"I would never have harmed you. Sawyer."
She shook her head viciously, her blond hair flying off her shoulders. "I once believed that about Kenny; Alan, that he could never harm me. When I was having so much trouble establishing an alliance with Elly; you taught me an important lesson about transference, remember? Don't forget the lesson you taught me. God knows that I never have."
I stepped toward and embraced her from behind, my hands folded over her abdomen, my face buried in her hair, she crossed her arms over her chest and grabbed one of my arms with each hand. I felt her ass against my groin.
The room lights flickered, and I wondered how to move away, feeling desperately how much I didn't want to.
The lights darkened once again, staying off for two or three seconds before returning.
I inhaled the smell of her and filtered through a thousand memories before I thought of Lauren, and the room went dark again.
This time it stayed dark.
"Power failure," Sawyer said. "Ooooh. Where wera you when the lights went out?"
I reached past her and parted the curtains, the alley lights were dark, and the traffic signals at the comer were black dots. Through the walls of the adjacent room I heard an anxious voice saying. "What? What is it?"
"It's not just the hotel," I said, pointing at the street. "It looks like this whole part of the city is dark."
She turned and faced me, our bodies now in full contact, our lips inches apart. I could taste her breath and feel the air stir as it caressed my skin. I wondered which one of us would look away first.
She tensed and looked to one side and then the other, she furrowed her forehead and said. "Oh, shit, alan. Do you think?"
Immediately: I knew what she was talking about. I yanked her backward away from the window, and she tumbled on top of me onto the bed, her weight on me was a comfort, and I felt the contours of her body as familiar and precious, like the memory residue of a special old aroma.
Our chests were heaving from the combination of emotions. Each inhale heightened my arousal. I stammered. "We should phone Milt."
She didn't move, she admitted. "Probably. But he'll tell us to stay where we are, don't you think?"
"Probably." I didn't know what to do with my hands.
"I'm not sure this is a good idea." I said.
"Staying here?" Her voice was a murmur, she was gazing at me through bedroom eyes.
"No. Staying in this position."
She didn't move right away, she asked. "You're sure?" I felt her hips rotate and I knew I was getting hard.
"Sawyer, at this moment. I'm not even sure of my name."
She started to smile. Outside, a car braked hard, tires squealed, and time stood still as the protracted screech ended in a vicious crash. Seconds later, someone yelled. "Anybody have a phone? Somebody call 9”. On no! We need an ambulance!"
I started to get up, and Sawyer rolled off of me onto her back, onto the bed, her top had ridden up, and I could see the swell of the bottom of her breasts, she didn't try to cover herself. I turned my attention to the window, pulling back the draperies an inch or two.
"I can't see anything, the accident." I said, turning back to her.
She put her hands behind her head and her top rode up even higher, at that moment. I recalled every contour of her nipples, they were small, with aureoles no larger than nickels, they would grow hard with the slightest touch.
I exhaled, and my voice came out too loud. "I'll call Milt." I said, moving to the other side of the bed. I grabbed the phone and punched in the number for Milt's room, he picked up on the first ring, obviously groggy.
"Milt? It's Alan, the power's out in the hotel, in this whole part of town, actually. I doubt if it means anything, but I'm feeling a little paranoid."
He was quiet for a few seconds, maybe ten. I said. "Hello? Milt?"
His tone was crisp, authoritative, he said. "It's probably nothing. But get away from the window and stay where you are. I'll be down in a minute. Three knocks. Check me through the peephole."
"Okay. Um. Sawyer's here, too."
"I know,” he said, his tone packed with disapproval.
Before the receiver was back on its cradle. Sawyer asked, "What did he say?"
"He said to stay put, he's coming down."
"I told you so." With her right hand she pulled her top down and covered her breasts.
For some reason I'm not sure I want to understand, at that moment I remembered I had the Glock.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Milt's nostrils kept flaring as though he were sniffing for the odors of sex.
His manner was disapproving. My guilt said it was about Sawyer and me being alone in my hotel room, but his gruffness could have been typical of him after he had been waked up to baby-sit relative strangers, he said hello to each of us without making eye contact with either of us, told us where to sit— Sawyer on one side of the bed, me on the other— and got on his cell phone, surprisingly; to Sam Purdy, he explained to Sam what was going on and asked if Sam could make a call or two to try to figure it out.
We sat in silence for two or three minutes waiting for the phone to ring again. When it did. Milt listened uninterrupted to Sam for most of a minute, before he said. "Thanks. Yeah, tomorrow."
He pinned me with his eyes. "There's a short in a transformer in a substation. Sam said something about a fried raccoon." He made a face that I interpreted as "That kind of shit doesn't happen in Evanston." He continued.
"Are you two in any immediate danger? I think not. If our guy wanted you to leave the room, to leave the hotel, he would have set a fire or set off the fire alarm and waited to ambush you as you evacuated, and ambushing people in public isn't his style. I don't see how this helps him, blacking out part of the town. Do either of you see a margin in this?"
I shook my head politely., feeling as though I had been summoned to the principal's office. Sawyer was examining her nails, she said. "No. It doesn't make sense, we overreacted."
"Then let's call it a coincidence and say we all try to get some sleep."
No one moved. Milt offered his hand to Sawyer. "Come on. Doctor. I'll see you back upstairs."
She said. "That's really not necessary."
He said. "But it will be my pleasure. Don't want to take any foolish risks, right?" I thought I saw the shadow of a smirk on his face as he turned to me. "Double-lock this door. Put out your 'Do not disturb.' Don't order room service. Keep those curtains closed."
"You mean you want me to forsake this view?" I said.
After they left I lay in the dark for half an hour, not even thinking about sleeping, the power grid came back on line in a startling flash of light, and I wasted anothea half hour or so flipping through the channels on the TV, trying to understand why infomercials were proliferating. I think I managed to spend some of the remainder of the night sleeping, the rest of it wondering whether I actually would have had sex with her.
The bedside phone rang at 5:’7, as I was trying to make sense of my surroundings, my dreams, my erection, and the insanely loud noise blaring beside my head, my pulse raced to a level that evolution intended only as response to the assault of a wild animal.
By the third or fourth ring. I had puzzled out that I was in a hotel room and that the phone required attention. In rapid sequence. I thought: Hospital. Oh shit. Lauren, and scrambled after the receiver. I mumbled a "Hello" that caught in my throat. It felt as though I would choke on the word.
"Dr. Gregory?"
Did I recognize that voice? I said. "Yes."
"Reggie here. Reggie Loomis. Hope I didn't wake you."
Thank God it wasn't the hospital.
I glanced at the clock. "It's barely five o'clock in the morning. Reggie. Of course you woke me."
He said. "Sorry," but he didn't sound it. "I have a onetime offer for you and your lady friend. But it doesn't include the cop."
How did he figure Sam for a cop? I rubbed my eyes as though greater visual clarity w
ould help me at the moment. "I'm waiting."
"Here's the situation. My ride— the church lady with the big Chevy?— she can't help me deliver the breakfast meals this morning, her son is home sick from school. Fever. Rash. I know you have a big car, here's the deal. You give me a ride around to drop off food at the shut-ins, and while we're driving around. I'll tell you and your lady friend what I know about all this D. B. Cooper propaganda that you both seem so goldamed interested in."
The offer was curious. Why was Reggie suddenly so willing to spill the beans about D. B. Cooper? During my previous visits, he'd been evasive about the legend, and he certainly hadn't been responsive to Sawyer's frontal assault the night before. This was a contingency specialist; I felt confident that he must have alternative backup transportation to deliver his meals. Why did he want us? And why did he want to talk about D. B. Cooper?
I tried to remember my work schedule. My morning was free. I thought, until about ten forty-five, and then I had patients stacked like a wedding cake until dinnertime. "I need to check my calendar and find Sawyer and see if she's interested. I'll get back to you."
"No can do,” he insisted. "We need to leave here by six-thirty at the latest. Yes or no?"
I exhaled and pulled the covers around me with my free hand. Did I fear Reggie Loomis? Did I even consider it a possibility that he was involved in this conspiracy that had consumed my life since Arnie Dresser's funeral?
No, I didn't
Did I care enough about this D. B. Cooper thing to take his offer? Not really. But something was telling me that there was more to be learned from this errand than this old man's musings on the legend of an ancient hijacker, maybe something about Corey Rand, that interested me.
And. I reminded myself. I'd get to do some good, help some people who needed help.
I said "Okay, we'll be there at six-fifteen."
"I'll have plenty of coffee, and don't worry about eating first. This shift includes breakfast, of course."
I remembered the aromas of the previous evening. "Cinnamon rolls and baked eggs."
"Not to mention fresh fruit cups with mint. I found some killer pomegranates at Alfalfa's. Pomegranate juice does things for the rest of the fruit that you just won't believe."
Sawyer climbed into my car right on schedule at 6:’0.
I greeted her warmly but was careful not to touch her, keeping both my hands on the wheel. I felt awkward, she seemed serene. "How did you get away?" I asked. "Wasn't A.J, suspicious?"
She nodded, blowing warm air onto her fingers. "Does this thing have heated seats?"
"No."
"Too bad. I just told her that you and I were going to have breakfast together before you went to work, she didn't seem to be worried about it."
"If Milt had been there, he wouldn't have let you go."
She cupped her hands around her mouth again. I heard her blow through her fingers. "Milt was there. I think, a. J, closed her door behind her when she came out to ask me about the phone call. I think he was in there with her."
"Huh5" I managed, momentarily trying to picture the parameters of that tryst before allowing my mind to wander elsewhere.
Sawyer asked. "So Reggie's offered to tell us what he knows about D. B. Cooper? That's why we're doing this?"
"That's the offer. I'm actually hoping to learn more about Corey Rand than about D. B. Cooper. Rand is the one who was so consumed with him— Cooper, maybe we can get Reggie talking about Rand's fixation."
"What about Sam?"
"Reggie said the cop wasn't welcome."
"He made Sam for a cop?"
"Apparently."
She lowered her hands to her legs and slid them beneath her thighs. "Reggie could have some guilty knowledge. You thought about that?"
"Yes; I have."
"And we're delivering food?"
"To shut-ins, we're going to be do-gooders this morning. Sawyer."
She shivered. "I have two questions."
"Yes?"
"First, why on earth do shut-ins want to eat breakfast so early? Why don't they sleep in?"
"Sorry, I can't help you with that one. Second?"
"Do you want to talk about last night?"
I flicked on my headlights, checked my mirrors, pulled away from the curb, and said, "No, I don't think so."
As I drove west on Kalmia on the way to Reggie's house I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw the first glow of light in the eastern sky, the moment I turned left onto Fourth. I noticed that Reggie was standing on the four-by-four slab of concrete that sufficed as his front porch.
Sawyer and I strolled up the walk. Reggie didn't say good morning, he said. "You're late."
I pulled my left hand out of my pocket and checked my watch, the time was precisely 6:’7. "Two minutes?" I said.
"Excuse me? If your patients are two minutes late for therapy, do you let them get away with it?"
The truth was that usually I did. But I admitted his argument by saying, "No. I guess not." Left unsaid was that I didn't schedule appointments with my patients on one hour's notice at six-fifteen in the morning.
Reggie huffed. "Well, we'll just have to make up the lost time along the way. Let's get these meals loaded into the car. I'm afraid that your coffee and rolls will have to wait."
Sawyer didn't make the slightest move toward the front door. In an even voice, she said. "Don't be petty; Reggie, we get our coffee now or we don't work. It's that simple."
I smiled. This was the woman I remembered.
Reggie's catering service was, no surprise, organized with the precision of an operating room or an airplane galley. Separate storage units kept the hot food hot, the cold food cold, and the room-temperature supplies, room-temperature. Moments after closing tha doors, the interior of the car smelled like a Paris cafe, but without the permeation of Gauloises.
"Where to?" I asked.
Reggie was riding shotgun. "We'll head south and work our way back to this end of town, we have some canyon stops to make, too."
"Broadway?"
"Yes. First home on the list is right below N-CAR."
"Is that tarragon I smell?"
"Yes. It is."
His directions were flawless, as we arrived at a nondescript split-level with a million-dollar view, he gave us the drill. "My guests are not accustomed to their homes being invaded by strangers. Mrs. Savage, my usual driver, accompanies me inside to help set up the meal and to collect the dishes from our previous visit. I would like one of you to do the same at each house. You may alternate. You should each get a feel for this work that I do."
I'd finished my coffee. Sawyer's hands were firmly wrapped around her mug. I said. "I'll do the first one."
I popped the rear hatch of the Land Cruiser and stepped around to open it. Reggie prepared the first tray; choosing a large cup of fresh fruit, a ramekin of baked eggs, and a cinnamon roll the size of his fist, he drew coffee from a big urn into an insulated pitcher and added small cartons of skim milk and orange juice to the tray. "I used to do fresh-squeezed. But I'm afraid it wasn't totally appreciated,” he explained, apologizing for the carton of Tropicana.
"This is a young widow. Mrs. Levitt, her husband was killed in a traffic accident that caused her severe injuries, she has been one of my guests for almost six months. By the way, I will not be introducing you to her as 'Doctor.' I'm not intending to diminish your stature, but for most of my guests, presenting you as 'Doctor' would be intrusive and confusing. I'm confident that you understand." He looked at his watch before lifting the tray. "We continue to run a few minutes behind schedule. I allow seven minutes inside each house, except for the last one. I alternate which guest comes last for each meal, and I linger there with that guest, visiting. I’ve explained this to you already."
I nodded.
Reggie opened the front door with a key. Inside, he pointed me toward the kitchen and explained I would find the previous meal's dishes in a brown paper bag on the sink. I was to retrieve them and wait b
y the door.
I heard the sounds of the Today show, Katie teasing Matt about something, and Mrs. Levitt's high-pitched, excited voice greeting Reggie, she started cooing ovea the breakfast tray: and Reggie began asking about her children, about a minute later. I heard. "Mr. Gregory?"
I followed the sounds of the TV and found Reggie sitting beside Mrs. Levitt on an awful chartreuse sofa in the living room. Mrs. Levitt was indeed young; I guessed late twenties, she was painfully thin and pale and was covered to her waist by a chenille blanket, a thin scar extended upward from her right ear, across her temple, and disappeared into her hairline. One arm hung useless by her side, she raised the other one to shake my hand. I stepped forward and touched it gently. "This is so kind of you,” she said. "Helping like this."
"It's my pleasure to help." At that moment, it was.
"My balance isn't very good anymore, and with only one arm.., well, you know. Mr. Loomis is a lifesaver."
We visited for maybe two more minutes, until Reggie began a gracious transition to the door. I followed his cue. Moments later we were back in the Land Cruiser on our way to a house just south of the Bureau of Standards. I poured myself more coffee while Reggie and Sawyer delivered breakfast to an elderly male inhabitant of a brick ranch that was dwarfed by junipers.
Our next two stops were tract homes in Martin Acres, followed by a cluttered one-bedroom apartment near Baseline and the Boulder Turnpike. Thus far. I realized, the stops had been no more than three or foua minutes apart.
I was well aware that I had nothing in my stomach but a couple of mugs of coffee.
I was also well aware that thus far no one had mentioned D. B. Cooper.
THIRTY-EIGHT
I waited patiently, I thought, through one more breakfast stop, this one at an apartment building behind the old CU Credit Union building on Baseline. While Sawyer and Reggie delivered the breakfast tray, I went around to the back of the car and poured myself another mug of coffee, they returned right on schedule, and as soon as they were buckled back into their seat belts. I asked. "Well, Reggie, what about D. B. Cooper? You said you would fill us in."
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