Day Three
July 23, 1952
Wednesday Morning
“When I said I was going to cut you in on half, that was the truth. That part of it was real. It still is real, Wilde. Let’s do it. Let’s go get the treasure and then live the rest of our lives on an island. Come on, just you and me. Screw the rest of the world.”
Screw the rest of the world.
Get the treasure.
Live on an island.
The images filled Wilde’s brain. He let himself get drunk on them, just for an instant, then broke loose. He took a deep look into the woman’s eyes, those beautiful eyes, those tricky little eyes. Then he headed for the door.
“Good luck.”
He was gone.
Walking to Blondie under a crisp blue sky, on his mind was one thought and one thought only, namely Secret St. Rain. He needed her in his arms. He needed her breath on his lips. He needed her body against his. He’d been a fool to think about London, even for a moment. That particular piece of weakness was over, dead and buried and forever gone.
He headed to Secret’s hotel.
She wasn’t there.
“She left a half hour ago,” the guy at the front desk said.
“Did she say where?”
“No but she was dressed to kill.”
Wilde tilted his head.
“She couldn’t have been too dressed to kill. After all, you’re still alive.”
The man smiled.
“Barely.”
Wilde hoped that Secret was at the office. She wasn’t but Alabama was. Wilde dangled a Camel from his lips, set a book of matches on fire, lit the cigarette from the flames and let them burn as he poured a cup of caffeine. Alabama dangled her feet off the edge of the desk and watched. Then she said, “How’d it go with London?”
“Bad.”
“Bad?”
“Right, bad.”
“How bad?”
“Real.”
“I knew it.”
Wilde filled her in on what a fool he’d been. Alabama’s face got tighter and tighter. When the full story was out she said, “She set you up to kill someone? That bitch is going to rot in hell.”
Wilde couldn’t disagree.
Alabama hopped off the desk.
“You want me to go over and beat the shit out of her?”
Wilde frowned.
Then he opened the desk drawer, pulled out an envelope full of money-London’s retainer-and counted what was inside. It was drawn down $75 from when it was fresh. He took that amount out of his wallet, shoved it in and handed the envelope to Alabama.
“Do me a favor and deliver this to London.”
The woman grabbed it.
“With pleasure.”
Wilde squeezed her arm.
“Don’t hurt her. Don’t even say anything. If she’s not home just slip it under the door and leave.”
Suddenly the door opened and the last person Wilde expected to see stepped in-London. She hesitated briefly as she caught the look on Alabama’s face and then walked towards Wilde.
She didn’t get two steps before Alabama grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked her to the floor.