by Giles Blunt
Max was still fast asleep.
SIXTEEN
Sabrina left early in the morning to go and visit her aunt Rachel-her mother’s sister-who had lived in Dallas her whole life. Max was still in bed, and she thought it would be best if Owen could be alone with him for a while.
Spending time with Aunt Rachel was like shooting rapids-exhilarating, but not something you wanted to do every day. Sabrina had hardly been in her aunt’s kitchen half an hour before Rachel was lining up the day’s activities like a squad commander plotting a covert operation.
“Honey, a girl cain’t be without her wardrobe. That’s like a magician without his wand, an angel without his wings. We are gonna take you right downtown, and we are gonna get your hair cut, and we are gonna buy you some clothes. We can’t have you slouching across the country looking like Little Orphan Annie. Oh, honey, I am so glad to hear you left that religious zealot. There’s only one thing worse than an atheist and that’s a born-again bonehead. Could you not have got your luggage forwarded to you somehow?”
“The hotel says it’s gone. Actually, what they said was, ‘Your husband took it when he checked out.’”
“The man’s a robber and a thief. Not to mention violent, possessive and downright mean.”
“Good Christian, though.”
“If that man’s a Christian, I’m a Tibetan nun. Where’s he get off stealing your clothes?”
“He’s not all bad, Rache. He took me in at a really bad point in my life.”
“Don’t you go mistaking plain old ordinary lust for Christian charity. Personally, I’ve had it with Christians-Muslims, too-and the Jews can go take a flying-Honey, look at your nails. Those hands look like you’ve been tunnelling out of San Quentin. I can see we are gonna have to make a day of this. Now tell me again who it is you’re travelling with?”
“A guy named Owen Maxwell and his uncle.”
“How old is Owen?”
“Eighteen. Just two years younger than me.”
“I know how old you are, honey. You’re sweet on him, aren’t you?”
“Not really. Maybe a little.”
“More than a little, princess. I know the signs. How’d you meet this handsome young dog?”
“He saw Bill hitting me and screaming his head off in a parking lot and he intervened. Naturally, Bill beat him senseless.”
“And I have no doubt he was quoting chapter and verse the whole time,” Rachel said. “Honey, we are just gonna have to indulge in a little post-traumatic stress shopping.”
Rachel took her to Neiman Marcus, Saks Fifth Avenue and so many boutiques that Sabrina lost count. Even though she was nearly thirty years older than Sabrina, Rachel seemed to know what the younger generation liked and where to get it. Sabrina bought a pair of Buffalo jeans on sale, a sleeveless blouse, and a green hoodie that managed to be light and cozy at the same time.
“Honey, that colour is made for you. Suddenly you got eyes like a movie star.”
As an extra surprise, Rachel picked out a simple pendant, silver with a drop of turquoise.
“Rachel, I can’t. It’ll take me ages to pay you back.”
“Who said anything about paying me back? Pretty little thing like you, it’s a pleasure to dress you up.”
“But these things aren’t cheap.”
“Don’t you worry about it. Pierre left me very well provided for.”
Rachel’s husband, a Dallas tax attorney with the un-Texan name of Pierre, had died of lymphoma more than ten years ago. These days she was seeing a younger man named Ken, and she seemed inclined to keep him, though she showed no inclination to marry again.
“You want to know the secret of a lasting relationship?” Rachel said, setting her shopping bag on the sidewalk so she could flag a cab.
“I imagine there’s more than one,” Sabrina said.
“No, there’s actually just the one: fellatio. Constant, expert fellatio.” Rachel stepped out into the path of an oncoming cab, forcing him to halt. “Give him the kind of experience money can’t buy and that man will be by your side forever.”
“God, Rachel. I thought you were going to say ‘ruthless honesty,’ or ‘a compatible sense of humour.’ And you come up with blow jobs.”
“Everybody’s got their theories. Mine happens to be backed up by a lot of hard evidence, pardon the pun.” She held open the door of the cab for Sabrina. “What say we head home and have ourselves some lemonade on the veranda?”
When they brought their lemonade out onto the back porch, Bill Bullard was on the bottom step, cap in hand.
“Jesus Christ,” Rachel said.
“I’m going to ignore that,” Bill said. “But you can be certain the Lord won’t.”
“Mister, you go straight back where you came from. You are not welcome here.”
“Ma’am, with all respect, I did not come here to see you. I come to see Sabrina.”
“Well, Sabrina doesn’t want to see you.”
“I reckon the young lady’s old enough to speak for herself.” Bill shifted his weight, cocking a hip and leaning one hand on the newel post at the bottom of the porch steps, the other on his hip. The posture pushed his belt even lower beneath his abdominal overhang.
“How did you find me?” Sabrina asked.
“Finding people is one of the things I’m good at.”
“But I never told you about Rachel.”
“Not in so many words, maybe. Everybody has an address book.”
“You went through my laptop? That’s a pretty sneaky thing to do, wouldn’t you say?”
“I believe it’s my duty to protect you. Sometimes protection demands extraordinary measures.”
“You son of a bitch,” Rachel said. “You are lower than a snake’s belly in a wagon rut. What kind of man goes through a woman’s personal belongings?”
“A man who is concerned for her welfare. Sabrina, may I talk with you in private?”
“There’s nothing to talk about, Bill. I don’t want to be around you anymore. You’re too possessive, you’re too violent, and you’re too religious.”
“I have my faults and my weaknesses, Lord knows I do. But there is no such thing on this earth as too religious.”
“Tell that to the people who died in the World Trade Center,” Rachel said. “Tell it to all the so-called witches been burned at the stake. Why don’t you just turn around and get your ass off my property?”
“I’d like to talk to Sabrina first.”
“She just told you she don’t need to talk to you.”
“It’s okay,” Sabrina said.
“Honey, you don’t have to talk to this creep.”
“Really, Rachel. I’ll be all right.”
Rachel looked from Bill to Sabrina, and back to Bill. “I will be watching you right here from this veranda,” she said. “And if you try to haul this young lady off or harm her in any way, I will have the police on your ass so fast it’ll make your head spin. And trust me, Dallas cops aren’t gonna give a shit you were a cop in some lame-ass sink trap like Las Vegas. They’ll just assume you’re stupid and corrupt, like every other Bible-thumpin’ dickhead.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, ma’am. Thank you for clarifying.”
Rachel sat down on a wicker chair, making the ice in her lemonade clink.
Sabrina went down the steps and crossed the lawn to a white wooden swing hanging in the shade of an enormous tree. There was a rumble of distant thunder and a heavy dampness in the air. Bill stood before her, cap in hand, looking as penitent as it was possible for a man of his body mass index to look.
“Sabrina,” he said, “I behaved like a jackass, and I am truly sorry. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”
“I have no trouble forgiving you, Bill-for what you did to me. But you beat the guy who was kind enough to intervene, and forgiving you for that isn’t up to me.”
“Okay, I am sorry for that too. I know my temper can occasionally get the better of me. It’s an affli
ction the Lord has donated to me as a test. I hope to do better on that test in future. I’ve prayed on it.”
“You’re always praying, Bill. If you go around beating people, it doesn’t make it better that you pray about it. Nobody cares if you pray or not, but they do care if you smack them around.”
Sabrina sipped from her lemonade and pressed one foot into the grass, pushing the swing around in a tiny circle. From the direction of the veranda came the clink of ice cubes.
Bill twisted his cap. “I’ve been thinking maybe I could enrol in one of those anger management courses? Much as I hate the idea of therapy and all that group candy-ass wallowing. Makes my skin crawl, to tell you the truth. But I’d be willing to undertake it, if you’d come back with me.”
“I can’t go back with you, Bill.”
“But you said you forgive me.”
“I do. I just don’t want to live with you.”
“Aw, Sabrina, don’t you know by now I love you like to die? I’m nearbout crazy with it. I’ll do better, I promise. I’ll make a solemn vow, and you know I would not swear falsely.”
“How did you know I’d be here, anyway?”
“I didn’t. But I was pretty sure you’d be in touch with your aunt, even though I can’t help but notice that that lady is a piece of work. I was hoping to prevail upon her better nature to get a message to you, that’s all. It was just one of the Lord’s tender mercies that he saw fit to bring you to me just as I arrived.”
“Luck, in other words.”
“You say luck, I say the Lord. Who do you think’s in charge of luck?”
The last of Sabrina’s lemonade clattered up the straw. “Bill, thank you for taking me in when I was down. I’m grateful for it-really I am-but I’m moving back to New York and that’s that.”
“Have some mercy, now. You are crushing my spirit. Truly.”
“I’m sorry, Bill.”
“Won’t you at least think on it?”
“There’s nothing to think about. I don’t suppose you’d be able to send my stuff to me when I have a place of my own?”
“Matter of fact, I brought your suitcase with me. Backpack too. I’m not a brute, Sabrina. I knew there was a good chance you wouldn’t appreciate my offer to take you back. Figured I’d leave ’em with your aunt if it come to that.”
“You have them here?”
“They’re in the car.”
To Sabrina’s horror, Bill knelt on the grass as the first raindrops began to fall and clasped his hands in front of his chest. This brought a furious rattle of ice cubes from the veranda.
“Sabrina, looky here now. I’m on my knees. Do you know what that costs a man of my prideful nature? This is me, William P. Bullard, begging you. Abasing myself before you. Heaven sake, girl, what more can you require of a man?”
“Well,” Sabrina said, “I’d rather just have my luggage.”
“He gave it to you?” Owen said. “He didn’t hit you again, did he?”
“No, he didn’t hit me. He tried to get me to go back to Vegas with him. I actually felt sorry for him.”
He touched her shoulder. “Don’t be sad. I’m really glad you didn’t go back with him.”
“Back with whom?” Max said as he came into the Rocket, spotted with rain and carrying a bag of groceries. He had the most remarkable powers of recovery Sabrina had ever witnessed. He didn’t seem even the slightest bit troubled by his demented episode of the day before.
“Bill showed up at my aunt’s,” Sabrina said.
Max set the groceries down on the table and mopped at his brow. “My dear, please tell me that isn’t true. Have you been phoning him again?”
“He snooped through my address books. He figured I’d show up at Rachel’s and he just happened to be there when we got back from shopping.”
“And now I suppose he’s followed you back to our very doorstep and we can look forward to having a Bible-spouting former constable on our tail for the rest of our natural lives.”
“He didn’t follow me. I made him promise not to.”
“Oh, good. It’s a truth universally acknowledged that no law enforcement officer, former or otherwise, would ever break a promise.”
“Max,” Owen put in, “she said he didn’t follow her. Did you see any strange cars outside?”
“I did not. But my mind misgives some consequence,” Max said, pointing upward, “yet hanging in the stars.”
“It’s not as if he’s still a cop. He just wants Sabrina back. He doesn’t know anything about us, why should he?”
“My lad, I know not. But I do know the former Officer Bullard has popped up, gopherlike, in two separate locations, and I am not yet so feeble-minded as to put it down to coincidence. The young lady is fetching-not to mention the daughter of my long-time friend-but forgive me if I find it unnerving to be associated with an actual police magnet. My dear,” he added to Sabrina, “I mean that in the most affectionate way.”
SEVENTEEN
They’d been following the old man and the kid since Vegas, and now the girl too. They got Tucson from Pookie-his hotel booking in the datebook section of his PalmPilot. Roscoe had given them Dallas, and Zig had insisted on lugging the sap all the way to Dallas in case he might know any more. There were only half a dozen RV parks in the Dallas-Fort Worth area, and of these only two had facilities big enough for vehicles the size of Max Maxwell’s Winnebago. Which was how they’d tracked them to the Texas-T trailer park. Clem and Stu had split the bird-dog duties, meaning Clem had to waste his entire day following this girl around, and he could not for the life of him figure out why.
Clem seriously believed that if he stayed in the car another minute he was going to go out of his screaming mind. Parked in the McDonald’s lot, staring at the Texas-T sign-pretty soon they’d have to haul him off to a psychiatric hospital, to spend the rest of his days drooling before a TV set playing America’s Funniest Home Videos or some other lame-ass show he’d never watched except by accident in a bar maybe.
He’d been here for two hours now, rain tapping on the car roof and dribbling down the windshield. He couldn’t listen to the radio any longer without running the battery down. He snatched up his cellphone and called Zig.
“How much longer you expect me to do this?”
“Do what?” Zig said. “What are you doing?”
“I’m parked outside the goddamn trailer park waiting for something to happen. I’m telling you, the girl’s got nothing to do with these guys’ business. She’s a friend or relative or something. Spent the day shopping, for Chrissake.”
“Who with?”
“Some dame. Friend, I think. Older. Absolutely nothing of interest happened.”
“They see anybody else?”
“No one. Well, there was one guy come out of the old lady’s place when they got back from shopping. Could be the broad’s husband, I don’t know. Anyway, girl took a taxi back here an hour ago and I’m-Hang on, there’s a cab coming out of the park now. Yeah, it’s her.”
“Stay on her.”
“Zig, I’m getting sick of pissing in a bottle here. Why the fuck am I watching this girl?”
“Because we don’t know if she’s part of this crew or what.”
“Well, let Stu do it.”
“Stu’s watching Max and the kid downtown, and I’m watching Jeopardy Joe here. Don’t you lose her, Clem, or I’ll light up your ass, I swear I will.”
Clem threw the phone down and pulled out into the traffic, wipers flapping. The cab was two cars ahead. He snatched up the phone again and switched it off. What was Zig doing all this time? Probably screwing one of his underage druggies too stoned to know any better.
“Fuck you,” he said, and threw the phone in the glove compartment.
“There’s no way we can do it,” Owen said. “Not without Pookie and Roscoe. You checked out the new wing.”
Max steered the Taurus through the Dallas traffic, which seemed so used to sunshine that it was utterly stymied by rain.
“It’s a hospital, my boy. Hardly a fortress. My plan is not only feasible, it is elegant. A good round plan. The lobby will be filled with doctors and lawyers and do-gooders all drinking to excess. They’re opening a wing-they’re not expecting to get robbed. All those speeches, they’ll be stultified.”
“Max, just yesterday you didn’t know your own goddamn name.”
“That is a low blow, lad. I refuse to dignify it with a reply.”
“Max, you’ve got four mezzanines looking down on the lobby where everyone’s going to be. You’ve got four huge exits. And there’s going to be newspaper photographers, TV cameras, who knows what else?”
“I fear no cameras. A disguise is a disguise whether on camera or in the flesh. As to mezzanines-”
“Max, please. You’re scaring me. What’s the point of doing reconnaissance if you’re going to ignore everything you find out? Besides which, since when do we rob hospitals?”
“We wouldn’t be robbing the hospital, we’d be robbing the rabid right-wing lunatics who attend such things. Need I remind you that it’s to be called the Thomas P. Craine Center for Reconstructive Surgery? Do you know who Thomas P. Craine is?”
“Just because he’s a rich Republican doesn’t mean he isn’t doing something good. Hey, watch out!”
Max had suddenly pulled over in front of an FTD shop, eliciting even more horns from behind.
“Flowers to Tucson,” he said. “That fellow who was injured.”
“The one you shot, you mean.”
“There’s no need to call a spade a bloody shovel. It was a workplace accident. You mock my finest instincts.”
