The Lights of Tenth Street

  “Maybe they’ll call us back before the morning.”

  “Maybe. If they don’t, I’ll try again first thing.” He looked at Ronnie. “You agree?”

  Ronnie nodded. She lifted her hands in a gesture of futility. “I don’t know if that’s enough, but what else can we do? I just can’t think straight anymore.”

  Doug looked at his watch. “I’ll call them again in half an hour, just in case. But I’m afraid the answer may not be much different. You might as well go to sleep. I’ll wake you up if anything changes.”

  Sherry smiled and got off the bed. She gestured the girls to get under the covers and, just as she would with Brandon and Genna, tucked them in. She grinned down at the two heads, peeping tiredly out from under the blankets.

  “I would kiss you good-night, too, but that’s probably going a bit far.”

  The two girls giggled, the words growing distant in their ears. Ronnie sobered and looked up at her hosts.

  “Thank you. I don’t know … I don’t know what we would’ve done without you.”

  Doug put his arm around Sherry. “God wanted you here. Both of you. We’ll talk more in the morning.” He reached to turn out the light. “Good-night.”

  “Good-night.”

  The light went off, and two scared young women were asleep almost before the door had closed, shutting them in to the gentle darkness.

  Across town, teams of dark distorted figures gathered, drawn by an activity that never ceased to rejuvenate them. They hovered like vultures around the big warehouselike building, growing more energized by the minute. One giant creature, his face contorted with foul delight, held firm control. The men gathered around the broken woman below him were trying to get information. He, however, was just enjoying the show.

  Tyson watched the brutal spectacle, sickened and stimulated despite himself. Proxy’s eyes gleamed at the woman’s screams, his face contorted with pleasure equal to her pain. She had held out for a long time—more time than Tyson would have given her. But in the end, she had told them. Of course, she had told them.

  And still, the screams rang in his ears. Proxy would not stop. There was nothing more she could say; nothing more she could give them. Except for the gratification of her suffering.

  And so she suffered, begging, in her coherent moments, for mercy. For it to be over quickly. Begging God to take her life; pouring out long-lost religious sentiments that seemed to drive Proxy to a frenzy, making it worse.

  “Shut up!” He lashed out with fervor. “You hear me? Shut up!”

  The woman, bloodied and battered, seemed to gather a final force of will. She stared up at Proxy and quoted the old words that Tyson had heard somewhere before.

  “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil … for thou art with me.” She faltered, then seemed to remember more. “Thy rod and Thy staff … they comfort me.”

  Proxy clamped his hands over his ears. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

  “Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of my enemies.…”

  Proxy turned from the chair where she was tied and screamed at Tyson. His eyes were opaque, his pupils dilated.

  “Get the video camera!”

  “Thou anointest my head with oil, my cup runneth …”

  Proxy snatched the video camera from Tyson, adjusted the focus, and handed it back.

  “Keep it running.”

  Suddenly, the wild look was gone from his eyes, the flint-hearted businessman back in place. His voice was deadly calm. “As we know, snuff films fetch a great price.”

  Proxy snapped at one of Tyson’s henchmen standing off to the side. The man came forward and handed his master a gun. Proxy cocked it and pointed it at the woman who had nowhere to go.

  Maris looked directly into the video camera lens, her voice weak. “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.

  There was a ringing crash, and she gasped and slumped in her seat.

  Tyson lowered the camera as the voice, small and receding, resounded in his head.

  “… and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

  Proxy gestured for Tyson to switch the camera off, then called one of the henchmen over.

  “Get that tape to our regular channels.” He wiped down the gun and returned it. “I don’t know that there’s been a film of a real live FBI agent in the pipeline before. Should fetch a good price.”

  He took Tyson’s arm and steered him out of the room and up the stairs to Tyson’s office.

  “We’re going to have to shift all plans to New Year’s Eve.” He looked at his watch. “That’s tonight … twenty-two hours away.” He stared at Tyson, daring him to disagree.

  Tyson nodded. “It’ll be tight, but there’s no other choice. We do not know where the Palm Pilot is, don’t know where the girls are. We can’t risk it.”

  “Do you think she was telling the truth, that she just asked that stripper to hide it? That the girl had no instructions what to do with it?”

  “I don’t know.” Tyson stared at a portfolio on his desk that showed pictures of all of Marco’s girls. He focused on the picture labeled “Ronnie Hanover/Macy,” and his eyes narrowed. “You were pretty thorough. I can’t imagine that the woman could’ve held anything back.”

  “Yes.” The word came out like a hiss, the eyes gleaming with a hint of their previous unearthly malice. “Yes. There was nothing held back. But still, we cannot take the risk. Those girls were chosen for their quick-wittedness. Let’s call in the principals.” He waved a hand. “Call! Wake them up! Wake everybody up! I will call our client and inform him of the change.”

  “He may not be pleased.”

  “He’ll be pleased enough. Enough to stick to our original agreement.”

  “We’ll be working right up until the last minute,” Tyson said. “How do we leave the country?”

  “We’ll head to the jet a few minutes before midnight. We should be on the runway by the time everything happens, already cleared for takeoff Presuming none of the operators have our little gadget in the traffic control tower—” he flashed Tyson a wicked smile—“we should be wheels up before anyone knows what’s happened.”

  “It’s going to be tight.”

  “Then get going.” Proxy paused and poked a finger at Tyson’s chest. “And assign as many people as you have to, to find that girl. Get a team posted downtown to watch the FBI building, just in case she knows more than we think. Go search every apartment of every coworker. Go find her family, her friends, her lovers. I don’t care how you take her out—just do it.”

  Tyson turned the portfolio of pictures so Proxy could see it. “Are you sure you don’t want us to bring her in instead, chief? After all, we need to find out what she knows—what she’s done … don’t we?”

  Those unearthly eyes again, as he stared at the lovely girl. “Ahh. Yes. We do.”

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  Good morning.” Ronnie stood in the kitchen doorway, blinking sleepy eyes.

  Sherry looked up from her paper. “Good morning, Ronnie.” She got up and gave the girl a hug. “Can I get you something for breakfast?”

  “Uh … well, if you’re sure.”

  “Well, you know, we normally tell houseguests they can sleep here, but no food!” She smiled as Ronnie blushed, and gently guided her to a chair at the kitchen table. “How about some pancakes? I was just making some for the kids.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “Is Tiffany still asleep?”

  “No, she’ll be down in a minute.” Ronnie looked around. “What’s that noise?”

  “Oh, that’s the PBS morning cartoons being played at high volume.” She stuck her head through the door to the living room. “Turn that down! And come say hello to Miss Hanover.”

  Two children still in pajamas shuffled into sight, looking shy. Sherry made the introductions, and Ronnie smiled at the kids.

  “Hi there. What were you watching?”
r />   “Barney!” The little girl clapped her hands.

  “It was her turn to pick,” her brother explained in disgust. “I wanted to watch Power Cars.”

  Genna ran over to Ronnie. “Want to come see?”

  Ronnie raised an eyebrow at Sherry. “Go ahead, if you can stand it. The pancakes will be ready in five minutes.”

  Genna tugged on her arm, and Ronnie got up and followed along. She listened through two Barney songs as Genna sang along. During a break in the show, Brandon said, “TV turn to Power Cars.”

  The commercial disappeared and cartoon race cars began zooming across the screen.

  Genna wailed and ran for her mother as Ronnie moved toward the television to investigate. Sure enough—the Turners had one of Glenn’s voice-activated remotes.

  She ran her hands across the smooth black surface. She had been so upset with Glenn that she had thrown out the one he’d given her, smashing it in the Dumpster of their apartment complex. Tiffany had protested, but Ronnie said they had enough money they could buy one if they really wanted one.

  Sherry appeared in the doorway to mediate the conflict, and Ronnie slipped away to go get Tiffany.

  Sherry separated the two kids and—to loud wails—turned off the television. She went to check on the pancakes and found Doug in the kitchen, dressed for work.

  “Hi, sweetheart.” He gave her a kiss and settled at the breakfast table, swiping her newspaper.

  “What did they say?”

  Doug made a face. “Just like last night, I couldn’t get through to anyone with decision-making authority. They were still in the middle of that other crisis. I think they’re more open for business in about an hour. I’ll call again from the office.”

  “You’re going to work, after all?”

  “Yeah, got a few things to cover before we knock off for New Year’s Eve.” He looked around and lowered his voice. “What do you want to do about our little get-together with the Woodwards?”

  “Well, I think we should just go ahead as planned, and include Ronnie and Tiffany. It won’t be the same—”

  “But it’s the right thing to do.”

  Sherry smiled at her husband. “But it’s the right thing to do.” She walked over and kissed the top of his head. “I love your heart.”

  “I don’t know. I’m still pretty selfish inside. I was looking forward to a fun, relaxing evening with good friends.”

  “Yeah, me, too. But it’s possible the girls will be with us for quite a while. We need to make them feel at home.” She lowered her voice, glancing to ensure their children couldn’t overhear. “Do you think it’s safe, though?”

  “We already talked about that—last night; don’t you remember?”

  “I was dead tired last night, dear heart! I just remember you saying something about trusting God to protect us and then I must have dropped off.”

  “Dropped off! Jumped off is more like it. Snoring within ten seconds.”

  She flapped a spatula at him. “Watch it, you!”

  He went to the stove and wrapped his arms around his wife. He pulled her against him. “Mmm. I’m so thankful I have you back.”

  “Me, too, sweetheart.” She made no move to escape. “So what did you say last night?”

  “I simply said,” he kissed the top of her hair, “that I think we’re doing what the Lord wants us to do. We’re welcoming strangers in His name. I have to think that this is why we were all so pressed to pray last night. I might feel differently if I had any kind of a check from the Lord, but I don’t.”

  “I don’t either.” Sherry’s voice came out slowly. “I feel like … somehow … we’re in the right place at just the right time for these girls. And if God has steered them here, well … I guess it’s His job to protect us. I guess I shouldn’t worry so much about it. It’s high time we started doing the stuff instead of just talking about it. I do think, though, that it’s prudent to be cautious and keep some firm rules. You were right to tell the girls not to make or accept any phone calls last night, just in case someone was trying to track them.”

  Ronnie heard murmuring in the kitchen as she and Tiffany walked back in. Doug was standing close behind his wife at the stove, his arms around her as the two carried on a soft conversation.

  They broke off when they heard footsteps, smiling, welcoming Tiffany, shooing them into some chairs, laying out fruit, pancakes and syrup. Ronnie allowed herself to be served, her heart aching at the image of Doug and Sherry snuggling at the stove.

  Was this something she’d ever have? This happy home life—the husband, the two kids, the pretty house with a secure job and the respect of the community? No, she didn’t belong here. This wasn’t her world.

  She stared out the pass-through from the kitchen, watching the morning sun stream through a bay window onto the neutral-colored sofas. Her world wasn’t one of gentle lights and morning sun; it was one of darkness, of hard neon, of pounding music and sights that would shock respectable people.

  She hardly listened as Sherry and Doug asked Tiffany questions about herself, putting the pieces together, questioning another girl from the wrong side of town.

  Why did they care? Was this all pretense? Why would perfect strangers take in two scared strippers—two prostitutes—give them a bed, breakfast, and what looked like friendship, no strings attached? It didn’t add up. Their nice religious sentiments made no sense to Ronnie. What were they getting from it?

  She watched as Tiffany warmed to the couple—she had derisively called the house “yuppieville” last night when she and Ronnie were changing—and began answering their questions, telling these perfect strangers more than anyone at the club knew about her. And all because they seemed to actually care.

  “Now, ladies.” Doug broke her reverie, his voice turning serious. “We need to figure out what to do about everything that happened last night. I have some ideas, if you want to hear them.”

  Both girls nodded.

  “The FBI opens for regular business in less than an hour. I’m going to call them from the office, and see if we can make better headway. But in the meantime, Ronnie, I’m wondering if we can attack this on two fronts. If we could figure out what Maris put on that Palm Pilot that was so all-fired important, we might be able to get more attention from the FBI.”

  “You’d think,” Tiffany broke in, her voice angry, “that it would be enough to explain that we suspect Maris was an agent and she said to bring the Palm Pilot in immediately.”

  “You would.” Doug sighed. “But I’ve actually known a few policemen and even an FBI agent before, and they can be both incredibly busy and incredibly cynical. They see hoaxes and juvenile plays for attention all the time. Those things take just as much time as the real leads. And we don’t even know if Maris was her real name, so it may not be in their system at all. I think it usually takes them some time to sift through things and figure out whether something is worth following up on or not.”

  “And Maris thought it was urgent. A matter of national security, she said.” Ronnie frowned. “Of course, I don’t know what ‘urgent’ really means. She didn’t give me any kind of deadline. So maybe a few extra hours is okay.” She brightened a bit. “And after all, maybe the police came to the rescue last night, and she’s already down there.”

  Doug looked at her with kind eyes. “Maybe. But that makes it even more imperative that we not wait. We should probably push as much as we can; do everything we can from our end. So I’ll call them again in an hour, but I also think we should investigate the Palm Pilot. They aren’t listening to us now, but if we can show them something specific, they might.” He turned to Ronnie. “I tried it last night, and it’s password protected, encoded somehow. I couldn’t get further than the first screen. But we’ve got some great tech people at work that might be able to make some headway. My boss is also a genius with that sort of thing. If he has time, I’d like to run it by him and see if he can get into the Palm Pilot so we can see what’s on there.”


  “Okay.” Ronnie grimaced. “As long as we don’t lose the thing, or no one swipes it!”

  Doug laughed. “Don’t worry. We have a high-security building. It’ll be safe there.”

  Jordan’s secretary ignored her phone line, ignored the internal office intercom, ignored pretty much everything except her scowling boss and his incessant commands. He was in a foul mood, his usual energetic demeanor nowhere to be seen.

  She typed as fast as she could on the keyboard, trying to keep up with the growing “to do” list. Jordan had emerged from his tightly shut office a moment ago, barked another order, and disappeared back inside. He had instructed her that he didn’t want to be interrupted unless it was a true emergency—and maybe not even then.

  So she ignored all attempts to get her attention, kept her head down, and worked as fast as she could.

  Doug finally stopped trying to buzz her and walked down the long hallway to Jordan’s office. He stopped in front of the secretary, smiling down at her. Everyone else but this lady was relaxed today. It was New Year’s Eve for goodness’ sake! She needed to lighten up.

  “What do you want?”

  “Jordan pushing you today?”

  “Yes. What do you want?”

  Okaaay … be that way!

  “I need to ask Jordan a question, if he has a second.”

  “He doesn’t. He ordered me not to disturb him for any reason today.”

  “I understand. But I think this is pretty important. I need his help with something.”

  “What is it?” The secretary lifted her eyes for a fraction of a second, continuing to type, making it plain that Doug was a pain in the neck.

  Doug held out the Palm Pilot. “I’m wondering if he can help me break the encryption and get into this device. There’s an important file on it that we need access to.”

  “I don’t think that would count as an emergency. Ask someone else.”