Night Hunter

by Carol Davis Luce

  On his way to the TV station John had made up his mind that he would not take no for an answer. What he had to say was important, more so to her than to him. The tricky part was knowing how much to reveal without scaring her or making her even more suspicious.

  He slipped past the station’s main desk and took the same route he’d followed the day Donna Lake was assaulted. He passed the restroom from which she had been wheeled and continued on until he came to a large room with desks and tables and unfamiliar equipment.

  Regina Van Raven was sitting behind the first desk, her head lowered. The dark brown hair highlighted with streaks of a lighter brown was pulled back into a French braid.

  He stopped at the desk, his hands in the deep pockets of his bomber jacket, and watched her. Her lashes were very long and quite lovely. She was wearing makeup today, more than the first time when he’d spotted her out front with her daughter, but not as much as on that fateful day of taping. Today she wore a green cotton shirt, the stiff collar standing up along her jaw, the sleeves rolled to her elbows. Underneath the shirt, which was open to the waist and tucked into a wide faux reptile belt, she wore a gold tank top. The neckline was scooped, and when she lifted her head to look up at him, he caught a glimpse of cleavage, and he knew her breasts would be round and not pointed.

  “Hi,” he said, meeting her eyes.

  She leaned back in the chair, her expression stoic.

  “I can’t keep chasing after you.” He tried to match her detached countenance. “I thought if I took you to lunch, y’know, with people all around, you’d trust me enough to listen to what I have to say. This isn’t a pickup.”

  Without taking her gaze from his, she tossed the pen on the blotter. She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out her large, shapeless handbag, slung the strap over her shoulder, rose, and said casually, “I’ve been wanting to try that Hungarian restaurant on the next block.”

  “Dobos’ will be honored to have the company of one so noble.”

  “Not a pickup?”

  “I was referring to myself. I’m practically family to them.”

  She laughed then, one of those deep, throaty laughs that sound sexy, yet genuine.

  She took the lead.

  As they walked through the main lobby, John noticed a tall, slim man, good looking in that sculptured, impeccable way of a model, standing at the main door. The man openly stared at Regina as she stopped to exchange words with the receptionist. An ex-lover, John wondered? Such intense glaring could only come from a jealous ex-lover or a misogynist.

  The man opened the door for them, and as she passed him, he said, “We need to talk.”

  Her response was a quick nod.

  Out on the sidewalk John asked, “Who was that?”

  “Nolan Lake.”

  Donna’s husband. Curious.

  They crossed Van Ness and began walking north.

  The heat wave had broken the day before and everything was back to normal, a cool sixty-one degrees with clear skies.

  “I’ve often thought about walking to work,” she said. “Especially when the weather’s this great. It’s only six blocks, but somehow I never allow myself enough time. Where do you tend bar?”

  “Across the street from where we’ll be having lunch.”

  She was silent and he sensed some of the mysteries were coming together for her, such as his being in the station the day of the acid attack, and the cops at his door—simple enough to explain. It was the other coincidence that would be tougher to swallow. How would he explain his being a suspect in Corinne’s assault? All in good time.

  “We have a mutual friend,” he said.

  “Oh?”

  “Wilma Axelrod.”

  “Wilma ... of course. It’s Greenwood now. She’s the one who told me about the apartment. Have you heard from her?”

  “No. Have you?”

  She shook her head.

  They walked a ways in silence.

  Stepping in close behind her to walk single file between two cars waiting at the light, John noticed that the sun on her hair made it shine like semiprecious metals—copper and bronze. He marveled at how the intricate braid seemed to alternate between plaits of brown, red, and gold. He was reminded of Black Hills gold.

  She stopped suddenly and John nearly ran into her.

  She looked perplexed. “Isn’t this it?” She tipped her head at the black metal door on the corner.

  Somewhat flustered he said, “This is it.” He went ahead to open the door. “Prepare to be fussed over. Louie fancies himself a ladies’ man, and any friend of mine is a friend of the Dobos family.”

  The interior was cool and dim. The pungent aroma of cabbage, and unknown aromas—rich, spicy, hearty, and sweet—permeated heavily in the air.

  Louie came bounding out of the kitchen, a broad smile on his round face, his arms open. The smile diminished with each advancing step, until, reaching them at last, his face was somber and his arms hung at his sides.

  “John, so good to see you,” Louie said formally, his eyes darting to Regina.

  “How’s it going, Louie? I brought a friend, Regina Van Raven.”

  Louie nodded. “You want lunch?”

  “Lunch would be good.”

  Although there were several empty booths, Louie took them to a table in the middle of the room.

  “May we have a booth, Louie?”

  Louie pointed at one. “There. Sit wherever you like.” He left them and moved behind the bar.

  John waited until Regina was seated before excusing himself and going to the bar.

  “Lou, what’s going on? You’re acting like I brought in the food and health inspector.” Louie stared over John’s shoulder. John turned, following his gaze. Suddenly it all made sense. Ilona stood in the archway that led to the restrooms. Ilona, the pretty, young refugee who wanted to be an American wife.

  How far was this crap going to go? Twice this week, Mrs. Dobos had brought Ilona to his aunt’s for a visit. Good manners had dictated that he join them for a cup of coffee, at which time Ilona’s knee repeatedly had found his under the dining room table. So far he’d been able to put off his aunt’s suggestion that he take Ilona out. But he knew it was only a matter of time before they would be pushed together.

  It was obvious he wasn’t going to make any points here today. But then points had not been on his agenda. He had serious business to talk over with Regina Van Raven, and old friends gushing over him would only be a distraction.

  “I’ll take the lady and go,” John said to Louie.

  Louie grabbed John’s sleeve, looked appropriately shamed. His grin was anything but happy. “My manners are unforgivable. You sit down with the pretty hölgy.” He tapped a finger at John’s chest. “You are like family, my Johnnie.”

  “That’s what I told the lady. Right now she’s thinking I’m either a liar or a black sheep.”

  “Go on, sit down. I take care of you myself.”

  John slid into the booth. “A little misunderstanding.”

  Regina smiled weakly and went back to the menu as though totally engrossed in it. She was as uncomfortable as he was, John told himself. That would teach him to be such a freaking blowhard.

  “How’s the lip?” she asked.

  “Lip? Oh, that,” he said, touching the corner of his mouth. It was still slightly swollen.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “No.” Lie number one.

  True to his word, Louie came offering drinks, appetizers. However, the corner booth to Ilona and the rest of the family nearly ceased to exist.

  Between the soup and the entree, Louie presented them with a bottle of white wine. Although Regina declined, saying she had work to do, Louie poured the wine nonetheless.

  “Just take a sip,” John said under his breath. “He won’t leave you alone unless you do.”

  “Really, I--”

  John held up his glass, waiting. Regina reluctantly lifted hers. Louie smiled and backed away.


  “There’s an old Hungarian toast that goes: ‘Bort, buzát, békességet, szép asszony feleséget!’—Wine, wheat, peace, and a beautiful woman for a wife.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “In that order?”

  “Here’s mud in your eye.” He drank, and after a moment so did she.

  “It’s very good.” She lifted the bottle from the ice bucket. “Leanyka?”

  “Little Girl.”

  “You’re Hungarian?”

  “Half. The other half is English. My body and mind are at constant odds with each other. And you?”

  “A little of this and a little of that. A sixth-generation American. I even have a drop or two of Cherokee.”

  “I see it ... here.” He touched the side of her face. “In the cheekbones.”

  Sounds of soft violin music came from the bar, gypsy love songs. Louie brought their food. Paprika veal cutlets in sour cream sauce for Regina. A hearty peasant stew for John. She dug right in, seeming to enjoy it. She sipped the wine absently, and when her glass was empty he refilled it.

  Well into the meal Regina lifted the wine glass and stared somberly into it. “What do you think is happening?”

  He knew she wasn’t talking about the wine or the violins.

  “What I think is that someone is out to get you and the other finalists. What I don’t know is why. Twenty years ago I thought I knew. But that’s another story.”

  “Twenty years ago?”

  “The pageant.”

  “What do you know about the pageant?” Regina asked.

  “I was a journalist.” Lie number two. “I covered the contest.”

  “I see.”

  “It was my assumption that Corinne Odett was attacked because she had something that someone else wanted.”

  “The title?”

  “Yes.”

  Regina stared at him, then dropped her gaze to the table. “Then I had the most to gain. The title would have been mine.”

  “But you declined it. Why?”

  She laughed, that low, throaty laugh that made him want to hear it again. “You’re the second person in two days to ask me that.”

  “Did someone persuade you to give it up?”

  “I’ll tell you what I told Tammy, which is the truth. I didn’t have time for it. And frankly, I didn’t want it. I entered the contest on false pretenses and I’m not proud of it. By being a finalist I deprived another girl of that honor. It’s funny, but until yesterday I never thought of it that way. I hadn’t realized how important being a finalist in the Miss Classic Pageant had been to the others.” She had a faraway look in her eyes. “Even now, twenty years later, it’s still important to them.”

  He stared at her, waiting.

  “I entered the contest because Donna asked me to. I never in a million years thought I’d get that far. I felt like a heel having to turn it down. But I just couldn’t fulfill that commitment.” When he failed to comment, she asked, “What’s your interest in this now?”

  “I hate unfinished business. I don’t want anyone else hurt.” Not a lie, but not the whole truth either. He wasn’t ready to tell her that he wanted to clear his own name and avenge a woman he once loved.

  “All right,” she said thoughtfully. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I think if we find Corinne’s assailant, we’ll find Donna’s.”

  “That’s for the police to do.”

  “To a certain extent, yes. But I don’t think they’re looking beyond this one incident. Call the police and tell them you think you’re next, then let me know what they say.”

  He saw something flicker in her eyes. Disbelief? Fear?

  She glanced at her watch. “I have to get back to work.”

  John asked for the check. Louie refused, insisting lunch was on him.

  As they slid from the booth, Regina said quietly, “There’s a very pretty girl standing at the hostess station who hasn’t been able to keep her eyes off you throughout most of the lunch. Am I in danger?”

  Without looking at Ilona, John said, “Yes. But not from her.”

  The scene was the same. A surge of optimism rushed through her. Deja vu? No, Donna told herself. That had been a dream, this was the real thing.

  Her father and the doctor stood on her left. Nolan and a nurse were on her right. The boys were at camp. There was no mirror in her hand.

  Donna took Nolan’s hand, it was icy cold. “You don’t have to see this if you’d rather not,” she said to him.

  “Of course he does,” her father said. “He’s your husband. He can’t bury his head in the sand until the wounds heal and the surgery is completed. Your tragedy affects each of us. We all must bear the pain and unpleasantness.”

  Nolan stared down at her. “Whenever you’re ready, doctor,” his voice cracked.

  “Donna is a very lucky lady,” Dr. Saxton said as he removed the gauze. “The angle in which the acid was thrown—underneath, instead of full face —well, when I think of the damage that could have been done…”

  The last of it came away.

  Donna watched Nolan. His eyes stared blankly at first, as though they failed to comprehend what they saw. Then his entire body seemed to quaver. He blinked, looking away.

  “As you can see,” the doctor said, “we’ve already begun skin grafting on the necrotic tissue where no new epithelization can occur.”

  “Speak English,” Cragg said.

  “On the major burn area, the nerve endings, fascia, and the blood supply, were damaged. Little or no chance of regeneration on its own.”

  “Bring me a mirror,” Donna said.

  “That’s not a good idea,” Dr. Saxton said.

  “If she wants a mirror,” Cragg said, “then bring her one.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to pull rank on you, Mr. Cragg. When I feel she’s ready to see, then she’ll see.”

  Nolan had backed up a step, pulling his hand from Donna’s. His gaze seemed to flit everywhere except at his wife.

  “I want to see,” Donna said, her voice quivering.

  “It looks unpleasant right now,” the doctor said. “The healing process has just begun. In a few weeks there will be a dramatic improvement.”

  Nolan continued to back up.

  “Bring me a mirror,” she cried out.

  “Damnit, this is ridiculous.” Cragg jerked open the drawer on the nightstand, hastily rummaged through Donna’s purse until he found the compact; opening it, he thrust it into her outstretched hand.

  The doctor moved to grab for the mirror. Donna twisted away, held it up to her face and looked into it. She had only a glimpse before the compact was snatched from her hand. But that glimpse was enough to make her gag. She gagged again, going into a spasm of dry heaves.

  The doctor was bending over her. A nurse readied a syringe to inject her. Her father was shouting orders of some sort. Nolan seemed to have disappeared. And through all this, with her stomach heaving and her eyes tearing, she saw a vivid mental picture of a raw, weeping horror. Her throat and the underside of her chin had been turned inside out.

  Out on the sidewalk in front of Dobos’, John pointed across the street to a bar Regina had driven past five days a week for two years. He explained that his aunt and uncle Szabo owned the bar as well as the apartment building.

  A breeze had come up while they were inside. It blew wispy tendrils of hair across her face. She brushed the hair from her eyes, and they began to walk.

  “John, do you have any idea who the acid thrower is? Do you think it’s Amelia?”

  “Not really, though I’m not disallowing it. She certainly had that intense drive, determination, and aggressiveness. Corinne had it too.”

  “Someone called the station with a warning—twice. Amelia wanted to be on the show in a bad way. She had nothing to gain by this attack on —oh god ...”

  “What?”

  Regina shook her head. It wasn’t enough reason, she told herself.

  “Say what’s on your mind.”


  “Afterwards, she asked about the replacement for Donna on ‘City Gallery’. But, no. Only a crazy person would try to destroy a woman and her career on the mere chance of taking it away from her.” She glanced at John to see him staring intently at her.

  “Who is Donna’s replacement?”

  Regina slowed, then stopped. The breeze had her collar tapping gently against the side of her face. She shivered, hugging herself. “I am.”

  “Did you tell her that?”

  “Yes. At lunch the other day. But I think she’s going to try to go over my head and see Nolan.”

  “What are her chances of getting the job from you?”

  “A good chance if Nolan had the power to hire and fire. Which he doesn’t.”

  He put a hand lightly to her upper arm and got her going again. She knew now what he meant by the intense drive and aggressiveness of Amelia. She’d seen it in her eyes the afternoon Donna had refused to invite her back on the show to plug her new enterprise. And she’d seen it again that afternoon at lunch.

  They walked the rest of the way immersed in their own thoughts. At the glass door of the station, John searched his pockets, found a scrap of paper, and, with a stub of a pencil, wrote down a phone number.

  “Call me as soon as you get home tonight. We need to talk more.”

  “I’ll only be home a few minutes. Kristy, Tammy, and I are going to the hospital to see Donna.”

  “Tammy?”

  “Tammy Kowalski. She’s staying with us temporarily.”

  “That’s probably a smart move. Stay together, don’t go anywhere alone. And keep your eyes open. My commanding officer had a saying: ‘Don’t take that step unless you can see exactly where your foot’s gonna land. Snakes don’t always give a warning.’” He backed up, added, “Call me.”

  “Look, John ...” she began, “the people who should be handling this are the police. I’m not a detective. Are you?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then, neither of us is qualified to track down a criminal, let alone apprehend one. If you want, I’ll go with you to the police and we’ll run this by them.”

  “No,” he said quickly.

  “Why not?”

  “I told you. They won’t believe us.”