“Out.” Zack thrust a thumb. Meese looked at Mo. He was on her company’s dime. She gave him a nod and went into her bedroom.
“All packed and ready to fly out the door? Good. After what I saw last night I can’t think of anything I want more. You go back on down to your condo and pick up where you left off, because all I want is my life back.”
“Nothing would please me more. I don’t like being lied to Mo. Withholding is the same as lying in my book. You think this is all a game? You don’t have to be honest or go by rules set up for your own protection? You may not like cops or having bodyguards but no one applied for the job of being your babysitter. The least you can do is respect what we’re trying to do enough not to flaunt your snobbery.” Zack put his hand on his side. His face was white with pain. “If you don’t like what you saw last night, fine by me. I’ve never been perfect, and I’m even less perfect now. Way less. You talk about trust like it’s a candle on the altar, but you blow it out whenever it’s convenient for you.” He leaned against the doorway. “You want your life back? You got it.” He turned and struggled across the sitting room.
“Zack, stop, you’re hurt.” He picked up his bag. His fist could not have knocked her back harder than the look he gave her. Her fury regained its head of steam. “I was just a pit stop on your way back to your precious job. If I hadn’t shown up at your door you’d have been just as satisfied with Cherry, Cherie, whatever the hell. Just thought you’d take a walk on other side of the street. Something a little different from your big haired bimbos?”
Zack snorted wearily, his head was pounding from an opiate hangover. “Yeah. I hope you enjoyed slumming. Glad to be of service. You got yourself another notch, congratulations.” He realized he couldn’t press the elevator button with his bag in his hand. He was too weak to use the elbow now. The plate holding his clavicle together felt like it was going to burst through his skin. He dropped the bag and hit the button.
Mo watched him with a fist in her gut. The pain and insult fused into blind rage. She grasped the handiest weapon. “You don’t know anything about slums compared to what I know. But I do know that you’ve got to prove to the world that Zack Burnham is not his father. Even if it kills you.”
Her eyes grew large as Zack half stumbled toward her. She stepped back as she gauged the pyrotechnics in his eyes. Then Zack stopped, the fire guttering out to a cold ashy defeat. He turned as the doors opened and pushed the bag in with his foot. The last Mo saw of him his body was supported by the back of the elevator. His head reared back in pain as the doors closed.
“Fuck, Burnham, did you not hear me say not to use the elevator?” Al Simpson looked down into the car. He swung his feet into the opening and jumped down, amazingly agile. He watched Zack pant against the wall. “Where you going? You need to go back and…oh, that bad.” He spied the bag and pressed a code into the service box. “I had them lock it down this time. Where do you want to go?”
“I… I can’t. Just get me in a room. Please.”
Mo knew she had struck an irrevocable blow. The victory was beyond hollow. It bored a hole into her out which the angry energy poured. The swish of the doors shutting brought a rising flood of regret. She tried to cling to the rage but it was pulled away like the umbrella in her dream, lost on a cold wind of despair. Zack had punched through her control with the remark about a notch. Just a stupid, very stupid, offensive parry. But she had pulled out the heavy artillery. He didn’t know Tyler had told her about his father. Not only had she dragged out the very thing that had motivated his life and ground his face into it. She’d exposed another lie. The sin of omission. At least according to the book of Zack.
She looked at the clock. The last thing she wanted to do was work. That did not happen often. She worked no matter what. Even when she had the flu. Mo wanted to crawl into bed and cover her head with a blanket. She wanted to go after Zack. Hell. She didn’t know what she wanted. Let them both cool off. Let him go back to his condo and stew. Maybe he’d actually get some rest if he were away from her. She was so glad to have a few minutes alone. She would get ready and go practice, why waste the day. Just a few minutes of alone time. Then she’d go to work. She wouldn’t think about him. She’d clear her mind and head for the coliseum. She plopped on the sofa and leaned her head back. Just as she tried to attain her center the elevator doors popped open.
The look on Simpson’s face almost had her holding out her wrists to be cuffed. Okay she gave up. Guilty. Guilty of anything, everything, he wanted to charge her with. He plopped on the other end of the sofa with a weighty thud. They sat there a few moments without speaking. Finally she looked over at him. A weary man.
“Any news? Find anything helpful in the elevator?” she sighed sadly.
“Found Burnham. Wasn’t helpful at all.” He scratched behind his ear. “Where’s Meese, I thought…”
“Zack sent him packing,” she found great interest in the ceiling light.
“He’s in that kind of mood today.” He flipped open his phone and pressed a button. “Get Meese back up here.” He listened a moment then clicked it shut. “You snuck out on Meese. You embarrassed him.”
Mo did a double take. “What is up with you guys? Do you all do a secret handshake and swear to be moody, judgmental and tight assed to become cops. Are you so rigid in your fear of being perceived as weak that it causes you suck yourselves into a black hole from which not even common sense can escape?”
“Huh?” Al looked at her. He’d seen a lot of pain and the pain of her face was emphasized by the shaky anger. He couldn’t bear to look into her eyes. Her eyes embodied every scalded emotion that had ever bubbled up through the morass of human suffering. What could he say? He looked down and mumbled, “Guess it’s a cop thing.”
Mo bolted straight up and flew into her room slamming the door.
Al heaved a sigh and waited for Meese.
Riggers, pyrotechnicians, lighting, sound and atmospheric technicians; acrobatic performers, singers, musicians, magicians, makeup and costume experts. All these professions and more darted, lifted, pushed, shoved, wired, plugged, tested and retested, hurried, scurried and rushed in the last few minutes before the opening music began. The lights went down to the lowest level at which the human eye could comfortably see. A beam of light hit the floor. The music queued Trollie to come out and warm up the audience with his combination of humor and irony. The audience anticipated. The spot of light remained stationary while the music requeued. People started to stir. The stirring became a murmur.
Where the hell was Trollie? Roddy looked around. Trollie was not at his queue. What the? The audience was growing impatient. “Les.” He called the security guy over. “Trollie’s not at his queue. Check it out.”
“What are you going to do?” Haaken asked; his Swedish accent thick. He didn’t get an answer. Roddy jumped on Trollie’s little bicycle and pedaled toward the spot of light.
“What is he doing?” Haaken asked Juan.
“Roddy knows everybody’s role. He’s filling in.” Juan stretched indifferent to Haaken’s look of wonder.
Mo sat in her dressing room alone trying to focus. The boys were outside the door. She could hear the music queue Trollie then restart. Then another start. She went to the door see what was going on. As she opened the door a large square box was arriving. The boys seemed anxious to check the contents. The music had started to flow properly and the audience could be heard laughing. Mo reached out for the card putting up a hand to stop the men from opening the box. The card said simply, “I’m sorry.” She breathed fast breaths of anxious excitement. True hell had been realized that day. She wasn’t even sure she’d get through the show. Now her glittered heart raced with shining hope. “Zack.” She grabbed the box and locked the door before they could object.
Everything was in place. While the buffoons spent the night and day at the hotel on a wild goose chase, he had finalized his plans. Mo was in for a surprise. All of them. All those who he had seen cas
t their eyes on him and found him wanting. Not as good as them. Not good enough. Especially that whore. She’d teased him endlessly. She knew he wanted her and she’d made it a point with every move to lead him on. Her smiles. Her dark eyed looks whenever they were near each other. The way she moved her body.
She had betrayed him with that stupid cop. He wasn’t the first. Rasta and who knew how many others. Now he would have his revenge. Of course it was the end of the line for him too. But so what? He’d been the company joke for long enough. It was time to bring everything to a head and be done with it. He wasn’t afraid. Life changed, as he knew more than anything. It was just a new phase of existence. But how they’d howl before he made his exit. They’d be the ones burned in the end. And best of all, Mo would be getting what she deserved very soon.
Zack turned toward the window and saw night. He’d been asleep for hours. Pain hammered his shoulder like a woodpecker gone berserk. His side throbbed as if he’d been caught in a vise. Al had given him a pain pill and called the doctor. “Seepage. Stay still for God’s sake. What’s wrong with you? Call your own doctor next time if you’re not going to listen.” Mr. Whitney’s doctor had indignantly snapped his bag shut.
He squeezed his eyes and shook his head trying to clear it. It repaid him with a pounding that seemed to go through the top of his head and slice out his eyes. He lay hopeless and immobile. But he could think. And his thoughts made him wish his skull would crack open and he’d be done.
In the distance he heard sirens. They seemed to get closer. From the window the coliseum could be seen across the huge parking lot. He edged up slowly. Lights, oh god, painful lights. A blast of pain like shrapnel blasting into his head seized him. The room spun as he stood. No more pills he managed to think when his brain turned on again. His synaptic outage left his memory fragmented. He floundered mentally. Oh. The lights at the coliseum.
He could see the flash of blue and red. He struggled to remember why that should mean something. Then memory flooded back. Mo. Is it Mo? He forced himself to drink some water. He was dehydrated and the doctor had said to drink water. He hadn’t been listening. He still had on his clothes. He took it as encouragement and searched for his wallet and gun. A shoulder holster was out of the question. He wasn’t wearing a belt. Too hard to manage. In the back of his pants? Forget about it. He shoved his revolver into his waistband. He filled a glass with water. He was standing. On two feet. He drank and filled again. Yeah, that was better. He struggled to the door.
“Burnham, if you don’t mind my saying so, you look like hell.” Vince Smith laughed a nervous laugh. The shit had just kept getting deeper for him.
Zack stumbled but caught himself on Vince’s arm. “Get me to the coliseum.”
Mo opened the box. Her heart raced. Zack was sorry. They’d talk, make love, and all would be well. She furrowed her brow. Inside sat another box. Again she opened it. She laughed a puzzled laugh as she lifted the lid. He did have a strange sense of humor sometimes. Another box sat with an envelope taped to the top. She turned to listen to the music for her queue. She opened the envelope. A picture of Trollie covered the card. She automatically dropped it on the box then picked it up again. She opened it. “Just so you know what you’re missing.” She flung it down in anger and yanked the lid off the box.
A framed eight by ten of a man on a wire made her jerk her head back. Her virgin veil shifted with the movement. She lifted it and looked more closely. The man was nude and sporting a colossal erection. It was signed, “It is the shoes. Remember me always, Love Trollie.” Member was underlined. There was no makeup. She had never seen Trolley’s face but the man in the picture seemed familiar. The clown was doing his routine right now she thought furiously. His last routine! The music had restarted several times. Then Mo had a sudden recollection. No it couldn’t be. With a snort of anger she grabbed the photograph and went to the door. With a hiss of fury she yanked it open.
She waved the picture at the body guards. “It’s him! It’s him! He was right here! Where’s Roddy?”
“Ms. Whitman?” They blinked at the picture she held out. One started to laugh.
“Don’t you understand? It’s him! It’s Trollie the clown. The delivery man!”
Persephone rose from the fires of Hell to the verdant sweetness of paradise. The colors of spring bloomed again as Hades descended to leave her her promised six months on the coolness of the green earth. A bargain had been struck to bring two different worlds together. She reigned as queen of Hell for half the year. She was allowed to enjoy the delights of light and living things the other half. And thus the seasons had begun, coinciding with the equinox and bringing each spring renewed life born from the decay of winter. The music rose to a vibrant crescendo. The audience, transfixed, took a moment then thundered out their applause. Again and again. Yells and calls. The house stood in deafening ovation. The triumph repeated once more.
Mo felt the thrill of triumph. She had performed to perfection. Claude kissed her hand. They swung their arms to encompass all the performers. Again they bowed while hands clapped and flowers pelted the arena floor. But in the back of her mind loomed thoughts that left her feeling exhausted. She felt the sense of triumph fading as worry about Zack invaded her thoughts. The weird thing with Trollie had spooked her. Did they find him? Where had Zack gone?
Roddy took her into his arms on seeing her distressed face. “Do not you worry my beautiful one. They find the clown and then we know. He had alibi for Ling. They look at that again. It must be him. A crazy man! I should let him go before. I am so sorry, my darling girl.”
Mo nodded. “I’m the one who insisted you give him another chance.” As pissed as she was about Trollie’s little joke he’d had an alibi the day of Ling’s murder. Threat or prank the timing was really bad. Back in her dressing room she applied cream to remove the makeup from her face. The security people were searching for Trollie. The police were ripping apart the hotel. When would it ever end? And where the hell was Zack?
Gone to sulk in his condo? Why was he being so unreasonable? Was he looking for an out? They both knew the time would have to come. Was he just cutting to the chase? She had security people all around and felt so alone and vulnerable without Zack. Why was he so angry with her? She shouldn’t have brought up his father. It had been a stupid thing to do in response to his own stupid reaction. Their brief acquaintance notwithstanding, she knew she couldn’t live without him. She found his anger irrational but she had to attribute it at least in part to the circumstances, and the pain and drugs. She felt a flash of guilt. She’d not taken care of him as she should have. He’d not gotten the rest he needed and had been in pain. She felt selfish having wanted him so and stupid giving in to his, and her, desires when he wasn’t up to it. Even wounded he had loved her as if she was the center of his world. If he was dumping her on such a flimsy pretext, well, he was just being ridiculous. “God, I love you!” Meaningless. She had talked him into coming back to Greendale. Now, looking back, she realized it hadn’t been his plan. Now he had grasped an out.
She heard voices outside her room and recognized Lourdes Garcia’s voice. She liked the pretty Mexican security guard who had put Claude in his place. She heard Meese’s voice. She’d have to apologize to him. The thought galled when she thought of his arrogant demeanor. Then she thought of him singing in the bathroom. Human.
Trollie had not turned up. But he had not checked out of his room. No one had seen him in the hotel that day. But even if she never saw him again she’d never forget his face. He was an odd man, but was he Ling’s killer? It seemed impossible. But while he had been seen at the coliseum around the time of Ling’s murder, there were a couple hours where no one had seen him. The time he claimed to be asleep in the men’s dressing room. However there was no proof against him.
She was so tired. She dreaded going back to the room without Zack. She’d never been one to feel lonely. She had considered relationships something to be avoided. Now she felt so lonely kno
wing Zack wouldn’t be there. She’d get over it. It had just been sex after all. He used his moralizing indignation to back off knowing the inevitable loomed.
How she had searched for a way for them to be together. Now she’d seen how unreasonable he could be. It was an excuse. He’d latched on to an excuse. She would be better off. How? When? She’d never felt this way before. Was it really love? If not, why did she hurt so?
There was a quiet knock at the door. Roddy poked his head in. “The car wait for you, lovely. Why Momo you cry!” He closed the door. He crouched beside her as the tears ran. “We get Trollie, we get Ling’s killer. Don’t worry Momo, we see you are safe.” Roddy stroked her hair. Mo turned and pressed her face against his shoulder. Her shoulders shook.
“I love him, Roddy. He’s left me.” Mo sniffed. “I know it’s crazy. I love that stubborn, unreasonable man. I thought we meant something to each other. I know we haven’t known each other long but I’ve never felt this way before. It hurts. He doesn’t love me and it hurts so badly.” She cried against him. After a few moments of Roddy purring words of comfort and holding her she tried to collect herself. “Well, there’s no way it would have worked out. His life is here. He wants to go back to his job, his life. He’s made that clear enough now.”
“My sweet girl, don’t cry. Maybe Zack don’t go back to be policeman.” Roddy wanted to tell Mo about the job he’d offered Zack. Best if they got their personal situation worked out. Mo looked at him with wide wet eyes. “He need to recuperate. Don’t need pressure. He got to think. Zack got his judgment how to say, clouded by everything. He on medicine, you give him a few days. Leave him be for now. Let him get better. Mr. Whitney say his doctor told him Zack crazy to be running around; he broke stitches. Leave him be to heal and to think. You must focus on work. Let Zack decide what he want to do.” Roddy twisted his mustache nervously.
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