The Most Dangerous Time

by David LaGraff

  Chapter 27

  "I can't do this," Rickie said.

  They'd limo'd to The Dell whereupon Shank dismissed his car and driver in favor of Rickie's Mercedes, a Black Diamond edition Roadster, which sat in the garage on it's newly-repaired tires, ready to transport them upon supple red and black leather cushions anywhere they chose at potential speeds of up to 160 miles per hour. Beside which sat Hirschfeld's deeply polished black Rolls-Royce Silver Seraph, a vehicle which Hirschfeld bought new every year, at an untold and probably incalculable sum.

  "Can you drive?" Shank asked. "You've had a few drinks."

  "I'm sober," Rickie replied.

  The primary and secondary modes of transport thus inspected, they'd made their way to the lost kitchen of Rickie's Beverly Hills mansion, where the frozen body of Just Plain Dot was even now lying hard-frozen somewhere within the 8.9 cubic feet of Rickie's Sub-Zero freezer. Would the cat be simply lying on the shelf, wrapped in a shopping bag from the finest supermarket in the world, or had Judy, in an instinctive move, symbolically buried the beast sans bursa in one of the freezer's four drawers?

  Now Rickie and Shank stood in front of the massive, oak paneled construction containing, on the one side, fresh consumable elements, and on the other, items rendered compatible with the ice age, among which were a frozen cat. A primal urge found them holding each other closely to brace themselves emotionally for the opening of the freezer door to remove the frozen feline prior to its transport back to Judy's place.

  "I can't do this, Shank."

  "It's okay," Shank said. "I'll do it." He began to open the freezer. Rickie pushed the freezer door shut.

  "No, Shank, you don't understand. What I mean is, I can't do us. I can't do you and me. I can't allow myself to fall into your arms for comfort. Not now, not ever again."

  "Rickie? Why? What's missing, here?"

  Rickie released a breath. "Look, I'm being eaten alive right now. I've obviously gone a little nuts. Yesterday morning, I tried to kill my husband. Now here I am, starting something with you. I don't even know you! You're a perfect stranger! I can't do this! This isn't the beginning of a love affair. This is merely another mistake I'm making on my personal pathway to self-destruction!"

  "I understand," Shank said. "You're on the rebound. It's too much too soon. You're right. You don't know me and I don't know you. In fact, I'm sure you view me as somebody who's sick. I'm an alcoholic and I killed a kid. It's no secret about my dirty past with the boys in the fancy suits."

  "I can't help thinking," Rickie said, "I've been with one sick man for the past five years, and for all I know, I'm attracted to you because in your own way you're just as sick."

  Shank rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.

  "Oh, Shank! I didn't mean it the way it sounded!"

  "You're right, Rickie. I probably am as sick as Hershey, in my own way. What kind of a man tries to pick up a married, abused woman in a hospital room? Don't you think I've wondered about it myself! I feel guilty as sin! All I know is the minute I laid eyes on you, I wanted you! Now let's get the cat and get out of here."

  "No. Leave Just Plain Dot in the freezer." Rickie took his hand and led him from the kitchen through the French doors to the massive rear deck overlooking the lushly landscaped pool and outdoor spa, a mini-environ, an oasis which made one forget being surrounded by eleven million other souls. She pulled the cover off the spa and flipped a few switches. The lights came on and the spa bubbled invitingly, the steam rising into the cool, rain-misted air. Bending down, she tested the water.

  "It's hot. Get in."

  "What? Right now?"

  "Right now. Right here." Without a further word, Rickie entered the spa fully clothed, shoes and all. "Shank, I need you to get in with me now, with all your clothes on, or leave and never come back."

  "Hold on." From his jacket he extracted his wallet, his fifty-thousand dollar money roll, and a small blue plastic object the size of an electric razor.

  "What's that?"

  "My taser."

  He got in and they sat across from each other as the waters bubbled around them, puffing up their clothing.

  "That's better," she said. Now tell me why carry a taser."

  "How do you think I was going to handle Hirschfeld in that elevator? I would have tased his ass before he ever got in the darn thing."

  "How does a taser work?"

  "There's a couple of darts attached to wires. A can of compressed air fires the two darts. When the darts hit the victim's clothing, they receive a shock wave that wipes out their nervous system. You can also use the handle by itself as a stun gun. A five-second pulse would take down King Kong."

  "You were going to taser Hirschfeld in the back? That's not very sporting."

  "I'm glad you think so. May I say, it's not my fault Hirschfeld wanted to fight me. I didn't ask for trouble. I don't owe him a fair fight. Not in my book. Let me tell you, I didn't make it through my tour in 'Nam by fighting fair. Why do you think I made it out of there alive? If anybody came near me, I shot them in the back."

  Rickie sighed. "You're probably wondering why we're sitting in this hot tub. It's because I'm baptizing our friendship," she said. "Because if I can't be your lover, I can be your friend ... if you'll be mine. The way I see it, we're both only half-alive, like two people existing in the shadows. Yesterday I pulled a gun on my abusive husband and took my first baby steps towards freedom. I still don't have the freedom to love you, not yet. I have nothing but contempt for myself right now. I hate myself for tolerating Hershey's abuse. I lost my baby over my weakness."

  "Rickie, you don't have to do this."

  "I'm holding on to a dream. I'm holding on to the hope that somewhere beneath the surface of all our fears about ourselves, and our misguided affections, lies the chance to experience true love one more time before we die. I'm holding on to that, but I know so far, it's only a dream. It's not real yet."

  "It could be real for both of us if we give it time. I've looked inside myself for a decade. It's not very pretty in there, but I know what's real and what isn't. My feelings for you are real."

  "We've been thrown together by violence," Rickie said. "This afternoon, I almost died. A few hours ago, I pulled you down onto the floor of a public restaurant. Can't you see? I'm on some kind of crazy high. When I'm with you, it's as though I'm finally free of the terrible weight I've been under all these years. Sooner or later, I'm going to come down off this high and I don't want it to be while I'm right in the middle of doing something we'll both regret for the rest of our lives."

  "Me neither," Shank admitted. "I knew we were rushing it, but whenever I'm close to you, I'm like a teenager. My brain gives way to the fire down below."

  "I need time. I don't know how much time, but I know I need it. The best I can do right now is ask you to be my friend. I can't promise you anything beyond that. Even if we become friends, we may not carry it any farther. That's why I asked you to enter the spa with your clothes on, to seal a commitment to friendship. Because for you and I, we're going to have to keep our lives on the straight and narrow until I'm truly free."

  "What do you mean, Rickie?"

  "I mean free to be myself. Free to fall in love again."

  "Oh no," Shank said. "I think I'm already in love. I feel sick at the thought of not having you in my arms anymore."

  "I'm sorry. I can't entangle myself emotionally. Not yet. I need to find out what my goals and dreams are. If you really love me, you'll have to let me go."

  He studied her for a second. "So that kiss back there at the Polo Lounge, I guess that's going to have to last us awhile, huh?"

  "I'm afraid so."

  His face went blank. He put his hands on his hips. "At least it was a great kiss."

  "It was a splurge," Rickie agreed.

  "If I agree to be just friends, can I have one more kiss for the road?"

  "Sorry,
Shank. You and I both know where one more kiss would lead."

  "Friends it is, then. For as long as it takes. No matter the outcome."

  "There's one condition," Rickie said.

  "Anything."

  "Don't promise me until you hear what it is. I want you to tell me the entire story of your life."

  "Yeh, okay. I can do that. We'll have dinner tomorrow night."

  "No, Shank. I mean right now."

  "Right now? This very minute?"

  "I've got all night."

  "I ... I don't know where to even start."

  "You're going to start with the night you killed that child."

  That this request presented a dilemma to Shank was evident by the look on his face, which resembled what the face of a simpleton would doubtless look like when asked, upon pain of death, to adequately lay down a uniform theoretical explanation of gravity. Nonetheless, he sucked in a breath and bravely started forward on the impossible task of defining his darkest moment.

  "I'd taken the day off from work and had been drinking all day with an old service buddy of mine. I was living in the Hollywood Hills at that time. We each took a pint of 151 rum and went down to the Cinerama Dome on Hollywood Boulevard to see an afternoon matinee, a re-screening of Apocalypse Now. I finished the entire fifth in the first hour of the film. I don't remember leaving the show or saying good-bye to my friend, or getting in my car, but I must have done so around seven in the evening. It was November, so the streets were already dark." He paused and looked at her helplessly. "Rickie, I can't."

  "You must. Our future depends on it."

  "Okay. Here goes. Rickie, the kid was two years old. They tell me she was chasing a toad in the street. I was driving fast. I didn't even know I'd run her down. I don't remember a thing, but apparently I made it home, put the car in the garage and went to bed. The next morning, after I'd slept off my drunk, I came out to my car and found the kid's dead body jammed into the grill."

  "Dear God."

  Shank swallowed heavily and climbed out of the spa. "If you want to hear the rest of this, I'll need to change and put on a pot of coffee."

  "In the pool house," Rickie said. "There's a changing room with towels, heavy robes, toothbrushes, slippers, everything you need. We'll both change and I'll make us a fresh pot."

  He leaned down at her. "I'm sorry, Rickie, but I'm not giving up on us. If this is the way our second all-nighter has to be, then so be it."

  "Our second all-nighter?"

  "How quickly they forget. Our first night together was the wee hours of last Saturday morning at UCLA. That's when I fell in love with you."

  "You fell in love with me while I was unconscious?"

  "It seems to fit my character, don't you think? Most of my memorable life-changing events have taken place while me or somebody else was blacked out."

  "It's 1 a.m. We'd better get changed. Turn your back. I don't want you to see me in this wet dress. Take your time getting dressed. I'll be in the kitchen with our coffee when you come out."

  He turned and entered the pool house without another word.

  Rickie clambered out of the spa and stood in the chill damp air, hugging herself. As she crossed the deck and entered the house, an image of a lady in a cloud of stars crossed her mind. "Pray for me, Blessed Mother," she said.

  From somewhere higher up in the hills, a coyote howled, its vocalizing striking a note within her of almost unbearable sadness. She went inside and made it up the stairs and into her own thick white terry robe before the enormous energy drain required for the events of the past twenty-four hours began to hit her hard. She went downstairs and sat down on the couch, her legs trembling. Ever since the aborted suicide attempt and her mysterious release from the Pacific breakers, she'd been operating on a manic high, trying to suck in as much life as possible. She'd made a pretty good run at being immortal, but like all good runs, it finally ran its course. The human body could take only so much.

  I'll merely close my eyes for a minute. Once closed, a heavy darkness running like a river flooded her brain. She awoke covered by a blanket, the sharp late afternoon sun streaming in through the shutters. The house smelled of dust and disuse. She'd been asleep a long time. Whether for a day, or a week, she couldn't say.

  "Shank? Shank? Judy? Anybody!"

  There was no answer; she was alone in the house of her betrayal.