by R. J. Jagger
He walked out.
The door slammed.
Wilde set a book of matches on fire and let them burn down to his fingers before throwing them out the window. Alabama walked in two minutes later with two cups of coffee, handed one to Wilde and said, “You almost set me on fire down there on the sidewalk.”
He took a sip.
It was like medicine.
It would keep him up tonight.
He told her about Raven’s visit.
“It’s my fault,” Alabama said. “I should have been more discrete.”
The words weren’t just words.
She really meant them.
Wilde gave her a hug and said, “There’s no way you could have done it better.” He took a sip and added, “Things are going to be tricky from this point on. He’ll be watching for us.”
“He came here for verification, right?”
Wilde nodded.
Right.
“And I gave it to him.”
“He wouldn’t move Nicole until he got that verification, right?”
Probably not.
“He might move her now though, even before dark,” she said. “Do you think we should get back out to the warehouses?”
Wilde raised an eyebrow.
“How much am I paying you?”
She shrugged.
“I don’t know. You never told me.”
“Well, whatever it was, you just got a raise.” He pulled the gun out of the drawer and stuck it in his waistband. “Let’s go.”
86
Day Three
July 17
Thursday Afternoon
Zongying still wasn’t home when Durivage got back, so he lathered up in the shower to wash the dead-building grime off his skin. He stepped out naked toweling his hair to find a woman sitting on the sofa, a woman who wasn’t Zongying, a woman who was the last person he expected to see—Emmanuelle.
She ran her eyes down his body.
He froze.
Then he continued drying off without covering up.
“You gave me the number,” Emmanuelle said. “I called earlier this afternoon and spoke to your girlfriend. She gave me the address. Here I am.”
“Right, here you are.”
She walked over, wrapped her arms around him and kissed the stitches on his chest.
“These are from me,” she said.
True.
They were.
“I’m sorry.”
She went over to her purse, pulled a knife out and handed it to him.
“I’m here to pay my debt.”
Durivage moved his hand up and down, getting a feel for the weight of the knife.
“You want me to stab you?”
“To be honest, I’m hoping you don’t,” she said. “But it’s your choice.”
Durivage picked her off her feet, slammed her on the carpet on her back and straddled her.
She didn’t resist.
He waved the knife back and forth in front of her face.
“I’ve thought about killing you a hundred times,” he said.
She stared into his eyes.
“Do it.”
Durivage ripped open her blouse and tore her bra off. Then he ran the tip of the blade down her chest, deep enough to draw a line of blood. Half his brain told him to raise his arm as high as it would go and slam the knife into her chest with every ounce of strength he had. The other half told him to rip her pants off and take her.
He did neither.
Instead he threw the knife across the room.
Then he licked the blood off her chest.
87
Day Three
July 17
Thursday Afternoon
The ground shook and vibrated from the horrific weight of the approaching train. The engineer pulled the whistle, again and again and again. Jina pushed against the bike with every ounce of strength she had.
It didn’t budge.
She pushed again.
It didn’t move.
In ten seconds she’d be dead.
The whistle blew.
This was it.
She pushed with all her might. The bike didn’t move, not an inch, but then it shifted, almost imperceptibly, but some. She pushed harder. Suddenly the back wheel contacted the ground and the bike shot off, across the track and down the embankment.
The train was right on her.
She didn’t have time to stand.
She rolled.
Then more.
She snagged on the rail.
Then she pushed over.
The engine passed so close that a vacuum almost sucked her under. She rolled harder, hoping beyond hope that nothing would catch her.
Then she was free.
Rolling down the embankment.
Free.
Free.
Free.
She got to her feet and could see the car through the clanking wheels.
It was stopped.
She ran in the field with one thought and one thought only, to get as far of a head start as she could while the train protected her. Within a dozen steps she realized it wouldn’t work.
Pain came from her knee.
She could hardly bend her leg.
She looked around for a place to hide.
There were no trees or structures or ground swells or anything of significance, not as far as she could see in any direction.
Damn it.
Damn it.
Damn it.
She was trapped.
88
Day Three
July 17
Thursday Afternoon
Wilde lit a book of matches as he headed down the stairs, then threw them on the sidewalk at ground level. The MG was parked a half-block down. As he and Alabama headed that way, they saw a man in a suit standing in front of it, writing down the license plate number. His face was tough, a Camel dangled from his lips, a scar ran across his chin.
“Can I help you?” Wilde said.
“Is this yours?”
“Yes.”
“Are you Bryson Wilde?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know someone named Night Neveraux?”
Wilde tilted his head.
“Who’s asking?”
The man pulled a badge.
“Johnny Pants, homicide.”
“Who’s dead?”
“Grace Somerfield.”
“You’re heading that up?”
“I’m on the team,” he said. “I’m going to get right to the point. A green MG was seen leaving the alley behind Night Neveraux’s house just as we showed up to search it. Was that you?”
Wilde considered denying it but didn’t have time to play out all the twists. It would be safer to tell the truth.
“Yes.”
“The word is that you squealed out pretty fast. Were you taking anything with you, something that maybe Night Neveraux gave you to take?”
“Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe something like items that came out of Grace Somerfield’s vault.”
Wilde swallowed and appeared to not be affected.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Pants cocked his head.
“Accessory after the fact is a serious crime,” he said. “It’s a felony. It could land you in jail for a long, long time. I’m going to forget the answer you just gave me and make things as easy for you as I can if you tell me the truth. So let me ask it again. Did you make off with those items when we showed up to search the house?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
Pants exhaled.
“Have it your way,” he said. “At some point in the future you’ll look back at this moment and wish you could redo it. Are you positive about your answer?”
“Yes.”
Pants frowned.
“Do you mind if I search your office?”
“What for?”
Pants shrug
ged.
“Just for grins.”
“Yes.”
“Yes I can search it or yes you mind?”
“Yes I mind.”
“Why, do you have something to hide?”
Wilde walked past, close enough to brush him back, and got in the car.
“Unless you have a warrant, we’re done here,” he said.
“I guess we are, for now,” Pants said. “I’ll be in touch.”
“You do that.” Wilde cranked over the engine and shifted into first but didn’t take off. “Who’s in charge of the Somerfield investigation?”
“You don’t read the newspapers?’
“Apparently not.”
“Warner Raven,” Pants said.
“Warner Raven.”
“Right, Warner Raven. Do you know him?”
“I’ve heard the name.”
“You’ll probably hear it again,” Pants said, patting the hood of the car. “Be careful in this thing. It’s a death trap. You meet a Chevy head on and you’re deader than dead.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“It doesn’t even have a front bumper,” Pants added.
“That’s because the people that drive them know how to watch where they’re going.”
Wilde tipped his hat and pulled off with a racing heart.
“Damn that was close,” Alabama said. “Do you think Raven’s behind it?”
Wilde nodded.
“I’m just surprised it started so quickly.”
Alabama patted his knee.
“Can we trust Night?” she asked.
“I hope so.”
“You’re not sure?”
“Nothing’s sure when it comes to Night.” A beat, then, “They’ll arrest me Friday afternoon, if not earlier. You too, if my hunch is right, as an accessory to an accessory or some such bullshit. That way Raven gets a double whammy, namely he gets us off the streets and also discredits us. We can shout up and down all we want about him murdering Jessica Dent but all anyone will see is someone trying to wiggle their way out of being caught in connection with Grace Somerfield’s murder.”
“I don’t think he’s going to arrest us,” Alabama said.
Wilde turned to see if she was serious.
She was.
“You don’t think so?”
“No,” she said. “I think he’s going to kill us in the process of the arrest, you know, say we were resisting or something like that. He’ll plant guns on us.”
Wilde chewed on it.
It was plausible.
“You want out?”
Alabama laughed.
“All this does is want to make me be further in.”
“In that case you’re crazier than I am.”
“No, not crazier. As crazy, but not crazier. No one’s crazier.”
He smiled.
“Nice of you to notice.”
89
Day Three
July 17
Thursday Afternoon
Durivage couldn’t convince Emmanuelle to pack her bags and get out of Denver even though there was now a second hit woman—a Greek staying with Night Neveraux—after her.
“I need to see this through,” she said.
Durivage paced.
“You won’t live to see it through.”
“That’s my problem, not yours.”
“Let me handle it,” Durivage said. “You’re good at what you do but you’re out of your league at this point. Just cut yourself loose and vanish.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I let you down,” she said.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“How can you say that after what I did?”
He shrugged.
“It’s in the past.”
She studied him.
“Are you aware that I killed Zeno Leva?” she asked.
Durivage stopped in mid-pace.
“Are you serious?”
Yes.
She was.
“Why?” Durivage asked.
“Same reason I tried to kill you,” she said. “He was a loose end.”
Durivage shook his head.
“You were never like this before,” he said. “What happened?”
She exhaled.
“I don’t know.” The buttons were gone from her blouse, not to mention the bloodstains. “Do you think your girlfriend will mind if I borrow something from her closet?”
Durivage shook his head and pointed.
“That way.”
She stepped into the bathroom, got a towel wet and wiped the blood off her chest. The cut was long and tender but had stopped bleeding. Then she found a black T-shirt in a dresser drawer and put it on.
“I have a lead I’m going to run down tonight,” she said, heading for the door.
“Where are you staying?”
She hesitated, deciding, then said, “The Kenmark. I’ll be in touch.” She was halfway out the door when she stopped and turned. “Just for the record, trying to kill you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. Do you know why?”
He shook his head.
No.
Why?
“Because I’d let myself do something I swore I’d never let myself do,” she said. “I let myself fall in love with you.”
Then she left.
90
Day Three
July 17
Thursday Afternoon
Jina was trapped. The train would pass and then she’d be murdered. She pushed down the pain coming from her knee and scouted around frantically. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to go.
The motorcycle was on its side thirty steps away, now quiet and dead.
Wait.
Did it still run?
She got over to it, muscled it upright and swung her leg over the seat.
Come on, baby, start!
She turned the key.
The engine sputtered but didn’t catch.
She turned it again.
This time it caught.
She shifted into first and headed into the open space as the final car of the train passed by. The front tire wobbled and rubbed against the forks. A terrible noise came from the rear sprocket.
Don’t fall off.
Don’t fall off.
She turned her head just long enough to see if the man was running after her.
He was.
She twisted the throttle and hung on for all she was worth.
Rot in hell, asshole.
91
Day Three
July 17
Thursday Night
Wilde and Alabama took every precaution to not be spotted, including parking the MG a mile away at the South Platte and hoofing to the warehouse district on foot, together with claiming a stakeout of the area from the roof of the building Wilde inspected last night, the one with the blood on the floor.
It did no good.
Warner Raven didn’t show up.
All remained quiet.
At seven they gave up and headed home for food and a shower. Wilde stuck a dozen fresh packs of matches in his shirt pocket and another twenty or so in his suit. Alabama looked at him sideways, then pulled them out and put them on the table.
“Has Raven ever seen your nasty little habit?”
A beat.
“Yes.”
“If he sees something like that tonight, do you think he’ll figure out it’s you?”
Wilde put two in his shirt pocket.
“Just for security,” he said. “We need a different car. That MG sticks out too much.”
“It’ll be dark,” Alabama said.
“It doesn’t matter, the headlights are too close together.”
He called Night.
“Can we trade cars for tonight?”
“I have a meeting,” she said. “I can’t be without wheels.”
“You’ll have the MG.”
“The steering wheel’s on the wrong side.”
“So?”
“So, I can’t shift with my left hand.”
“Yeah you can.”
“Trust me, I’ll end up chewing up your gears.”
It took two minutes of convincing but she finally relented.
There.
Done.
Alabama wasn’t impressed. “Night killed Grace Somerfield and will go down for it sooner or later. Tangling up with her is the last thing you should be doing.”
Wilde didn’t care.
“All I care about is getting Nicole back.”
Shortly after dark they swung by Raven’s house.
He was home.
Good.
They took up a position down the street and waited.
They waited a full hour, then Raven’s headlights popped on and headed into the night. Wilde followed with the gun on the seat.
“This is it,” he said.
He expected to be pulled east into the warehouse district but the vehicle headed north.
“Where’s he going?”
“I don’t know.”
They followed without talking for a mile, then another, then another. Alabama suddenly groaned and said, “Don’t look at the fuel gauge.”
Wilde did.
It was almost on E.
92
Day Three
July 17
Thursday Night
Ten minutes before the appointed time Thursday night, Durivage took a position in the shadows down California Street where he could see to the corner, then waited for the Mediterranean woman to show up.
The night was dark.
The insane heat of the day was gone.
The air was comfortable. His palms shouldn’t be sweating but they were. When he closed his eyes he could feel the point of the woman’s knife in his back.
She’d try to kill him tonight.
That was certain.
It wouldn’t be immediately, though. First she’d hear what he had to say. She’d try to get him to tell her where the bag of goodies was. Zongying was in the Packard parked a block north, waiting to be his getaway if he needed it. Durivage told her everything that happened today, including Emmanuelle showing up out of the blue and her announcement that she loved him.
Zongying laughed.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But if you love someone, you don’t kill them.”