Ruby uncoiled, sat up, and poured out her tale of what transpired at the car. Crockett was a slavering, bloodthirsty beast, leaving innocents strewn about the streets, awash in their own bodily fluids.
Clete grinned at him. “My, my, my.”
“Ruby’s version may be slightly colored by her overly emotional reaction to violence,” Crockett said. “Actually, things were pretty much under control. The usual male posturing and macho bullshit got fairly heavy but everything would have been okay if the head bad guy hadn’t made one simple mistake.”
Ruby cocked her head and stared at Crockett. “And what was that?” she said.
“He threatened you,” Crockett said.
Tears filled Ruby’s eyes and she went back into the bedroom.
Clete talked about the events of the day for another few minutes until he excused himself to pack and head for the airport.
“Keep me posted, Crockett,” he said. “I’ll never be so busy I can’t get my tired old Texas ass back out here within thirty-six hours.” He gave Crockett a slap on the shoulder. “Hope everything works out with Ruby. See ya when I see ya.”
Crockett called Marcel, put on his favorite baggy jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, and ambled downstairs. In the restaurant he talked them out of a couple of bowls and spoons, then walked to the lobby just as the black Towne Car pulled into the drive. Crockett collected a package from Marcel and went back upstairs.
In the room, Crockett shoveled Baskin-Robbins French vanilla ice cream into the bowls, poured on a liberal amount chocolate topping, added a mound of aerosol whipped cream, a sprinkling of macadamia pieces, topped the whole mess off with three Maraschino cherries each, added spoons, and carried the two bowls into Ruby’s bedroom. She was lying on her left side and opened one eye to peer at him.
“Comfort food,” he said. “We both need it. Sit up and eat or I’ll rub it in your hair.”
Ruby swung her feet to the floor and accepted the bowl, all without looking at Crockett.
“You’re awfully good at issuing threats,” she said.
“I’m pretty good at carrying them out, too.”
“Yes, you are. Ivy once described you as a non-violent man capable of extreme violence. She was exactly right. You’re a warrior, Crockett. I let that get away from me.”
Crockett shrugged. “I was looking for trouble today,” he said. “When that asshole told me to back off from Marilee, all I had to do was say okay and leave. But I didn’t. I wanted a piece of him, Ruby. I wanted a piece of all of them. Those sleazy-assed bastards import abuse and broken lives and killings and ruined families just as surely as if they could box up misery and distribute it by the cargo. I needed to hurt that asshole. When he threatened you, I had my excuse. I was wrong.”
Ruby smiled. “Eat your ice cream,” she said, “or I’ll rub it in your hair.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Coast to coast to coast
They flew back to Kansas City the next afternoon, arriving late because of the time change. Crockett phoned for Chinese while Ruby freshened up, and they ate off the coffee table in his living room in front of a cold fireplace.
“You always have sweet and sour chicken,” Ruby said.
“I like sweet and sour chicken.”
“You always have egg drop soup.”
“I like egg drop soup.”
“And you always have one egg roll.”
“What’s it to you?”
“Crockett, we have eaten Chinese together, now and then, for nearly twenty years. With only one or two exceptions, you have eaten virtually the same thing every time.”
“So what?”
“That says a lot about you.”
“Oh, God. Cap-Com, we have lift off.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that somehow, in that twisted brain of yours, you have found a way to connect the fact that I like sweet and sour chicken to some warped hidden neurosis you believe haunts my psyche, or you have been thinking about our relationship. Both of these courses of action are dangerous.”
“It’s reasonably astute of you to make the relationship connection,” she said.
“That’s me,” Crockett said. “Never blindingly astute, but sometimes, reasonably so. Another symptom of your relationship examinations is that you are prone to offer me compliments that feel a little like insults.”
Ruby’s brow furrowed. “I wonder if that says something about me?” she said.
“Jesus. I like sweet and sour chicken, okay? I like it, I eat it. Simple.”
“Ah-ha! Therein lies the point I was making. Ever tried cashew chicken?”
“No.
“Garlic chicken?”
“Nope.”
“Lemon chicken?”
“Naw.”
“Why not?”
“Because I like sweet and sour chicken.”
Ruby swiped one of those crispy things that Crockett put in his egg drop soup.
“I love you, Crockett,” she said. “It is well to be home with you. Think Marilee will call?”
“I hope so, but I can’t let myself to get emotionally involved in the whole thing, at least not any more than I already am. I just can’t get over how much she looks like her grandmother. It still gives me chills.”
Ruby looked at him for a moment. “Another woman gives you chills,” she said. “Should I be concerned about that?”
“In light of my record with sweet and sour chicken,” Crockett said, “I wouldn’t think so.”
She smiled at him and munched another one of those crispy things.
Over the next few weeks, life got back to normal. Ruby took on a couple of new patients, the garden flourished, and Crockett did what he could to not overly exert himself. Spring suddenly became summer, and LaCost got a look of wanderlust in her eyes. They were sharing their customary Wednesday evening dinner when she spoke up.
“Crockett,” she said, “I need a vacation. Let’s do something.”
“Together?”
“Yes, together. Let’s take a trip.”
Crockett tried to keep the suspicion out of his voice.
“Where?” he said.
“How ‘bout Europe? Spain, Italy, France, like that.”
“Have a wonderful time. Send postcards. Don’t drink the water.”
Ruby seemed amazed. “You don’t want to go to Europe?”
“I don’t speak Spainly, Italior, or Francish,” Crockett said. “My electric razor won’t work over there, and Europe’s full of foreigners.”
“Are you serious?”
“As an impacted wisdom tooth. What’s wrong with the good old USA? It’s beautiful. Ever watched the seabirds over the gray ocean from atop a bluff in Maine? Ever hiked through the early morning mist in the Smokey Mountains? Ever walked the dark forest floor among the giant redwoods? Ever elbowed your way down the strip in Branson?”
Ruby made a great show of excessive patience.
“Okay,” she said. “What’s your ideal vacation?”
“Camping.”
“We’ve been through this before, Crockett I do not camp. My heels get stuck in the mud.”
“Alright. I can appreciate that. You said you wanted to travel, let’s travel. Let’s rent a nice motorhome with a john and shower, a fridge and microwave, nice beds, air, generator, the whole shot. We’ll take a month or two and look over the land of the fee and the home of the slave.”
“I don’t camp.”
“Don’t think of it as camping. Think of it more as a hotel room that goes with you. A Holiday Inn that rolls.”
“What about room service?”
“I’ll be your room service. I’ll do all the cooking. I’ll help with the laundry. I’ll do all the maintenance on the vehicle and, should you actually decide to venture outside in some scenic Shangri-La, I’ll even set up the chairs and the screen room so you don’t have to actually allow nature access to your person.”
“And where would we go?
”
“Well, if it were up to me, I’d go south to the Ozarks, east over to the Smokies, out through the Carolinas, north all the way to Maine, and back home by way of the Ohio River Valley. All kinds of stuff to see and some of the most beautiful country on the planet. Places like Colonial Williamsburg, if you’re into something like that, and, I promise, not one Six Flags or Oceans of Fun.”
“It ain’t Europe,” she said.
“No, it’s not. It’s bigger, cleaner, less crowded, and not nearly as crumbly.”
“Could we stop at a hotel now and then so I could get civilized?”
“Every third night, if you like.”
“Are you talking about one of those great big bus things?”
“As big as we need to make you comfortable. Oak paneling, indirect lighting, chandeliers, bathtub, a queen-size bed of your own. I’ll even drive, if you can’t handle it.”
Ruby raised an eyebrow. “I can drive, Buster,” she said.
“You’re a fine driver.”
“And you really won’t go to Europe?”
“Sorry, Ruby. I won’t. I hate the thought of it. Please go, if you want to. I’ll be right here when you return.”
“Let me think about it,” she said. “I’ll be back in a minute with merlot and me.”
Crockett was clearing up the cardboard remnants of dinner, when his cell phone rang.
“Mister Beckett?” Female, young, nervous.
“Yes.”
“This is Marilee Walker. I need your help. I have nobody else to turn to. I’m sorry.”
“Can you talk?”
“For just a minute. I’m calling from a pay phone in the ladies room at the mall.”
“Marilee, I’ll be in L.A. within twenty-four hours. When you can, phone this number again. Be careful. Be tough.”
“Thank you, Mister Beckett. Thank you so much. I’ll call back. I really will.”
Crockett was still holding his cell phone when Ruby walked in carrying two glasses and a bottle of wine.
“So, where else could we go on vacation?” she said.
“How ‘bout Los Angeles? I hear it’s beautiful this time of year.”
Ruby looked at him quizzically, then noticed the cell phone in his hand.
“Marilee?”
“Marilee.”
“I’ll pack for us,” Ruby said. “You call Cletus.”
They landed in L.A. the next morning a little after ten, California time. Marcel was waiting in the loading area, leaning against the fender of his Lincoln.
“Boss,” he said. “Good to see ya. You too, M’am.”
“Let me repeat my request for you to call me Ruby, Marcel. We’ve been through too much together to stand on formality.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Where to, Boss. Same place?”
“Same place, Marcel.
“You got it. How long you gonna be around?”
“Not sure. I won’t need you much, but I want you available all the time. Let’s start with a week.”
Marcel eased out into a clogged traffic lane. “Fly, Boss. I gonna hafta cap some Burrito?”
“If you do, I’ll pay you thirty-five cent bonus,” Crockett said.
“Sold.”
They hadn’t been in their room thirty minutes, when Clete showed up bearing more goodies from Starbucks.
“I got in at about eight this morning,” he said. “I was in Denver when you called. Have some coffee and chocolate chip cookies. Put hair on your whatever.”
Ruby gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek. “How ya been, Cowboy?” she said.
“Finer’n frog fur, Miss Ruby,” Clete drawled. “Ya’ll doin’ alright today?”
“Jesus,” Ruby said. “You can take the boy outa the country, but–”
Clete smiled. “What we up to, Crockett? Hurry up and wait?”
“That’s about the size of it. Marilee said she’d call again when she could. She sounded stressed. I think she will. Until she does, we have no way of getting in touch with her.”
“You don’t think her boyfriend would take too kindly to another call from Daniel Beckett, ass kicker to the Columbian Nostra?”
“Probably not,” Crockett said.
“Then we got some time on our hands,” Clete said, walking to the door. “Ya’ll enjoy your cookies and coffee, get settled, take a nap or somethin’, and relax. I’m gonna go see an acquaintance a mine about the availability of some supplies we may or may not need. I’ll check back around suppertime and treat you folks to a meal. I know this little place over off Gayley in Westwood Village that’s honest Tex-Mex. Close your eyes and you’d swear you were in Fort Worth. Gotta run.”
The three of them lurched back into the room that night around nine, after a dinner Crockett thought was the best Mexican food he’d ever tasted. Ruby agreed. Clete claimed it was because everything was fried in lard, and the meat in the tacos was goat. Ruby professed not to believe him, but the change in her complexion had to come from someplace. Maybe it was the Mescal.
The next morning, thoroughly ravaged by the Agave cactus and with a head the consistency of a honeydew, Crockett sat slurping hotel coffee, smoking a Sherman, and trying not to fall off the couch, as Ruby, beautifully made up and clad in a wispy white sundress and tall red sandals, wafted into the room with the grace of a ballerina on steroids. She squinted at him.
“They learn anything from the autopsy?” she asked.
“And the horse you rode in on,” Crockett grunted.
“Don’t open your eyes, Crockett. You’ll never survive the blood loss.”
“Show a little mercy, willya?” he rasped.
“Cremation or internment? Have you decided?”
“For chrissakes, LaCost! Isn’t it sufficient that you can imbibe and partake enough for a family of seven and show up looking like ‘Miss Buttercup, 1985’? Do you also have to ridicule the sick and shut-in members of the congregation?”
She looked at him with something between pity and disgust on her face.
“Waffles,” she said. “Waffles with plenty of butter and syrup. Then three aspirins, then a short nap. You’ll be good as new in three to five days. I realize that good as new is not much of an improvement. Unfortunately, it’s the best modern science can do considering what we have to work with in the first place.”
The knock on the door made Crockett’s hair hurt. Clete walked in and regarded him for a moment, barely controlling his grin.
“Stampede?” he asked.
“Eat my shorts, Texican.”
Crockett’s phone rang.
Shit.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Stitch
The three of them looked at the phone as if it were a snake. Crockett picked up the offending instrument and shook his head to clear his brain. Pain ricocheted between his temples.
“Mister Beckett?”
“Good morning, Marilee. I’m glad you called. Are you alright?”
“Yes. I’m at the hairdresser’s using my manicurist’s cell phone. My, ah, escorts cannot see me from where they are.”
“Escorts?”
“Four of them. Since we met in that park, two of them accompany me wherever I go and two more follow. I’m watched all the time. I’m lucky to get out of the house once a week. You were right. I’m a prisoner. I thought I could trust Ricky. Can I trust you, Mister Beckett?”
“Of course you can, unless I’m lying.”
“I don’t think you are. You broke Jorge’s nose and knocked out three teeth.”
“Yeah. Ol’ Jorge should learn not to make threats.”
“I’m feeling threatened too,” she said. “I can’t even go shopping when I want to, or take a walk, or visit any of my friends.”
“A gilded cage is still a cage, Marilee. Had enough?”
“Who is paying you to help me, Mister Beckett?”
“No one. I’m just a wonderful person.”
“Then, what’s in it for you?”
“I’m trying to get a
ghost out of my life,” Crockett said.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. Even though it’s happening to me, I wasn’t sure I believed it until I saw you. You and your grandmother are identical. I would have known you anywhere, Marilee. You are the flesh of her spirit.”
“That’s very difficult for me to accept,” she said.
“It’s not important that you accept it,” Crockett said. “It is important that you realize you are repeating the same path as your mother and grandmother, and that you understand that you can break the pattern. You already know that you no longer have your freedom, that you are a possession instead of a partner, and that you are in the company of violent and secretive men. You have a decision to make. Are you ready to leave?”
Two seconds of silence.
“Yes.”
Crockett could hear resolve in her voice.
“Good,” he said.
“But they are with me all the time and follow me everywhere.”
“Regardless,” he said, “we need to meet. “How ‘bout if one of us comes to you?”
“How? There are guards all over the house.”
“Is Ricky there?”
“No. He has gone to visit his father for a few days.”
“In Cartagena?”
“That’s correct. How did you know?”
“Daddy is well known among official and criminal circles. So with Ricardo junior out of the house, all that’s left are the boys in the band?”
“Who?”
“The collection of fine young stalwarts who so diligently attend to your personal safety and welfare.”
“And the house staff,” she said.
“You sound really stressed to me, Marilee.”
“I do?”
“You certainly do. Stressed enough that I feel it’s beginning to affect you physically. You need a break. Some time to relax and knit the raveled sleeve of care, as it were.”
“That sounds nice,” she said, caution in her voice.
“Perhaps some aroma therapy and a lovely massage would put you back in the pink and make you feel all better.”
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