“It’s perfect,” Gina said. “We’ll pay you double the going rate, whatever that is.”
Charlie shook his head. “You’re not paying a cent.”
“One more thing, Charlie. Gina and Lucy need clothes, and it’s better if they’re not seen outside too much. Could we borrow your wife to do some shopping?”
“Lucy and I will baby sit,” Gina offered.
High Street was aptly named. The narrow paved lane rose up and over one of the highest bluffs fronting the beach. A three-story apartment building solidly constructed out of old-fashioned red brick occupied a small portion of the hilltop. To either side, modern California-style villas rested in leisure splendor overlooking the greenish-gray expanse of the English Channel.
Charlie inserted the key in the door of the rental unit on the top floor. “It’s an older apartment building but it’s nice, and the view is really spectacular. Of course, you don’t care about that, I guess.”
O’Brien was tired. The meal and alcohol had settled and they were almost sleepwalking with slow, lethargic movements.
“Uhm...” Charlie cleared his throat and flipped on the light switches. “There are two bedrooms, the sofa you see, and the small kitchenette. Bath down the short hallway.” The beep of his mobile phone sounded and he excused himself.
O’Brien watched Gina and Lucy as they touched the countertops and surveyed the place. “Not bad,” Lucy remarked.
His cousin returned with a worried expression on his face. “So, any questions?” He stepped toward the doorway. “There’s a Safeway down the hill with plenty of takeaway items, so you won’t have to cook.” He put the keys in O’Brien hands. “By the way, I went ahead and checked flights to the States for the remainder of the weekend. Sorry, but everything’s full. Delta’s got seats on the flight Monday, if you’re interested.”
“We’ve got to come up with something else,” O’Brien said. “That’s an impossibly long time, considering.”
“I’ll keep checking for cancellations on-line.” He shrugged. “That’s all I can do.”
“Thanks,” O’Brien said. “I’ve got my mobile phone. I guess I can do the same.”
Charlie pulled at the knot of his ponytail. “Gina, I know this may be difficult, but since you offered...that was my wife on the phone. She’s worried about Sara, our daughter, and I’m worried too.”
“The one who’s sick?”
“Yeah.”
“How old is she?”
“Six. Six and a half, actually.”
“Has she got a fever?”
Charlie nodded. “It’s thirty-nine—wait—that’s...”
“102 in Fahrenheit,” she said. “Has she been in a clinic, hospital recently, been sick?”
Charlie regarded Gina. “As a matter of fact we had her to the clinic in Hove for a routine physical last week. She had some blood work done, that sort of thing.”
Gina pulled her hair back and stifled a surprise yawn. “Whoops. Excuse me.” She released a drawn breath. “She might have picked up something there, but it could be anything. I’ve got a few things in my bag, antibiotics and sulfa drugs, enough to start her on a series if she’s got something bacterial. I’d be happy to look at her.”
“You could shower and clean up at our place if you like,” Charlie said, looking at O’Brien. “That all right with everyone?”
“Yeah,” Gina answered for the group. She turned to O’Brien and Lucy. “Can you guys stay out of trouble while I’m gone?”
“Daniel’s the worst,” Lucy said.
Gina smiled. “That I know.” She hefted her carryall onto the kitchen table and indifferently tossed the book and the diamonds onto the Formica surface. “I’m not lugging these heavy things around. I’ve got enough in this bag.”
Charlie pointed. “What are those things?”
“Bunch of rocks,” Gina replied.
21
Gary Starr was worried and a little scared, but mainly he was pissed off. They’d been walking through a maze of tiny alleyways for the past two hours. The German imbecile was always close behind him with the ugly Briton in front. If he couldn’t shake these two for a moment—the German even followed him into the restroom—he was eventually doomed.
“Let’s try this large pub up ahead,” he said to Murdock. “Even if they’re not there someone may have seen them.” He was working on the theory that his ex-comrades had to get something to eat. They just had to be hungry. It’d been a long day and he was starving.
“So far you haven’t done shit for us except bugger up the whole deal,” the man snapped back. He coughed and put a hand over his chest.
Starr smiled to himself. The Briton was hurting, and that made him feel good. O’Brien’s kick from the train had lofted the son of a bitch an incredible distance through the air. He wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it. He was amazed that Murdock was able to get back on his feet.
Murdock led the way into the King’s Arms tavern. The place was by far the largest they’d entered and the noisiest. Even so, the odds were slim for finding O’Brien and the women in any one pub.
Three young women were pulling pump levers on taps of dark brown ale, arranging overflowing glasses on the counter like dominoes. Waiters just as quickly swept by and scooped them onto their large trays, hardly breaking stride.
Murdock flagged down a man standing behind the women. He wore a black waiter’s jacket and white vest. A dirty towel hung over his waistline.
“How about an easy twenty pounds for the bar manager?” Murdock said to him. He slapped the bill on the wet bar.
The man examined the three of them and did not seem impressed. He indicated a clear area at the end of the counter. “We’ll talk over there.”
Starr followed Murdock as he maneuvered through the crowd. The German pushed him from behind.
“Twenty pounds doesn’t buy much in here,” the manager said over the chest-high bar.
“I don’t want much,” Murdock replied. “Just to know if you’ve seen someone here. That’s all.”
The bar manager raised an eyebrow and nodded upwards.
“She’s a tall American. You couldn’t miss her. Maybe the tallest blond I’ve seen around. She’s big boned, okay looking, maybe works out.”
The manager thought for a moment and shook his head. “Haven’t seen anyone like that come through here tonight.” He flicked a glance at the twenty pound note. “But you might try Johnny Mercer over to The Crow’s Gate. He knows just about everything going on around here.” He slid a hand over the note and it disappeared.
“Where’s The Crow’s Gate?”
The manager turned away. “That’s all you get for twenty pounds.”
Starr stumbled into The Crow’s Gate thirty minutes later still surrounded by his keepers. The hour was approaching midnight and the crowds were beginning to thin. A fat man behind the bar was stacking glasses.
“Looking for a Johnny Mercer,” Murdock said as they stepped up to the counter.
“What for?” The man scarcely looked up.
Murdock withdrew another twenty pound note and placed it on the bar. “I’d like to ask him a couple of questions. Ask him if he’s seen somebody. That’s all.” He shrugged. “I was told this guy knew everything going on around here.”
The fat man nodded and reached for the bill. “I can answer a question, I guess.”
The Briton took a breath and repeated his description.
The fat man leaned against the counter with a bored expression on his face. Water dripped down his beefy arms onto dishtowels wadded in his fists. He glanced toward the rear of the establishment.
“So? What can you tell us? You’re supposed to know everything,” Murdock said.
“I may know something,” the man replied with a vacant expression. He stared at the spot where the twenty pound note had been placed.
Another bill materialized. This one was a crisp, fifty pound note embossed with the Queen in a three-quarter pose hiding
her bad teeth.
He palmed the note with a hand full of big knuckles. “The tall blonde, you couldn’t miss her. She was in here with some other people.” He squinted at the ceiling. “There was another guy, maybe a long lost friend of Charlie’s. He might’av been a relative by the way they greeted each other. He looked like he could give someone trouble.”
“Who’s Charlie?”
“Charlie Dunton, he’s the owner.” He turned over the rags, looked for the clean side and began wiping the counter.
“Anybody else with them? Another woman?”
“Yeah.” The fat man caged a smile. “She was a real looker, dark hair and all. I wouldn’t mind a piece’o that any night of the week.”
“You know how long they stayed?”
The bar manager shook his head. “They went back in the office, had drinks and dinner sent in, and that’s the last I saw of them.”
“This Charlie fellow. Where does he live?”
The bar man stopped wiping and shook his head. “That I can’t tell you. Don’t know.”
“You must have his phone number.”
The fat man’s nose had been broken at least once and badly reset. He stared at the Briton. “Don’t know that either.”
Murdock reached for his wallet.
“Not going to work, fella. I told ya, I don’t know.” He leaned against the bar again, put his face forward.
Udo moved edgewise to the counter and laid his solid arms on the surface. “I can helfp?” he said to Murdock.
The fat man stiffened and glared at Udo. “Use the bleeding phone book, will ya now. You’re not getting any more from me. Can you get that through yer heads?”
Murdock stared back at the fat man. “Well, sod off then. Let’s go. We know what to do.”
They thumped out of the bar and turned down the alley. A bright red British Telecom phone booth sat at the corner.
“Now ain’t that a piece of luck,” Murdock stated. “With all the mobile phones nowadays, most of those booths have been taken away.”
Lucy stepped out of the steaming bathroom with an oversized beach towel wrapped around her body. O’Brien gazed at her from the purple flowered couch in the small sitting area.
“I’m out, Daniel.” She took a dripping step down the hallway toward him. “But don’t think you can do anything just ’cause Gina’s not here.”
“About time,” he said, rising from the sofa. “Bet you’re naked under that towel.” She trailed a perfume-like scent that smelled like roses.
“I’m going to stay that way until I wash out my things in the kitchen sink.”
“Did you leave some shampoo?”
“Enough, I think.”
Ten minutes later he stood at the counter drying his hair with a hand towel and watching Lucy hand wash her clothes.
“How can you put that same dirty outfit back on?” she said.
He glanced down at himself and gave his clothes a passing judgment. “They’re not so bad.”
She pointed at his cuffs. “Look at the mud on your pant legs.”
He shifted his inspection to her figure, partially obscured by the heavy cotton fabric of the towel. Her charms were a good bit more forthright than he had originally thought. “What else have I got to wear?”
“You could wash them—and don’t look at me like that, Daniel.” She squeezed soapy water out of her blouse. “You’re supposed to be treating me like a sister. Besides, something is going on between you and Gina, don’t you think?”
He ruffled his hair one last time with the towel and gave her an innocent look. “Maybe.”
“Daniel?” She flicked water in his face.
“Okay, okay. I don’t know. Maybe there is something there. I can’t describe it exactly.”
“Well, it’s my guess she’s got something real serious going for you.”
“How can you know that?”
“It’s kind of obvious if you’re not retarded. And as for you...don’t be so sure you’re not headed there also. You’ve had the look for a while.”
He shifted a half-step and looked around. “Let’s do something with these diamonds, Lucy. They’re lying here on the counter in plain sight and all.”
“Changing the subject, are we?”
“I’m just worried about the security aspect.”
“Yeah, right.” She reached for the zip-lock bags with wet hands. “Here, if you’re so worried I’ll toss ’em in this big box of laundry powder.” She pushed the bags into the orange cardboard container, gave it a shake, and put an eye to the opening. “They’re covered up. You can’t even see anything.” She held a hand discreetly over her chest and returned the box to its place under the sink.
“Very good, Lucy.”
She rinsed the soap particles from her hands. “Now that our security concerns are resolved can we get back to your love life?”
“Is it truly necessary?”
She picked up a dish towel and began to dry her hands. “Daniel, you can’t be closed up so much. Don’t be such a tough guy. Remember, you said you wanted to connect with her thoughts, that bullshit I overheard on the train?”
“You were supposed to be asleep.”
“My point is, let her connect with you. Open up a little. It’s a two-way street.”
“I have been married before, Lucy.”
“Yeah, well, that was a few years back. Don’t let the memory close off something good happening to you now.”
“Okay, I surrender.”
A computer generated tone screeched from the telephone on the counter. He stared at the device for an additional three rings. “It’s got to be Charlie,” he said.
Lucy picked it up and blurted, “Daniel and I are standing here naked.”
She listened for a short period of time and her smile dropped. “Gina, I’m going to put Daniel on the phone.” She held the phone in his direction.
“What’s wrong?” he grabbed it.
Her voice came over with an echo in the background, as if she was calling from an auditorium. “Daniel, I’m at the Royal Alexandra Children’s Hospital. Charlie’s little girl is really sick: high fever, pleural effusion—that’s water around the lung tissue—and other complications. The possibility exists that she’s got pneumonia, maybe a staphylococcal type, which is not real good. They’re doing some tests now, x-rays, that sort of thing.” Her breathing sounded heavy through the phone. “Anyway, I’ll be going back to Charlie’s tonight, love—that’s what the British call everyone here. Anyway, I’ll see you guys in the morning.”
“Anything we can do? Lucy and I are just carousing around.”
“I know you are.” He could detect a smile in her voice. “Get some sleep, though, you’ve had the longest day. And remember, Daniel, you’re the hero.”
“I’m beginning to think you are.”
She let out a tired laugh. “We can talk about that sometime, maybe over a glass of wine. Goodnight, Daniel.”
“Goodnight, love.” He placed the handset back in the cradle and looked at Lucy.
She patted his cheek. “That was real nice, Daniel.”
The piercing discord of sirens bored into O’Brien’s inner ears as he lay dazed in agony on the stretcher. Rotating lights in brilliant colors flashed around him and reflected from every surface. A haze of thick smoke full of burning rubber and oil wafted toward him choking his nose and mouth.
An identical stretcher was set up beside him, a stretcher that held his wife. She lay beneath a white sheet that turned alternately blue, then red, then orange. He watched for a rise and fall, a crease of the fabric, something that would indicate his wife was alive. Pain washed him in prickly layers, like white-hot knives dancing over his charred flesh. He gritted his teeth and stared at the draped form of his beloved. The figure under the sheet lay unmoving, as inert as a cold, marble frieze. Tears began to well up in his eyes. He couldn’t seem to cry out, to make a sound, but the tears kept rolling down his face in a heavy, heartbreaking, unstoppable
stream.
A nurse took a cloth to his face and stuck a needle in his arm. He waved his arms as they lifted the stretcher and slid him into the ambulance.
O’Brien swam through layers, lighter and higher, but still the noise of the sirens remained. The jangle continued, irritating and insistent, until he opened his eyes and became aware that the telephone was ringing.
He threw off the light sheet, sat on the edge of the bed, and made an attempt to clear away the ashes of another dream. A tremor rippled through his body. This was Brighton, England, he told himself, and the accident was long ago. He let his eyes travel up and down his right side. Some scars were permanent.
He grabbed a towel, tucked it around his waist and staggered into the sitting room. The telephone designers, he noted vaguely, had somehow discovered the most discordant pitch in the universe for their ringing tone.
He picked up the telephone and rubbed his eyes. His fingers came away wet, and he realized he’d been crying.
“Daniel!” It was Gina, excited.
“Good morning, Gina.” His voice had a thick burr.
“I just got you up. Sorry, Daniel, but turn on the morning news. The TV.”
“Okay, but what’s—”
“The old lady at the Airport Authority. You remember, the one that stamped your paperwork. She was murdered!”
“Why? What? She was a sweet old—”
“They think you and Lucy had something to do with it. They’ve got—”
“What?” He gripped the receiver.
“For some reason...” She slowed a bit. “For some reason the police think you guys are involved or know something about it. They’ve got your passport pictures on TV.”
“Hold on, Gina.” O’Brien took a couple of slow breaths and ran a hand through his hair. There was nothing about the murder that could possibly have anything to do with them. His eyes rambled around the room and settled on the view from a partially shaded window. He narrowed his focus, found himself checking the parking lot behind the apartment house. What did he expect to see, armed SWAT teams surrounding the place?
Errand of Mercy: How far do you run, and where do you hide? Page 19