by Joseph Flynn
Lisle nodded to Robin and looked at Bianca.
“Some job you’ve done with the kid. I almost didn’t recognize her. Now, can we please go inside before I crystallize?”
Manfred sat on the sofa next to his daughter. Robin and Warner Lisle looked on from facing easy chairs, the former agent nursing a glass of schnapps. Manfred has asked them both to stay. He took his daughter’s hands in his, but Bianca had a hard time keeping her eyes off the ex-CIA man. Finally, Manfred crooked a finger under her chin and gently tugged her head around until Bianca’s eyes met his.
He spoke in English for Robin’s benefit.
“I love you, Bianca, and I hope in the time we’ve spent together you’ve come to see that. I hope that you will love me, too, if not now then perhaps later. For Christmas, I wanted to give you the best gift in the world. Something that would show you how much I love you. I thought and I thought ... I looked and I looked ... I planned and I planned. But it was all a game. I knew from the start there was only one thing I could give you that you truly wanted ... your freedom.”
Robin’s breath caught in her throat, but nobody seemed to notice. Manfred and Bianca had eyes only for each other, and Warner Lisle calmly sipped his schnapps.
Manfred took a Lufthansa folder from the inside pocket of his suit coat.
Tears formed at the corners of his eyes.
“This is your ticket home,” he said, and handed the packet to his daughter. “Warner will take you back to your mother in the morning.”
Bianca examined the tickets, wanting to know if some awful trick was being played on her, but the tickets read Chicago to Frankfurt with continuing service to Dresden. It was true. The giant was letting her go. Far sooner than she’d expected or hoped.
Far sooner than she’d planned.
What would she do about David? How would she stay in touch? He was far too big a prize to lose now, after all the work she’d put into him. If she left suddenly, in a matter of hours, she would be nothing more to him than the quickly fading memory of a strange little girl.
“Bianca?” Manfred asked. “Do you want to go?”
She wasn’t entirely certain, but her head nodded of its own accord.
“I understand. But there’s something you should know.” Slowly, so she wouldn’t think he was taking them back, Manfred reached out and fanned the tickets. “If you change your mind, if you ever want to come back here, you have a return ticket that you can use at any time. Warner will have it kept in a safe place for you, and he will give you a number to call anytime you want to pick it up. And if you do want to come back, tell your mother she better not try to stop you. I won’t pay for you again ... I’ll come fetch you.”
The threat to Ulrike was implicit but unmistakable. This, however, wasn’t what caught Bianca’s attention.
“You paid for me?”
Manfred nodded.
“How much?”
He told her.
Bianca started to curse in German under her breath — until she noticed everyone looking at her. Oh, yes, she wanted to get home now. She would have a long talk with her mother about just how much of the giant’s fortune was rightly hers. Then she noticed that the tears that had welled up in the giant’s eyes were now rolling down his cheeks.
Much to her own surprise, she started to cry as well. She threw her arms around the giant ... and thought that it really wasn’t fair that every time she left someplace she wound up missing someone.
And she wondered if the giant might not have another fortune hidden away somewhere.
Manfred didn’t ask Robin to come to the airport with him this time. He simply came to her door Christmas morning and told her that Bianca wished to say goodbye. Robin strongly doubted that the kid was making the gesture on her own initiative, but this was hardly the time to be openly skeptical. Still, Robin was surprised when Bianca grabbed her sleeves and tugged her down for a kiss on each cheek.
Then Bianca gave Robin a long, penetrating stare as if trying to see all the way down to her very soul. It gave Robin the creeps. She was just about to say something when Bianca picked up on her mood and curtsied.
“Auf wiedersehen,” Bianca said. Until we meet again.
“Wiederkommen,” Robin replied. Come again.
To her credit, the kid grinned, and Robin smiled back ... neither expressing sentiment, just the respect of worthy adversaries.
Then Bianca turned on her heel and led her father off.
Manfred came back alone. He stopped up to Robin’s apartment in response to the note she’d left on his door. She’d offered him a cup of coffee. It was the best she could do in the way of a Christmas offering.
She served the coffee with the torte he’d made.
“Bianca get off okay?” Robin asked.
They sat across the kitchen table from each other.
“Ja,” Manfred said absently. He forked some torte into his mouth.
“Warner will take good care of her.”
“Ja.”
“Care for a little arsenic in your coffee?”
“Ja...”
As the question and his response registered in his mind, Manfred looked up at Robin.
“You are always so considerate.”
“That’s what everybody says.”
For the next few minutes they dedicated themselves to eating and drinking. Through the doorway to the living room, the lights on the Christmas tree blinked on and off, oblivious to the lack of holiday cheer around them.
When they finished, Robin collected the dishes and took them to the sink to rinse. She still had the water running when Manfred spoke. Robin didn’t catch what he said. She turned the water off and dried her hands on a dishtowel.
“What’d you say?” she asked.
“I asked if you remember the day I almost struck Bianca.”
Robin nodded.
“There was no excuse for what I did ... but I never told you what caused my anger.”
Robin shook her head.
“Bianca was offended that she wouldn’t be paid, and paid well, to shovel the snow.”
Manfred paused to collect himself; the burden of the memory was still a difficult one for him. He took a deep breath and continued. “She said that as soon as she was old enough — fourteen she thought — she would sell herself in the brothel her mother manages. She would become the star of the house, and any man who wanted to have her would pay dearly for the privilege — far more than it was costing me to keep her.”
Great, Robin thought, the kid likens her father, unfavorably, to a string of future johns. She could see where he’d want to haul off and belt her.
The problem was, Robin couldn’t exactly tell him the kid hadn’t meant it. The little brat had meant every single word. At that moment, Robin didn’t know what she could tell Manfred that would comfort him. She didn’t think “good riddance” would exactly cheer him up.
“She’s come so far since that night.” Manfred continued.
Robin kept her doubts to herself.
“And what have I done? I’ve sent her right back to the person and the place that had twisted her so. Because I love her. Because I could think of no better way to show her I love her.”
Robin started to speak, but Manfred was not finished.
“I am going away,” he said.
“What?”
“For a week. A retreat in Wisconsin. Brother Damian has arranged it for me.”
Robin sighed in relief, and realized she’d grabbed onto the fridge to keep her rubbery knees from giving way entirely. She saw that Manfred hadn’t noticed the effect his words had on her. She quickly gathered herself to stand straight.
“When are you leaving?”
Manfred looked at her and stood up.
“Now.”
He smiled grimly.
“The place I am going, it is a monastery. I will use the same accommodations the monks do. I will not have a room, I will have a cell. Somehow, today, I find that an entirely fitting plac
e to be once again.”
Manfred gave Robin a solemn bow and left.
She followed him to the living room and stared at the door after he’d closed it behind him. The heat from her wonderfully functional furnace poured out of the wall vents and kept her warm. The plumbing awaited her every need in perfect working order. The wiring kept her Christmas lights blinking merrily. Her house was immaculate and perfectly maintained. And it was all hers.
Robin was alone again.
Chapter 22
Tone Morello knew he was going to miss his plane, he just knew it.
More to the point, that geek Iggy Gross knew it, too, and he was toying with Tone, keeping him cooling his heels in Iggy’s office while Iggy would be “just a few minutes with this important long-distance call.” The little jerk knew that you couldn’t find an open seat to St. Maarten in the Netherlands Antilles the day after Christmas; you blew your flight, just kiss your winter vacation goodbye.
Not that Iggy cared. Even though the show was in reruns for the holidays, he didn’t take a vacation like any normal person. He stayed in his office and kept searching the nation’s freak shows and tabloids for ever weirder and more grotesque people to put on the show when broadcasts resumed.
And who was he talking to now? Some yahoo who had the notion of providing topless caddies at a golf course he’d bought in Texas. The idea had been tried before, of course, and had been brought to a screeching halt by the vehement objections of nearby property owners and others who believed that bare–breasted sports should be kept indoors. This idiot, however, was looking to get around that problem by scheduling his first tee-time at dusk and letting his duffers play by starlight. He said playing in the dark would certainly make the game more challenging, but nobody had to worry because his caddies were guaranteed to find your balls.
Tone knew all this because Iggy had the yutz on his speakerphone.
The Texas twit said he already had three chartered jumbo jets of eager golfers coming in from Japan. But he was looking to drum up the domestic side of the business so he was offering Iggy a free round, and he could tape all eighteen holes for his show if he wanted ... and heck, if he had a mind to, he could have a different caddy for each hole.
Iggy had a pertinent question.
“What about the cops?”
“Well, hell,” the Texan said, “this is a private club. Po-lice ain’t got no business here messin’ with consenting golfers.”
“You saying the cops are greased?”
Tone ground his teeth. He had his own little plan for amorous adventure. One with just a bit more style than getting your fiddle diddled in a sand trap. He wanted to go down to the Caribbean, find a nice blue-eyed Dutch girl working on her all-over tan, someone who didn’t know from American sports, who thought Chicago was where Al Capone still lived, and who wouldn’t mind a week of abandon with a good-looking American guy who had money to spend. They’d have lots of great sex, say goodbye without regret and, best of all, Robin Phinney would never, ever hear about it.
Tone thought it was a reasonable plan for a man who hadn’t had sex in nine weeks, but he saw it crumbling before his eyes.
The Texan twanged on.
“Let’s just say the po-lice ‘round here got more on their minds than somebody’s caddy sizing up his putts.”
Iggy laughed, started to buy into this idiocy. Tone could see he’d have to act fast.
“What about the caddies?” he asked.
“Who’s that?”
“Nobody,” Iggy said. “Shut up, Tone.”
Tone remained undeterred.
“No, I’m serious,” he said. “I’m sure some of these caddies you’re hiring have, shall we say, professional management. The kind that drives rhinestone Cadillacs. What if those gentlemen think to themselves, hmm, fat-cat golfers, cash in their pockets, fancy watches on their wrists, are they going to complain if their caddy takes them into the rough and, oops, someone’s waiting there to rob them? Are they going to tell the cops or their wives where and how they got ripped off?”
“Well, uh, you answered your question right there,” the Texan said, trying to put the best face on it. “Shoot, no, they’re not going to tell ... and we’re not gonna let it happen in the first damn place. Say, who is this sumbitch anyway, Iggy?”
Iggy started to talk, but Tone held his hand up.
“Here’s something else to think about. What if one of your imported guests is some crazed sushi chef who’s got his Ginsu knife in his golf bag and would like nothing better than to carve some hardworking American girl into cold cuts and be back in the land of the Rising Sun before all the parts are found? What about that?”
Iggy stared at Tone in awe. He’d never have guessed what a truly lurid imagination Tone had. Maybe he could find some further use for this yo-yo.
But the Texan was not amused.
“You’re one sick puppy, mister. All we’re tryin’ to do here is have some good clean fun.”
“Yeah, but you obviously haven’t thought it through,” Iggy said. “Get back to me when you get the kinks worked out.”
Iggy hung up on the guy.
“All right,” he said to Tone. “I know you’re itching to get outta here. So here’s the deal. Starting right after New Year’s, we’re gonna start a stick-it-to-the-fat-broad contest.”
“What’s that?”
“We’re gonna have all our idiot listeners call in and try out their best put-downs of your fat friend, Robin Phinney. We’ll do maybe fifteen minutes a day, three five-minute blocks. Monday through Thursday. On Friday we recap and you pick the week’s winner, who I’ll pick for you before we go on the air, and we buy them lunch at the deli where they can go face-to-face with the blimp.”
“She’ll eat them alive.”
“That’s the whole idea. She creams them. Then when the time comes, you go back there and clean her clock.”
Tone was sure that Iggy thought she’d cream him, too, and then Iggy would then be the one to vanquish Robin. He was more sure than ever that had been Iggy’s plan all along.
“Mimi won’t let you record in her place, and she’s got the cops to keep you out.”
Iggy smiled.
“I thought of that, and that’s the beauty part. I don’t want anybody recording inside. That was your mistake, remember? What I’m gonna do is have lip-readers outside, and they’ll be miked.”
Tone was amazed.
“You really think that’ll work?”
Iggy shrugged.
“They’ll only be looking for something good. Otherwise, they’ll be working from scripts.”
Tone laughed. Iggy did, too, thinking Tone appreciated his genius.
But Tone was laughing because the little geek had confirmed his thinking. There was no way Iggy would script anyone but himself as the ultimate victor. And Iggy thought there was no way he could lose to Robin if he was the one putting the words in her mouth.
Yeah, that was what Iggy was thinking, all right — but all he’d done was make it that much easier for Tone to screw him in the end. The idea of how he’d do it had come to him just now, as soon as Iggy had mentioned his plan.
Tone thought he really must be getting smarter.
He got up to leave without Iggy even saying it was okay, but the little jerk thought they were friends at the moment so he didn’t try to pull a power trip.
Iggy just waved and called out, “Hey, Tone. Get some for me.”
“Oh, you’re gonna get yours,” Tone said softly.
Robin sat in her park, dropped a coin in the wishing well, watched the fish ... and tried her best not to go crazy.
She’d been alone in her house for the last three days now and she didn’t know what to do with herself. Which was crazy because she’d lived alone for better than nineteen years and had liked it that way. Demanded it be that way. But now, after just two months of having other people under her roof, it drove her to distraction to be alone.
To make matters worse, things
were deadly slow at work. More and more people were bagging work the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day, and the take at the deli was so small that Mimi had told her today that if they had another bad lunch crowd tomorrow she was going to close until after the holidays; it’d be cheaper to give the staff a paid holiday than keep the doors open.
Which meant Robin would have even more time on her hands that she didn’t know what to do with. She’d picked up half a dozen novels at the library yesterday and hadn’t been able to get into any of them. She’d even gone to a video rental place for the first time in her life thinking that she’d buy a VCR if she found anything she wanted to watch, but hadn’t found a single thing. The closest she’d come was an old bodybuilding flick with that Schwartzenberger guy, or whatever his name was. But she remembered Manfred saying those pretty boys weren’t really serious athletes.
She couldn’t believe how much she missed Manfred ...
How much she hated to admit it, even to herself ...
Not that there was anything ... romantic ... about her longing ...
Nothing sappy like that ...
She’d just come to value his friendship ...
His decency...
His damn silly little nod.
So Robin had spent just about every minute she was home, and not eating or sleeping, in her park. She wanted to hear if he came home early. She wanted to be there when he came home. She tried not think about how he might decide, after a week of monastic reflection, that he should return to Germany so he could be closer to his daughter.
Robin jumped when she heard the knock at the park’s front door.
“Man ... ” she started, and finished with, “... cy.” when she saw her sister enter.
“Mancy?” Nancy asked.
“I thought you were someone else,” Robin said tightly, daring Nancy to tease her.
“How’re you feeling?” Nancy asked.
Nancy had called on the day after Christmas and Robin had told her about Bianca and Manfred leaving.
“Fine, I’m fine.”
“I dropped by to see if you have any excess energy you want to burn up.”