by Nancy Rue
“All right—I’m going to go talk to Geneveve.”
“She done went to bed,” Desmond said from the doorway. “After she give me a hour lecture ’bout not givin’ you no trouble tonight ’cause you got a lot on your mind.” He hit his soprano range. “Like I don’t know that.”
A lot on my mind didn’t even begin to cover it. It was on my heart, my soul.…
It was even on the air. I breathed hard against a sudden heaviness and cranked the van to reluctant life. In the rearview mirror, Sacrament House sank into the shadows.
“Go on in, and I’ll meet you in a minute,” I said to Desmond when we pulled into the garage.
“I don’t got a—”
I tossed him the house key from my ring. He only gazed at it for two seconds before he bolted with it as if I might change my mind. When the door slammed, I called Chief.
He picked up with, “You okay?”
“No,” I said. “Can you … do you have time—”
“I can be there in ten.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’m ready to tell you what happened.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Porches, it seemed, were good places for telling. Chief propped his feet next to mine on my side porch railing as he listened. I could only see his face clearly when the chilly night almost-wind brushed the Spanish moss away from the stream of light from Miz Vernell’s and gave me a wispy glimpse of his eyes or his mouth. They were pieces of compassion that kept me talking until I reached the place where I’d left off with Geneveve.
“It was an accident,” Chief said. “Troy Irwin was as full of it then as he is now.”
I surprised myself with a laugh. I was much closer to tears.
“So what was his ‘story’?”
The chortle died in my throat. “I had no idea until Clive Irwin called my parents three hours later and said Troy had been the victim of a hit-and-run.”
“Longest three hours of your life.”
“Ya think? I still kept waiting for the police to come question me, take me off to jail. Between the fear and being pregnant, I threw up for two days. The more information my mother got from Troy’s mother, the worse it got. His leg was broken in three places. He had to have surgery. He got an infection. By the time his mother called to say he was ready to see me, I expected him to be half-dead.”
“I take it he wasn’t.”
“Not even close.”
“Too bad,” Chief said.
I wanted to hug him. But then I always wanted to hug him.
“It actually seemed like he was enjoying the attention—like nothing serious had happened and I wasn’t pregnant and we didn’t have some major decisions to make.” I swallowed, but none of the ache went down. “There was no ‘we’ about it. He’d already made the decision—which I didn’t know when I started in about how I was willing to give up the ‘unrealistic’ idea of traveling like hippies, but that because of the baby, we should get married right away instead of waiting.”
I looked down at my hands, which sparkled with sweat even in the wet chill.
“Stop if you want,” Chief said.
“No—you need to hear this part because it—well—let me just—”
“Sure. Take your time.”
I huffed. “I’ve taken twenty-four years. That ought to be long enough.”
“It takes what it takes.”
“Troy didn’t even let me get that out of my mouth before he was …” I squeezed my hands into fists. “Laughing at me. That derisive hissing kind of thing men do—well, not all men—”
“We all have it in us.”
“No,” I said. “Not all of you.” I stared at my feet on the rail. “Troy told me what he saw happening. He was going to pay for an abortion, and then we were going to go off and do the whole college thing and come back to St. Augustine after graduation and get married then.”
“You must be a completely different person now than you were then,” Chief said.
“One would hope.”
“Now you’d tell him where to take his ‘plan.’”
“Oh, I did.”
I saw the twinkle I hadn’t seen in days.
“I told him I was having the baby with or without him.” The breath I drew in was ragged. “I guess he saw that coming because he didn’t even hesitate. He said if I didn’t get the abortion, he’d go straight to the police and tell them I’d run over him on purpose. He said they’d break Sylvia down, make her confess to the coverup. He had it all figured out.”
“You weren’t insisting that he marry you and support the baby.”
“No. He just didn’t want there to be a baby.”
“What am I not seeing here?”
“What you’re not seeing is my father.”
Chief tucked in his chin. “What—your old man would go after him with a shotgun?”
“Hardly. Troy said my father had told him the summer before—so we’re talking almost nine months back—that he wanted Troy to come home after he got his business degree and let him groom Troy to run Chamberlain Enterprises someday—since I obviously wasn’t CEO material.”
“And if you came up pregnant with Troy’s kid, all bets were off.”
“That’s why they pay you the big bucks, Chief. That is it on the nose.”
It was all out, almost all of it. And Geneveve was wrong. It ripped me apart even more in the telling than it had the day I walked out of Troy’s hospital room into a world that had crumbled into fragments too tiny to piece back together. Maybe it hurt more tonight, because that day I didn’t know that I would never even try.
“So—” I said. “I never spoke to Troy Irwin again until I went to his office the other day.”
“Good.”
I twisted to face Chief.
“I’m an idiot,” he said.
“I’m sorry?”
“I’m an idiot.”
He jerked his legs from the railing and moved so far to the edge of the canvas chair its back legs left the ground. He rubbed at his thighs with the heels of his hands. I had the unexplainable urge to put him out of whatever misery he was suddenly in.
“Okay—so why are you an idiot?” I said.
“Because I thought Troy Irwin was some old flame of yours that you wanted to rekindle.”
“You have got to be kiddin’ me. I’d rather be burned at the stake.”
“I should’ve seen that—even without what you just told me. Knowing you—like I think I do—like I said, I’m an idiot.”
“No doubt.” I knew I was pulling out the old cover of wit, but I couldn’t help it. He was headed where I wanted to go, and I was terrified.
“So no Troy Irwin in your life,” he said. “What about Bonner Bailey?”
“Bonner Bailey. You’re not serious.”
“I’m thinking he’s like an annoying little brother to you, but I could be an idiot about that, too. Am I?”
“If you think we are or have ever been romantically involved, then, yes, you’re an idiot, and you ought to be on heavy medication.”
He nodded. The eagle eyes were at close range, where they clearly weren’t used to being, where they were vulnerable. I couldn’t pull mine away.
“Then you’re free,” he said. “Except for that one guy.”
I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know how I was able to say, “Desmond?”
Maybe I didn’t. Maybe my cell phone rang before I even got the word out.
Chief rocked back and the moment was gone. I pulled the phone out with the words, “This better be important” already formed on my lips.
Mercedes swept them away. Her voice was so shrill I barely made out, “Geneveve just left. She gone to the street lookin’ for Sherry.”
“Okay, Mercedes. Slow down.…”
I held out the phone so Chief could hear but there was no need. She was screaming at that point, as was Jasmine in the background.
“Sherry called here, beggin’ Geneveve to come help her. We tol’ her to call you and let you handle it but she said for us to call, ’cause she goin’ on ahead. I tried to stop her, Miss Angel. I threw myself over the door, and she just bust right past me.”
“All right. It’ll be fine—”
“I don’t think so. After you left tonight, Geneveve was all walkin’ around, jumpin’ at her own shadow—she kept sayin’, ‘Somethin’ goin’ down. Somethin’ goin’ down—I can feel it.’”
I’d felt it myself, and I should’ve gone back.
“Whatchoo want us to do?” Her voice was calmer, but I knew that was only a momentary lull.
“Okay, you stay there, you and Jasmine, and you call me the minute you hear from Geneveve or Sherry. Lock all the doors, and don’t open them to anybody but them or me or Chief.”
“He with you?”
“Yes.”
“Then maybe we will be okay.”
“We will.” I put my hand over the phone to whisper to Chief. “Will you—?”
“I’m gone. You stay with Desmond.”
“Chief’s on his way over to West King now,” I said to Mercedes. “Call me the minute you hear anything.”
She was breathing hard, but she managed to get in an “okay.”
“You and Jasmine pray,” I said. “I’ll see if I can find Hank—maybe she’ll come over and be with you.”
“We need all the Jesus people we can get,” she said.
The minute I ended the call, I got Hank on the phone.
“You know what,” she said when I filled her in, “I’m coming to you first.”
I didn’t ask her why. I could hear my own voice unraveling.
It wasn’t hard to imagine Geneveve pacing around the house, wringing her hands. I did the same thing now, praying “pleaseGodpleaseGodpleaseGod” with more fervor than I’d ever chanted Allison’s Pathetic Pleading Prayer. The Allison of Then couldn’t hold a candle to me now. I finally landed in Desmond’s doorway, watching his back rise and fall in an even rhythm, begging for a Nudge that would show me whether to go or stay or wait some more.
Think.
Think. I dragged my hand through my hair. Think. What a concept.
Cell phone clutched in my hand, I went back to the side porch and sank into the canvas chair again. Think—where would Geneveve go on West King? She’d go where she knew Sherry would hide. Or where Sultan would hold her until she drew Geneveve out. That thought left me cold, but I had to chase it. I still knew nothing about the man—except that he didn’t do his dirty work himself. He was the Troy Irwin of the underworld. Troy had his Vivienne Harkness. Sultan had his—who?
For the second time that day the image of the hulking figure in the alley flickered onto my screen. One of the women had spoken of him by name—Opie? Otis? I shook my head and stood up to pace again. Didn’t matter. He was the same guy who had accosted Desmond behind C.A.R.S. He had to be Sultan’s lackey.
And I knew how he operated.
I clawed my phone out of my pocket and hurtled through the kitchen to check on Desmond again, begging, “Please answer, Hank, please, please.”
She did, voice breathless. “I’m almost there—I’m two blocks away.”
“Okay—I’m going down there. Will you stay with Desmond?”
“Down where?”
“West King. I think I know where Geneveve went to find Sherry—only she’s not going to find her, she’s going to find—”
“Where is Chief?”
“He’s down there, but he doesn’t know to look behind the car place. Hank, I have to go. Will you stay here?”
“Is it going to do me any good to try to talk you out of it?”
“No. If you don’t hear from me in an hour, call the police.”
“I think you should call them right now.”
“No crime’s been committed. Yet.”
“I don’t like this, Al,” she said.
“I don’t either,” I said.
I hung up and ran for the door and grabbed the keys from the hook. The sense of déjà vu was almost overwhelming as I tore across the lane and got the garage door open. I fought against the image of Geneveve lying in a pile of squalor, but one part shouldered its way through: Chief carrying her to the van I’d had to come back for the last time we rescued her.
I hoisted myself into it now and fumbled the key into the ignition. The engine cranked once, twice. By the third try, I could taste the noxious gas fumes.
“Come on—not tonight—” I pumped, panicked, at the accelerator and tried the ignition again, but the motor only groaned halfheartedly. I abandoned the van and scrambled for the locker. Geneveve would be riding back with me—that was all there was to it—that was the way it had to be.
I crammed my helmet on and fired up the bike. She came to life with an alarmed rumble.
“I know,” I said. “I’m freaked out too.”
I rolled the throttle and took off out of the garage. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flashlight beam zigzag across the road. I slowed to look, heart in my throat, but it was Owen running toward me, his other hand pointing frantically toward Miz Vernell’s.
She was just going to have to deal with the noise tonight. I’d see her in court. I shot through the flashlight’s beam and left Owen yelling behind me.
The ride to West King was endless. I was sure it must be midnight by the time I lurched to a stop across the street from C.A.R.S. and strained to see through the uneven splotches from the few streetlights that still worked. The block was eerily quiet, as if holding its breath could delay some inevitable evil. I held mine, too, but there was no rumble of a Road King. I thought of trying Chief on his cell phone but discarded that idea. He’d never hear me on the bike. Aloneness began a slow, cold curl around me.
Keeping my eyes on C.A.R.S., I cut the engine and leaned the Classic on her stand. If I took her back there, I’d broadcast my presence to every thug in the neighborhood. I hung my helmet on the handlebars, begging to be stolen, and broke into a run across the street.
Every footfall slapped the wet asphalt of the parking lot, every breath announced me. By the time I flattened myself against the side of the building, I was sure I could be heard all the way down the alley. I sucked in cold air and peered down into the darkness. Seeing nothing, I started to make my way into it, back plastered to the damp brick, but the sudden hurried flap of footsteps froze me to the wall.
The sound kept on, not in the alley, but on the other side of the building, as if they were making their way upstairs. An image of a woman trudging the steps with her laundry flashed on.
I took one more anxious look down the alley and returned to the front of the building. The footsteps were fading on the far side. What I was going to ask their owner, I had no idea. Have you seen Geneveve? It was ridiculous, but I kept going, faster and more frantically, until I rounded the corner and saw the yellowed legs ascending above me. Legs I’d wrapped in a blanket and rubbed with my hands and my love. This was where I’d seen her before.
“Sherry!”
The steps paused for only an instant before they quickened and stumbled and disappeared.
“Sherry!”
“Shhh, Big Al! Shhh!”
I peered once again into the darkness, this time under the stairs. Desmond reached out a lanky arm and pulled me by the sleeve. I grazed my head on a step as I staggered into him.
“What are you doing here?”
Desmond found my mouth with a clammy hand and tried to cover it. I grabbed his wrist and pulled him close to me. My words died in my throat when I saw his eye
s, glistening with fear.
“She not up there,” he whispered.
“Your mama?”
He nodded.
I took his head in my hands and put my lips next to his ear. “Do you know where she is?”
“Maybe. Where she always hide.”
“She’s not hiding, Desmond—” I started to say.
But he wriggled from my grasp and into the cement gutter along the building. I followed him, hands scraping the raw concrete as I clawed at it to keep my balance. Above me, a female cry rose and just as suddenly fell. I couldn’t stop for it—Desmond was already around the corner and into the back alley—so I stumbled forward to the end of the gutter. It dropped off sharply, and I flung my arm out to catch myself, but the wall had ended too. I sprawled onto the brick and slid until my head hit something soft. Desmond grabbed at my shoulder.
“I’m okay,” I said.
He hauled me up by my sleeve and pointed to the trash cans lined up next to the back door. The ones Maharry Nelson said the homeless couldn’t stay out of. No—please no—not again.
Desmond took off toward them, and I was still trying to get vertical as I went after him. If this truly was déjà vu, I couldn’t let him find his mother lying amid the garbage.
Before I could get there, he had already flung one can aside and sent it bouncing on its battered sides against the far wall. He kicked the second one over and went to his hands and knees.
“Desmond—what?”
My cry was useless. He was disappearing through a low opening in the wall. I dropped to my own knees and put my head inside, but Desmond’s turban of hair collided with my face and pushed me backward onto my rear. He crouched before me, taking in air through his nose in frenzied gasps.
“What? What’s in there?” I said.
He tried to get to his feet, but I caught his hands. He froze and looked down at them. We stared at the blood, smeared on both of us.
I took him by the shoulders and moved his body aside. “Wait,” I said. “Wait right here.”
He nodded, but I knew he didn’t hear a word I said.
Heart throbbing in my ears, I got to my knees again and pushed my head and shoulders into the crawl space. It was tar black, but as I felt my way forward, I knew what I wasn’t seeing. My hand fell at once onto a tiny form that moaned under my touch.