The fire engines were pulled up at the hotel entrance, where clusters of evacuated hotel guests were milling about. The night sky was a fervent yellow, choked by columns of white smoke where the fire and the water from the hoses came into contact. At the side of the building, two sprays of water crossed in midair like a pair of klieg lights. Parts of the hotel were completely engulfed by fire, glass crashing, flames curling up as a cloud of black smoke rolled out. The portion of the driveway that I could see was blocked by the fire trucks and fire hoses, emergency vehicles flashing strobes of amber light. Overhead, a helicopter hovered where a local news team was taking pictures, reporting live at the scene.
I found Ray's car keys in my blazer pocket and let myself into his rental. I started the engine and flipped the heater on. My clothes were soaked, water still trickling down my face from the hair plastered to my head. I knew I smelled of smoke, wet wool, wet denim, and damp socks. The Texas night was cold, and I could feel myself being overtaken by a bone-deep shivering. I let the engine warm up. The car was a "full-size" Ford: a four-door automatic, white with a red interior. I threw the gears into reverse and backed out of the slot, scanning the empty parking lot for signs of Gilbert.
I left my headlights off as I eased along the perimeter of the lot toward the far side. The exit was blocked by a cop with a flashlight, forcing traffic to detour. I picked a spot along a row of hedges and drove across the curb, forcing the car through the thickly growing bushes. I emerged on the access road about a hundred yards beyond the roadblock. The officer probably saw me, but there was not much that he could do. He had his hands full directing all the carloads of rubber-neckers. I turned right on the road leading back to the main highway. As I passed the miniature stone castle, I slowed, giving my horn a quick beep. Ray and Laura emerged hurriedly from the shadows, Ray toting the three bags, loaded down like a pack mule. Laura still wore the phony harness in front, the eight thousand dollars borne against her belly like an infant. The illusion of pregnancy was so convincing that Ray hovered protectively. I heard the trunk pop open, followed by the thumping impact as Ray flung the bags in the back and banged the lid down. He opened the door on the passenger side front and slid onto the seat next to me while Laura let herself in the back. I put my foot on the gas and took off with a chirp, anxious to put distance between us and the enemy.
Ray said, "We didn't think you'd show. We were just about to take off on foot." He turned around, peering through the rear window at the burning hotel behind us. "Gilbert did that?"
"One assumes," I said.
"Of course he did," Laura said peevishly. "He was probably waiting out front, ready to pick us off as we came through the revolving doors."
I glanced at her in the rearview mirror. Like Ray, she had turned to peer back at the fire. The glow on the horizon varied from blood red to salmon, a white cloud billowing where the water from the fire hoses turned to steam. "It's a hell of a blaze. How'd he manage it without accelerants?"
"Give him credit. The guy's resourceful. He's quick on his feet and he's good at improvisation," she said.
Ray turned to face forward, reaching for his seat belt, which he snapped into place. I saw him glance at me again, checking my bedraggled state. I felt like a dog left in the backyard during a sudden rain. He leaned sideways on his seat, pulling out a handkerchief that he passed me. Gratefully, I mopped at the trickles of water running down my face. "Thanks."
"You going back to the airport?"
"Not looking like this. Besides, I've already missed my... Shit!" I realized with a jolt that I'd left my plane tickets in the shoulder bag I'd abandoned. I patted my blazer pockets, but there wasn't any point. I couldn't believe it. Of all things. In my haste, I'd simply missed the airline envelope. If I'd just grabbed the ticket or, better yet, held on to the bag itself. Now all I owned were the odds and ends I carried on my person. I was nearly sick with regret. The plane ticket represented not only my return home, but most of my liquid assets. I banged on the steering wheel. "Goddamn it," I said.
Laura leaned forward against the front seat. "What's wrong?"
"I left my plane ticket back there."
"Uh-oh. Well, it's gone now," she said, stating the obvious with what looked like a smirk. If I hadn't been at the wheel, I'd have leapt in the backseat and bitten her.
Ray must have seen the expression that crossed my face. "Where we headed?" he asked, probably hoping to avoid a rabies quarantine.
"I don't even know where we are," I groused.
I pointed to the glove compartment. "You got a map in there?"
He opened the glove compartment, which was empty except for the rental car contract and a whisk broom with chewed-looking bristles. He snapped it shut and checked the passenger door pocket. I slid a hand into the pocket on my side, coming up with assorted papers, one a neatly folded map of the United States. Ray grunted with satisfaction and flipped on the overhead light. Spread out, the crackling map took up most of the available space. "Looks like you need to keep an eye out for U.S. 30 heading northeast."
"Where to?"
Laura glanced over at him. "I bet to Louisville, right?"
He turned to her. "You got a problem with that?"
"Gilbert's not a fool, Ray. Where you think he's going?"
"So the guy goes to Louisville. Who gives a shit? We're talking about a twelve-hour drive. He's never going to figure out which route we took."
"Listen, Einstein. There's only one" she said.
"Can't be. That's bullshit. There must be half a dozen," he said.
She reached over and snatched the map away. "You been in prison too long." I could hear her flap the map noisily in the backseat, refolding it while she found the section showing Dallas and points east. "Look at this. There's maybe one other way to go, but 30's the obvious choice. All Gilbert has to do is drive like a maniac and get there first."
"How's he going to find us? Once we get to town, we'll take a couple motel rooms and use fictitious names. Pay cash and call ourselves anything we want. Isn't that what you did?"
"Yeah, and look what happened. Kinsey found me in no time flat. So did Gilbert, for that matter."
"It was a fluke. Finding you was pure accident. Ask her," he said.
"I wouldn't call it a fluke," I said, taking offense.
"You know what I mean. The point is, it's not like you deduced what she was calling herself and tracked her down from that. All you did was follow her, right?"
"Yeah, but what about Gilbert? How'd he manage it?" I asked.
Ray shrugged. "He probably persuaded Farley to spill the beans."
From the backseat, Laura moaned. "Oh, jeez. Is that true? I hadn't thought about that. You think Farley's okay?"
"I can't worry about that right now," Ray said.
I glanced back at Laura, still in charge of the map. "What's the nearest big town between here and there?"
Laura checked the map again. "We get to Texarkana first and then Little Rock. After that it's Memphis, then Nashville, and straight on up. Why?"
"Because I'm heading home. We'll take a side trip to the airport in Little Rock and I'll catch a plane."
"What about your ticket?" Ray asked.
"I'll call a friend of mine. He'll help."
Laura said, "In the meantime, how about a pit stop before I wet my pants?"
"Sounds good to me," Ray said.
I watched the highway signs until I spotted an off-ramp that boasted the international symbols for food and potty chairs. Half a block off the road, we found a poorly lighted independent gas station with a cafe attached. Even Gilbert wasn't canny enough to ferret us out here. The gas tank was still very close to full, so I bypassed the pumps and parked off to one side, away from the street. Ray headed for the men's room while Laura opened the trunk and pulled out her duffel bag. "You can borrow my dress."
In the sour light of the ladies' room, I removed my Reeboks and wet socks and then peeled off my damp blazer, blue jeans, turtleneck, and sog
gy undergarments. I was shivering again, but Laura's dry clothes began to warm me almost as soon as I pulled them on. She still wore the dark green corduroy jumper with a white turtleneck under it while I was assigned the denim dress, a pair of tights, and slightly oversize tennis shoes. "See you in a minute," she said. She left the rest room, giving me a few minutes alone.
I ran water in the sink until the hot came through, then rinsed my face and doused my head, washing out the smell of smoke. I used the harsh paper toweling to dry my hair, then used my fingers to comb the strands into place. I felt a wave of nausea rush through me like a hot flash. I put my hands on the sink, leaning on my arms, while I composed myself. Sunday night and I was stuck in some nameless Dallas suburb with an ex-con, his daughter, and a papoose of illicit cash. I let out a big breath and stared at my reflection in the dingy mirror. I shrugged ruefully. Things could (probably) be worse. So far, no one had been hurt and I had a few bucks left. I was looking forward to a meal, though I'd have to depend on my companions to pay for it. As soon as we got to Little Rock, I'd put a call through to Henry, who would come to my rescue. He could wire me money, buy the airline ticket on his credit card, or some combination thereof. By morning I'd be safely tucked in my bed, catching up on my sleep while I counted my blessings.
I went back to the car, stuffing most of my damp belongings in the trunk beside Ray's suitcases. The blazer, though still damp, I carried with me into the cafe, unwilling to have it out of my sight. The place was largely empty and had a homely, neglected air. Even the locals must have eschewed the establishment, which had probably started as a mom-and-pop operation and been reduced some time since to its current orphaned state. I didn't see any flies, but the ghosts of Flies Past seemed to hover in the air. The front windows were swathed in dust from some half-finished construction across the street. Even the fake potted plants carried a powdering of soot.
Ray and Laura sat across from each other in a corner booth. I slid in beside Ray, not that eager to have his bruised and battered face in view while I was trying to eat. Laura didn't look much better. Like me, she wore no makeup, but while bare skin is my preferred state, she'd been carefully camouflaging the blows Gilbert had systematically administered. I had to guess that most of her bruises had been inflicted some time ago because the darkest discolorations had washed out to mild greens and yellows. Ray, by contrast, was a veritable rainbow of abuse, scabbed and cut and restitched here and there. I kept my gaze pinned to the menu, which offered all the standard items: chicken-fried steak and chicken-fried chicken, hamburgers, fries, BLTs, grilled-cheese sandwiches, and "fresh" soups probably poured from big cans in the back. We ordered cheeseburgers, fries, and large, nearly fizz-free Cokes. Without carbonation, the soft drinks tasted like the syrups once used as home remedies for ladies' maladies. The waitress had the good grace not to quiz my companions about their injuries.
While we ate, I said to Ray, "Just out of curiosity, once you get to Louisville, how will you figure out where the money's hidden?"
He finished a bite of burger and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. "Don't know that yet. Johnny said he'd leave word with Ma in case something happened to him, but who knows if he ever got around to it. Deal was, I'd get out of prison and come find him in California. Then the two of us would go back to Louisville and pick up the money. He wanted things ceremonial, you know, celebrate all the wait and all the hard work went into it. Any rate, as near as I can tell, wherever the money's at, it takes a key to get to."
"Which I have," I said.
"What key?" Laura asked. This was apparently news to her, and she seemed to resent that I knew more than she did.
Ray ignored her. "You still got it?"
"With a little notice, I can lay hands on it," I said.
"Good. I don't want you going off without passing it over."
"You think I'm going to help you cheat Chester out of his fair share?"
"Hey, he'd do the same to me. He'll probably cheat you, too."
"I don't even want to get into that," I said. "You think Johnny really did what he said?"
"I can't believe he'd put dough like that in limbo. He'd have a backup plan, some kind of fail-safe, in case he got hit by a car, something like that. What makes you ask? You got any ideas yourself?"
I shook my head. "It's just an interesting proposition. What's your strategy?"
"My strategy is solve that problem when I come to it," he said.
Once we hit the road again, Ray crawled in the back to sleep while I drove and Laura took his place in the passenger seat. The two of us watched the silver ribbon of highway curl away beneath us. The lights on the dashboard threw off a soft illumination. In deference to Ray, we kept the radio turned down and confined our conversation to an occasional remark. Ray began to snore, a sputtering exsufflation punctuated by quiet, as if someone were holding his nose shut at intervals. When it was clear that nothing short of a four-car flame-out was going to wake him, we began to chat in low tones.
"I take it you never had a chance to spend time with him," I said.
Laura shrugged. "Not really. My mother used to make me write once a month. She was always big on taking care of those less fortunate than we were. I can remember looking around, wondering who the hell she could be talking about. Then she remarried and seemed to forget about Ray. Made me feel guilty at first 'til I forgot myself. Little kids aren't exactly famous for satisfying other people's needs."
I said, "Actually, I think kids try to satisfy everyone. What other choice do they have? When you're dependent on someone, you better hope you keep 'em happy."
"Said like a true neurotic. Are your parents still alive?"
"No. They died together in an accident when I was five."
"Yeah. Well, imagine if one of 'em suddenly showed up one day. You live your life wishing you had a father. Then suddenly you have one and you realize you don't have the vaguest idea what to do with him." She cast an uneasy look in the backseat at Ray. If he was faking sleep, he was really good at it.
I said, "Are you close to your mother?"
"I was until Gilbert. She doesn't like him much, but that's probably because he never paid her much attention. She's a bit of a southern belle. She likes guys who fawn."
"What about your stepfather? What's the story on him?"
"He and Gilbert are as thick as thieves. He never wanted to believe Gilbert's hitting me was unprovoked. It's not like he approved. He just always assumes there's another side to it. He's the kind who says 'Well, that's your story. I'm sure Gilbert would have something else to say about this.' He prides himself on being fair, not jumping to conclusions. Like a judge, you know? He wants to hear prosecution and defense arguments before he hands down his sentence. He says he doesn't want to be judgmental. What he really means is he doesn't believe a word I say. Whatever Gilbert does, I deserve, you know? He probably wishes he could take a pop at me himself."
"What about your mother? Didn't she object to Gilbert's hitting you, or didn't she know?"
"She says whatever Paul says. It's like an unspoken agreement. She doesn't want to rock the boat. She doesn't like conflicts or disagreements. All she wants is peace and quiet. She's just so thrilled to have someone taking care of her, she doesn't want to make waves. Paul always makes out like he's doing her such a big favor being married to her. I think she was twenty-four when they met. I was maybe five years old. So there she was, with an ex-husband in jail and no means of support. The only job she ever had was working as a drugstore clerk. She couldn't make enough to survive. She had to go on welfare, which she thought was the lowest of the low. Her big shame. What the hell. She needed help. It's not like I was illegitimate, but in her eyes, it was the worst. She never wants to have to sink to that again. Besides, with Paul, she doesn't have to work. He doesn't want her to. He wants her to keep house and cater to his every whim. Not a bad deal."
"Yes, it is. It sounds grim."
Laura smiled. "I guess it does, doesn't it? Anyway, when I
was growing up, Paul was critical, authoritarian. He ruled the roost. He nearly broke his arm patting himself on the back for all he did for us. In his own way, he was good to her. He never gave a shit about me, but to be fair about it, I'm sure I was a pain. Probably still am, if it comes to that." She leaned her head back against the seat. "Are you married?"
"I was." I held up two fingers.
"You were married twice? Me too. Once to a guy with a 'substance abuse' problem," she said, using her fingers to mark the phrase with quotes.
"Cocaine?"
"That and heroin. Speed, grass, stuff like that.
The other husband was a mama's boy. Jesus, he was weak. He got on my nerves because he was so insecure. He didn't know how to do anything. Plus, he needed all this reassurance. Like what do I know? I'm hardly in a position to make somebody else feel good."
"What about Gilbert?"
"He was great, at first. His problem is, he doesn't trust, you know? He doesn't know how to open up. He can really be so sweet. Sometimes when he drinks, he busts out crying like a baby. Breaks my heart."
"Along with your nose," I said.
Chapter 15
* * *
We passed through Greenville, Brashear, Saltillo, and Mt. Vernon, crossing sparsely wooded farmland on gently rolling hills. Laura fell asleep with her head against the window. Traffic was light and the road was hypnotic. Twice I jerked myself awake, having dropped into a moment of micro-sleep. To keep alert, I reviewed my intellectual Atlas of Texarkana facts, discovering in the process that the entire category contained only two bits of information. First, the Arkansas-Texas state line bisects the town of Texarkana, so that half the population lives in Texas and half in Arkansas. And last, the town is the site of a Federal Correctional Institution, about which I knew nothing else. So much for that form of mental stimulation. On the outskirts of town, I pulled into an all-night filling station, where I stopped to stretch my legs. Ray was still dead to the world so Laura traded places with me and took the wheel. Laura pitched in five bucks and we bought exactly that much gas. It was close to ten-thirty when we crossed the state line, with approximately two hours to go until we reached Little Rock. I settled into the passenger seat, slouched on my spine, knees bent, my feet propped up on the dashboard. I crossed my arms for warmth. The remaining damp in my blazer enveloped me in a humid cloud of woolly smells. The drone of the engine combined with Ray's staccato snores had a tranquilizing effect. The next thing I knew I was drooling on myself. I put my feet down and sat up straight, feeling groggy and disoriented. We passed a highway sign that indicated we'd left U.S. 30 and were now heading north on U.S. 40. "How far to Little Rock?"