Listening to the barking, listening to the hush of the building.
When he heard her voice say, “Who is it? It’s late,” he waited, and knocked again.
“Move your ... I can’t see ... hush, Prescott, I can’t hear.”
“Mom,” Tony whispered. Hiccupped loudly. Hiccupped again. “Mom?”
“Sam?” Fear, and hope. “Sam?”
“Mom? I’m ... sorry, I’m a little drunk.” A giggle. A belch. “Mom?”
The sound of bolts and chains, and Tony shook his head vigorously, made a guess, and shoved just as the door began to open.
The barking suddenly louder, and Ida crying out in surprise.
He stepped in and closed the door behind him. Prescott was at his feet, and he lashed out, catching the dog in the ribs, punting it across the room where it struck a wall, a piece of furniture, he couldn’t tell, it was too dark.
It didn’t matter; the dog was quiet.
“You,” Ida gasped. “You go away.”
He sighed and flexed his fingers. No razor tonight. That was for outside.
“You go, or I scream.” Bundled in a tufted robe, hair in a net, face as pale as the wall beside the door. Backing away. Hands fluttering. “Please.”
He grabbed her by the throat with one hand, lifted her effortlessly off her feet, and carried her down a short hallway, looking for the bedroom, while she tried to claw at his fingers, kicking feebly. When he found it, he dropped her onto the bed without releasing the choke; he sighed, and he squeezed, and it didn’t take very long.
Then he took off the robe and put her back in bed, pulling the covers to her chin. It was silly. Someone would see the bruises right away, but he didn’t want the old cow found on the floor, or seen in her too-thin nightgown.
If that damn dog was dead, she wouldn’t be found for days.
He decided, all in all, it would be better to make sure.
* * * *
6
T
o the airport,” Tony announced grandly to the cab driver. “And don’t spare the horses.”
Ari laughed as the taxi pulled away from the curb. Nervous. Excited. The first crazy thing he had ever done in his life. “I don’t get it.”
Garza settled in his corner, grinning broadly. “What’s to get? We’re away, my friend. We are away!”
“But who the hell do you know in ... what’s that place again?”
Tony smiled at him, reached over and patted his knee. “Vallor, Ari. Vallor, Illinois. And who I know there is someone very special, my very special friend. We, you and I, are going to see my daughter.”
* * * *
The pickup finally gives out seventy-some miles west of Des Moines.
He doesn’t care. It got him this far without much trouble, and he figures that’s good enough.
He stands on the shoulder of the highway and shivers a little. It’s late, not much traffic, but he doesn’t care about that, either. Someone will drive by, see him with a saddle it his feet, get all misty about cowboys, and pick him up.
One day, maybe two, and then he’s home.
The bastards won’t know what hit them.
Especially Annette and Sharon.
Loving wife, loving daughter.
Headlights, so he smiles and holds out his thumb, using his left boot to nudge the saddle closer to the road.
The car stops right on the highway, directly in front of him, so all he has to do is lean over when the passenger window slides down.
“Hey, cowboy,” the driver says, “need a ride?”
Five minutes later the saddle is in the trunk and they’re heading east at speed.
“So,” the driver says, “you do the rodeo circuit, stuff like that? Broncs and bulls and sixguns and shit?”
And Rod Gillespie takes a moment before he says, “Yeah, something like that.”
* * * *
“So,” the driver said, checking her out in the rearview mirror. “Business? Pleasure?”
“Yes,” Dory answered with a coy smile.
He nodded. “Good. Mix one with the other, you don’t ever get bored.”
“That’s right.”
“You know people out there?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Doesn’t pay to go places where you don’t know anyone. No fun, otherwise.”
Dory watched the interstate, watched the airport grow just ahead. “You don’t travel much, do you?”
“Not me, ma’am. Too busy. I drive all day, all night, I just don’t want to go anywhere but my own place, know what I mean?”
The car swung onto the off-ramp without losing speed.
“What does your family think?” she asked.
He shrugged as he leaned forward, squinting to read the airport signs. “Only have a brother, he doesn’t give a you know what.”
“Too bad. Brothers are—right up there, slow down, you’ll miss it.”
“Sorry.” He pulled over, braking so hard she had to brace herself against the seat back. “You got a brother?”
“A few.”
He laughed. “That who you’re going to see? Out there in Illinois? One of your brothers?’’
“No,” she said, grabbing her small carry-on, opening the door. “My sister.”
“Chicago?”
“Vallor,” she answered as she handed him his tip, thinking it was too much but not giving a damn.
“Never heard of it.”
* * * *
7
1
T
he parking lot didn’t hold more than a few dozen cars in one single and one double row, the single row closest to the hotel’s modest rear entrance. It was surrounded by a high cyclone fence crawling with wilted vines; a narrow gateless gap opened onto the street. Sunlight broke into knives where it touched windows and chrome, aiming for John’s eyes, giving him, with the heat, an instant headache. The rental car was at the back, and despite the lot’s size, he was already sweating by the time he’d loaded his suitcase into the trunk, his briefcase and carton of papers into the backseat.
Lisse had helped, smiling nervously whenever he looked her way. Which was as little as possible once he had realized what he had done. Speaking softly. Awkwardly. Not at all sure he knew what the hell he was doing, and not knowing how to take it back. Hoping she would take the first step.
“This is nuts,” she said when the car was loaded and they stood at the trunk, squinting up at the back of the Royal Cajun, examining the diamond shapes in the fence, staring at the blacktop that felt soft underfoot.
“Yeah,” he answered, swiping at the damp hair that wanted to mat to his forehead.
“I mean, no offense, but I don’t even know you.”
He shrugged. What could he say? She was right, and searching for an out.
But, he noticed, partly disappointed and partly pleased, not very hard. He jiggled the keys in his left hand, looked at the hotel again, and felt his mouth work at a lopsided grin—if this kept up, he’d be counting the windows next, just to avoid looking at her eyes.
“Listen, Lisse,” he began.
“The trouble is,” she interrupted, one hand tucked into a hip pocket, the other shading her eyes, “I kept thinking about you, you know? What I did? Guilt, I guess. I was brought up better, I know that.”
“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t blame you at all.”
“You sure?”
“Sure.”
The end, then. He could feel it coming, could feel her turning away without having moved a muscle.
“Wow,” she said, lifting her chin to point. “You think if you get rich with your book, you’ll live like that?”
Over the tops of the cars between him and the exit he saw a long limousine pull into the lot. So soft a gray it seemed insubstantial, its windows so heavily tinted they looked solid black. It paused at the hotel’s back entrance before sliding past, hood facing the fence.
“No way he can turn around,” John said. “He’ll have to back out.”
His own car was in the middle of the back row, and he checked automatically to be sure there was enough room between him and the fence there so he could just turn left out of the slot without a lot of backing up and inching forward. “Wonder who it is?”
The rear door had opened and a giant stepped out on the other side.
“Well,” she said. “My, my.”
He wore a suit a few shades darker than the limousine, obviously tailored for his size but unable to hide the breadth of his chest, the thickness of his arms. His face, John thought as the man glanced in their direction, should have been rugged and harsh, but it was round and pleasant, and made softer by the thick dark hair brushed straight back from his narrow brow to curl gently at his shoulders. Eyes behind gold wire-rim sunglasses. Skin vaguely, naturally, dark. He walked to the limousine’s trunk, heading for the hotel door, when he stopped abruptly and leaned down, one hand braced on the roof.
“Movie star?” John wondered.
“Singer, probably” Lisse told him. To his look she added, “They stay here sometimes. Casinos and clubs, you know? The ones who don’t want all the fancy crap. They like to hide out.” She made a face. “Lousy tippers, too.”
The giant straightened and stared at them.
“Uh-oh,” she whispered.
“Well, I don’t want his autograph, no matter who he is,” John said, turning away, shaking the car keys, this time in agitation. “Gotta hit the road.”
“John,” she said softly.
He looked at her, looked across the lot and saw the giant moving toward them, sideways between the cars. When he reached the lane between the rows, he stopped, and smiled.
“Mr. Bannock? John Bannock?” A quiet voice, husky, with a faint accent John couldn’t place.
He frowned. “Yes?”
The giant nodded a greeting. “Alonse Paytrice, sir.” He gestured toward the limo. “A moment of your time, sir.”
“Sorry,” John said pleasantly. “I’m on my way out.”
Paytrice took a step toward them, and John felt Lisse backing away, rounding the trunk toward the passenger door.
“Wish you would reconsider, sir,” Paytrice said, still smiling. Another gesture toward the limo. “Just a short conversation.”
“Look,” John told him, trying to be reasonable, “I don’t know you, I’m sorry, and I don’t know your boss. I’m in a hurry, all right? Maybe another time.”
“Reverend Trask,” the giant said.
John stopped. “What?”
“Reverend Trask.” The gesture again. “Just a moment of your time, sir, that’s all he requests.”
John stared at the limousine. What the hell is this, muscle for a minister?
“No, I’ve said all I have to say to your boss, Mr. Pay-trice, and he knows it. Sorry.” He opened the car door, nodded to Lisse to get in. “I’ll drive you home,” and she nodded gratefully as she slid in.
“Mr. Bannock.”
John ignored him.
“Mr. Bannock, please, sir.”
He checked back as he crouched to get in behind the wheel and saw the giant moving toward him, hands out as if to apologize for what would come next if he didn’t listen.
Crazy, he thought; this is nuts.
“Mr. Bannock!”
John slammed the door, hissed at the heat packed inside, and rolled his window down as he slid the key into the ignition.
Lisse said nothing, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
“Who the hell does he think he is?” he muttered, and jumped when something slammed against the hood.
The giant stood in front of the car, still smiling, palms pressed against the hood.
“Move, please,” John called, and turned on the ignition.
Paytrice shook his head.
“You can’t run him over,” Lisse said, as if he might try.
“A bulldozer couldn’t,” he said angrily, and called, “Get out of the way!”
“John, maybe you ought to—”
He hushed her with a sharp gesture, and glared at the giant for several seconds before getting out again.
The giant straightened, hands floating to his sides.
“I’m not going,” John told him, a glance back at the limousine. “Get it through your head, all right? I’m not going. So please move.”
“Sorry, sir,” Paytrice said, “but you are.”
He came around the car, and John backed away. Not seven feet tall, but at least halfway there, forcing John to look up. His hip bumped into the front of the car parked directly behind his, and he winced, still backing, looking around for someone to help, a policeman or hotel worker, someone, anyone.
In the lane he stopped.
He could run, hit the street, find a cop; he could run, duck inside, get the clerk to call a cop; he could run, but why should he, damnit?
“This is stupid,” he said, panting a little in the heat.
Paytrice nodded agreement as he squeezed between the last two cars. “Yes, sir. Just move on, sir, and it’ll only be a moment.”
“No.”
The giant stopped, surprised. “Sir?”
“Look, Mr. Paytrice, your boss and I have already spoken, and there’s nothing more I want to say to him. I don’t appreciate the intimidation, and you’ve scared my lady friend half to death.” He almost smiled. “Hardly the way a good Christian should behave.”
Paytrice frowned. “No call for that kind of talk, sir. Now move, please.” The husky voice deepened. “I will carry you if I have to.”
“In Hell,” John said, suddenly too angry to think straight, see straight.
Paytrice reached for his arm; John moved to one side.
The giant reached again, quickly, and caught him, and John gasped at the pain.
“Move, sir,” Paytrice ordered.
John took one submissive step, twisted, and broke free again, and watched his rental car slide out of its slot, Lisse pointing frantically at the end of the lane as she made the turn.
Paytrice clamped his left shoulder. “Not a good idea, sir, I run pretty fast for a man my size.”
Movement to his left made him look, and another man eased out of the limousine. “My God,” he said.
“My brother Sebastian,” Paytrice said. “We’re twins.” He grinned. “I’m the little one.” He leaned down and the smile broadened. “The nice one.”
John looked up into the giant’s face and was terrified, and was furious. Broad daylight, big city, and a damn clergyman’s bodyguard is kidnapping him, for crying out loud.
Without thinking-he reached over and grabbed the man’s wrist with his right hand, realized his fingers wouldn’t go all the way around. “Don’t do this,” he warned, almost pleaded. “Alonse, don’t do this.”
Paytrice cocked his head at the unexpected threat, squeezed a little harder. “Just walk, sir.”
John dropped his hand and ducked under the giant’s arm, breaking the hold but not quickly enough. A fist swatted his back, slamming him into the grille of the nearest car, doubling him over the hood. He couldn’t breathe. He began to slide to the tarmac, sun-hot chrome and metal burning his palms and chest. No one helped him until he reached his knees, then a hand bunched the back of his shirt and yanked him to his feet, held him until he could stand, and spun him around.
Paytrice wasn’t smiling.
John, one hand clutched to his chest, gulped for air, wanted to throw up, could hear Lisse banging a fist on the car horn.
“Now?” the giant said.
John sagged against the grille, blinked sweat from his eyes, and looked up.
It was the heat; it was the dark smudge of a cloud sliding over the hotel roof; it was that incessant damnable horn; it was that expression on the giant’s face, impatient and smug; it was pain in his chest and on his palms and in his shoulder and in his arm.
floating.
he was floating.
He grabbed the giant’s hands, and Paytrice chuckled and closed his fingers around John’s.
And squeezed.
Nothing happened.
John stared at the sunglasses as the man’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
In the Mood - [Millennium Quartet 02] Page 20