trick," I said. "The bear, I mean." "My mother gave it to me. I used to keep pot in it when I was a kid." "Put the head back on, and let's get out of here," I said. "No need for anyone to know we were here." We were halfway down the stairs when I heard the sound of tires crunching on the white gravel that bordered the drive. A moment later there was the sound of a car door slamming shut. Vivian froze on the steps behind me. I looked back at her. Her eyes were bright with fear. "Who?" she asked. "Williams . . . ?" "Maybe. Come on," I said. "Out the back." The doorbell rang just as we hit the first floor. We ran 193
along the hall that led back to the pool, Vivian's bare feet padding away on the marble tiles. We sprinted past the Colo- nel's failed Japanese garden and headed out toward the back of the garage where I had parked. There was a space be- tween the mansion and the garage that looked out toward the driveway. I peeked around the corner. Only a fraction of the driveway was visible, but the space was wide enough for me to spot the rear end of a black sedan. In a way I was relieved. "It's not Williams," I said. "It's the cops." "Now what?" Vivian demanded desperately. "We can't take the car. They'll nail us before we hit the causeway." I looked back over my shoulder at the ripple-free expanse of the ocean behind us. Then I saw the seawall. It went beyond the house and disappeared from view behind a blockade of hedges. "Where's that seawall go?" I asked. "Not far. We share it with the neighbor next door, about three lots away." "All right. That's it, then." We ran down to where the seawall stood futile guard against the ocean. One good-size hurricane and the Colo- nel's glass house would be an aquarium. The cement wall, four feet high and two feet wide, made about as much sense as the stunted bonsai trees, but for now it was our only road out. I helped Vivian onto the seawall, then climbed up after her. The hedges at the end of the Colonel's property were backed up by a wrought-iron fence that extended to the edge of the wall. The hedges were too wide to step around, so the only way to the lot next door would be to grab hold of one of the bars with my left hand. I could do it easily enough, but I wasn't sure about Vivian. I told her to stand as close to me as possible, then pressed the left side of my body as far into 194
the hedges as I could. I reached out with my left hand and grasped a single rusty iron bar. With my right arm, I took Vivian by her waist. The plan was to swing out and around the fence to the vacant lot next door. I stretched out my left leg as far as it would go and told Vivian to grab me around the neck. I felt her arms trembling against my chest. "Are you sure you can do this?" she asked. "Hold on." I braced myself, measuring my strength. Vivian weighed about 110, and I would have to support her weight as we swung out over the ocean. "Why don't we just give ourselves u
p?" she asked plain- tively. "Not yet." I tightened the muscles in my left leg and pushed off with my right leg extended about forty-five degrees, like the pencil end of a compass, as it swung out over the water. Vivian's weight added to the swing's momentum. We did a complete 180-degree turn around the hedges, with so much force that I nearly lost my grip. My right foot swung around and down, begging for a foothold on the seawall on the other side of the fence. Vivian screamed as her legs trailed behind us in midair. My foot tapped on the far wall, slid a bit, then found traction. I twisted my body with everything I had and whipped Vivian around with such force that the arc of the swing propelled us both into the lot next door. I landed on my back in the dirt with Vivian on top of me. After a moment of cautious silence, Vivian got up and began brushing the dirt and sand from her bare legs. I didn't get up right away. The fall and her weight had knocked the breath out of me, and I'd strained my left shoulder. I sat up and rotated the arm. There was a slight pop, and all was right with the world. 195
