Old Wounds

by Vicki Lane

  He groaned, remembering having seen his daughter, Janie, in a similar outfit, and watched as the pair exchanged a lingering kiss outside the door of 226. As the man’s hand traveled down the curve of her skirt, the young woman turned her head and yawned.

  A sudden movement to the left caught Phillip’s eye. The door to Room 222 began to open and the silver-haired man abruptly ceased his explorations. In one eye-blurring movement, he pulled wide the door of 226, yanked his companion inside, and slammed the door firmly shut.

  A hunched form stood in the doorway of 222, head turned back and evidently speaking to someone in the room. Phillip’s hand went to his automatic but he forced himself to stillness. Not unless they both come out and try to leave, he told himself. Wait for Gabby.

  The person in Room 222 wavered, hand on the door, deep in shadow. At last the conversation came to an end and the object of Phillip’s scrutiny moved through the door and into the light.

  Phillip stared at what seemed to be an old lady. Fluffy white hair formed a halo around her gently bobbing head. Her purple sweatpants were topped by a white sweatshirt on which, as the woman passed under the light beside her door, Phillip could plainly read the words “World’s Greatest Grandma.” As she slowly moved away from the open door, Phillip could see an elderly man sitting on the edge of the bed, a walker beside him. He appeared to be absorbed in a television program.

  The old woman reached her destination—a nondescript light green car with a “We Still Pray” sticker on its rear window. She fumbled in first one pocket and then the other before locating her keys. At last she opened the back door and leaned in. After some moments of searching, she backed out, bringing with her a large shopping bag. Painfully, she began the trip back to her room, hesitated, returned to the car, locked it, and resumed her hobbling progress back to Room 222. Inside, the old man had not moved.

  Phillip watched with mounting incredulity. Sweet Jesus, did I get the room number wrong? Or the motel? He scrabbled in his shirt pocket for the little notebook and wrenched it open.

  This is where he said, all right. Phillip stared at the enigmatic door of 222. Disguises? I suppose it’s possible, but…

  He tried Gabby’s cell number again. But the same frustrating static answered his call. Next Elizabeth—house, cell, workshop—no joy. A nameless trepidation began to swell within him.

  “Goddammit to hell!” he whispered as he jumped out of his car and sprinted to the window of 222. Through the gap in the curtains he could see the old man and woman with the contents of the shopping bag laid out on the table just inside the window. A hasty glance before he returned to his car showed him a homemade picnic—sausage biscuits, a jar of applesauce, and two thick slices of layer cake.

  “What’s going on here?” he growled, grabbing his cell and keying the DC number.

  Del answered almost immediately. “Do you have it, Phil? We’re running out of time here.”

  “I think we’re close, but first you need to tell me about Landrum’s people—what do they look like?”

  “Look like? I talked to Gabby this morning and he told me he was tailing a little dark Colombian guy and a big African-American who looked like he could’ve played some football. But I told him not to worry about them anymore, because you and the lady thought you were about to crack the code. I told Gabby all he needed to do was to keep an eye on Sam’s Liz.”

  36.

  MIND IF I CALL YOU LIZ?

  Wednesday night, October 26

  “Been keeping an eye on you, Liz,” said the stranger behind the wheel. Elizabeth gasped and grabbed the door handle just as a loud click sounded.

  “These childproof locks are a fine invention. Keep you from running off when all I want is to have a little talk. Don’t mind if I call you Liz, do you? Red always called you that, and he talked about you so much, well, that’s how I’ve always thought of you.”

  The man beside her reached out and twisted a knob on the instrument panel. It lighted and in the pale glow, she could see the glitter of little metal-rimmed spectacles and gray hair pulled back in a straggling ponytail. She could also see the small automatic pistol in the man’s left hand. He held it easily, keeping it trained on her head.

  “Now, I know you’ve been taking lessons, even got your permit. Wouldn’t old Red be proud of his bride?” An unpleasant baring of crooked teeth was accompanied by a mirthless laugh. “But just so we don’t have any misunderstandings, I need to know where that piece Hawkins gave you is. I already checked your glove compartment, and it wasn’t there.”

  Like a striking snake, the stranger’s right hand shot out and fumbled at her breast through her jacket. He leaned closer, bringing the cold gun muzzle to her head while his free hand crept, fingers digging and searching, over her torso, between her legs, and down to feel around her ankles.

  “Nothing here…or here. Let’s see about…here. We just may need to have a real good pat down when I get you to the house.” The man’s breath was strong with cigarettes and rotten teeth. “I don’t suppose old Red would mind me getting up close and personal with his bride…like his buddy Hawkins has.”

  She could hardly breathe, paralyzed by shock and fear. Somehow she remained aware of the lump of metal at her back—her pistol in the little holster clipped at the back of her jeans’ waistband. She froze, motionless in her seat, hoping to buy a little time. Phillip’s on his way.

  Elizabeth turned her head away from the mocking smile of her captor to look down the dark road. She desperately wanted to see Phillip’s burly form trudging up the road. If he’s coming, I’ll need to warn him somehow—if he sees the car stopped here, he might think—

  “Looking for your boyfriend, Liz? Don’t strain your eyes; he’s off on an errand for old Gabby.”

  The hand had finished now and the man had moved back, but the automatic was still aimed at her left temple.

  “Gabby?” The word was a croak, forced from a mouth dry with fear. “Who’s Gabby? Who are you?”

  “Now, Liz, that hurts my feelings. You mean Hawkins never mentioned his old shipmate, Gunner’s Mate First Class Gabby Hayes? Gabby Hayes, sent specially from DC to help him find old Red’s little bombshell deposition? Maybe you ought to wonder what else Hawkins hasn’t told you.”

  “Mac, can you get a unit out to Ridley Branch right now? I’m on my way, but it’s going to take almost thirty minutes. I’ve got a bad feeling….”

  Phillip was speeding through the darkness toward Marshall County, cell phone pressed to his ear. The vague sense of uneasiness had blossomed into full-blown conviction. What if Gabby sent me to that place on purpose? There’s been something squirrelly about this whole setup…the way he kept me out of the loop from the beginning…and now his cell’s not working…and why the hell can’t I raise Elizabeth?

  Mackenzie Blaine’s reply didn’t help. “What do you mean, ‘on your way’?” the sheriff said. “You should have been there forty-five minutes ago, by the schedule you gave me. Listen, Hawk, I’ve got a small department and we’re stretched thin as it is. I can’t keep a man out there 24/7. What about those Mexican fellows? They’re there, right?”

  Phillip groaned. “This is their wrestling night. They’re probably in Asheville, unless they waited—but Elizabeth would have told them I was on my way. Dammit all, Mac, this may be bad! Listen…”

  He put his foot down, maintaining a steady, if illegal, seventy-five. A cold misgiving lay like a lump of lead in the pit of his stomach.

  Elizabeth watched helplessly as her captor slid from the driver’s seat and walked around the car to her door, all the while continuing to train the automatic pistol on her. He’s the one Phillip’s been talking to…but he’s supposed to be working with Phillip…why is he threatening me? She could hear James’s high-pitched barking. All three dogs were probably on the porch, waiting for their long overdue supper. Three rottweilers, that’s what I need. But he’d just shoot them.

  A terrible thought hit her. As the ponytailed man o
pened the door and motioned her out, she could see the three dogs trotting down the path toward him.

  “They won’t bite!”

  Even as she said it, the dogs had stopped. Molly began to whine, but James whirled and dashed away, tail tight between his legs. Ursa and Molly held out another uneasy moment, but as the man called Gabby made an abrupt move in their direction, the pair whirled and ran, following James to the safety of under the porch.

  “Well, what about that! They remember old Gabby.” The steel-rimmed glasses glittered at her.

  “Remember…?” Understanding dawned. “You were the one who tore up my house…but, why? What was the point of that? And what do you want with me now?”

  Keep him talking. The bulk of the snub-nosed revolver nestled against the small of her back was a distant comfort. If he doesn’t think of looking there, I still might have a chance….

  No sooner had the words formed in her mind than they were overridden by a second voice. Right. Forget it, Elizabeth. He’s holding a gun on you.

  But say he puts the gun down…for some reason.

  Gabby jerked his head toward the house. “Ladies first, Liz. We’ll talk about what I want once we get inside.”

  All the strength seemed to have gone out of her legs, and the walk along the uneven stone path was unexpectedly difficult. The pistol riding at her back felt huge, and with each step she expected that the man following her would notice it.

  But the heavy barn coat and the lack of light were her allies: she reached the porch with her secret still undiscovered. Gabby pushed by her to the front door.

  “Why, Liz, you’ve locked it! Was it me ruint your faith in mankind?” His mocking words were accompanied by a brusque gesture with the gun toward the lock. “Open it.”

  She obeyed, reaching for the key in her pocket, and was stunned by an excruciating pain as Gabby knocked her hand back. An involuntary gasp escaped her.

  “Ah, ah!” The hand dove into her jacket pocket and retrieved the door key on its metallic blue mini-carabiner. “Allow me.” With a gesture of mock gallantry, Gabby opened the door and stood aside to let her enter. “Now let’s go in and have our little talk, Liz.”

  Inside, he flipped on the lights and glanced around in amusement. “Can’t even tell I was here. You three did a real good job cleaning up.”

  Elizabeth stood hunched and shivering, even in her heavy coat. Something didn’t make sense, something …How does he know who cleaned up? And where the hell is Phillip?

  Her breath was coming in shuddering gulps but she forced herself to ask, “What do you want? I don’t understand what this is about.”

  “Why, Liz, I expected more of you. Red always told us how smart you were, and your boyfriend Phil seems to think highly of you too. He said you’ve just about figured out where old Red hid that deposition of his.”

  The cold eyes behind the little glasses studied her. “Well, I’ve got other plans for that deposition, and I’m tired of waiting. I want you to get that Waldo book you and Phil been puzzling over. You and me’ll see if we can’t untangle Red’s message.”

  37.

  WHERE’S WALDO?

  Wednesday night, October 26

  “Waldo?” She spoke the word, and instantly the germ of a desperate diversion formed in her mind. “How did you know—Oh, of course, Phillip must have told you.”

  “Let’s just say I found out. Now I want to see that special book.” Gabby emphasized his demand with a thrust of the automatic in her direction.

  Elizabeth hesitated, weighing the chances of her idea. “It’s…back there, in a bookcase by the guest room. Do you want me to—”

  “I’ll just go along with you. Don’t want you doing anything stupid.”

  As she led him to the bookcase where an assortment of books were kept—light reading and children’s books for the entertainment of various visitors—her mind was racing furiously. I know it’s there and I think I remember that it’s pretty marked up. If I can just stall him for a while, till Phillip gets here, maybe there’s a chance….

  Where’s Waldo? that perennially favorite picture book, was buried under several Doonesbury collections, an album of Gary Larson cartoons, and a battered Calvin and Hobbes. She disinterred the volume and held it out to Gabby, who looked skeptically at the brightly colored cover.

  “This is the book Red gave you? Said it was so important or whatever the fuck it was?”

  She hurried to provide a plausible explanation. “It didn’t make any sense to me at the time, but now…” Her hands were shaking as she opened the book. Please let this work.

  Where’s Waldo? had been a favorite with her girls. They had spent hours poring over its pictures of densely packed crowd scenes in search of Waldo with his striped stocking hat and round glasses. And when that had ceased to be entertaining, they had embellished the already crowded pages with their own drawings and remarks.

  “See,” she said, opening to the first page where a dialogue balloon had been drawn over Waldo’s head, saying, in Rosemary’s careful, minuscule printing, “‘You found me but can you find six apples and a sponge?’ And on the next page—”

  “And this is supposed to tell you where he put the photos and the deposition?” Gabby took the book from her and glared at it. “Where’s all the notes and shit you two were making about this so-called code?”

  “I guess Phillip took them with him this morning…. I think he was going to try to—”

  He stood there, squinting at the page in front of him, then, motioning with the pistol, followed her back to the living room and directed her to the end of one of the sofas. He took the seat to her left and, laying his weapon on the empty cushion beside him, began to study the pages with their teasing commentary.

  “What’s this? ‘Look on Chapter 3’…and on Chapter 3 there’s an arrow pointing to a truck…and the sign on the truck says…”

  Jammed into the corner of the sofa, Elizabeth was breathlessly aware of her gun at her back, still hidden by the heavy coat—and Gabby’s pistol, so near to his hand. Not a prayer, not now. Oh, Phillip, where are you?

  She had to fight to keep her eyes from turning toward the dining room, where, around a corner and just out of sight from the living room, the marked copy of Walden and the sheaf of paper with her and Phillip’s copious notes were stacked on a chair seat. Stupid! Why did we leave them out in plain view?

  After only a few minutes of paging through the picture book, Gabby looked up from the bright illustrations. His eyes narrowed.

  “I believe you’ve been messing with me, Liz. That’s what I think. And that makes me mad.”

  The chilly fury in his voice forestalled any further explanation she might have tried.

  “I thought it was Waldo or some name like that, but this—” He tossed the book away from him. “—this is shit. I’ll just check on something here, refresh your memory like. Then maybe you’ll be a little more helpful, Liz.”

  She watched as Gabby pulled a small electronic device of some sort from his pocket. Slightly larger than a television’s remote control, it had a little display screen which lighted as he punched a button.

  “Hours of stuff on here—mostly boring. I erased that. But I saved the parts where you two were talking about the key Red gave you and what this and that might mean.” A grin creased his weather-beaten face. “I saved some other parts—for my listening pleasure, you could say. Long about oh-three-sixteen’s a good one.”

  He pressed a tab and the little device hummed. A second press and she heard a tinny variation of her own voice. “…can talk about it another time.”

  There was the creak of bedsprings, giggling, and more. Quite a bit more. Elizabeth looked away from Gabby, who was listening with rapt attention. Her face was blazing hot.

  He has my bedroom bugged…the whole house maybe. Did he do that when he tore the place apart? Or—

  “I really like the part where you start making those little squealing noises and old Phil starts huffing a
nd puffing.” He had turned off the recorder now and was looking at her appraisingly. “Pretty hot stuff for folks our age. But you might want to think about the strain on Phil’s ticker. The way you two lovebirds been going at it, he’s likely to drop dead right on top of you one of these nights.”

  His hand reached out and slid inside her jacket and under the layers of flannel and knit to run lasciviously over her breasts.

  “Bet I could make you squeal, Liz.” The rough fingers clamped around a nipple with a vicious twist.

  She stifled an exclamation, biting down on her lip. Her eyes began to drip tears and her whole body stiffened in fear and revulsion. The hand withdrew.

  “Liz, baby, that’s nothing. You don’t give me your full cooperation, I’ll show you what real pain is.”

  Gabby cocked his head and studied her. “No offense, Liz, but you’re a little old for my taste—I like ’em fresh.” He continued to appraise her, seemingly toying with some interesting thought. “Still, it’s been a time since I had me someone…expendable. And if you don’t help me out, that’s what you’ll be—expendable.”

  And if I do, I’ll be even more…expendable.

  The recorder began again and she closed her eyes as she heard the unmistakable sounds once more.

  “That’s another good one, but we don’t have time for fun just now, do we, Liz?” Gabby frowned and keyed the little device again. “Somewhere, right about…here.”