Nina jerked awake as her cell phone buzzed on the table next to her head. Broker bolted upright on pure reflexes, eyes wide open but still asleep. “Wha?” he said.
“Go back to sleep,” she said, checking her phone display, “it’s Janey.”
“Hmph,” he muttered and flopped back down.
“Morning,” Nina said to the phone.
“How you doing?” Jane said.
“The sleep helps. Otherwise…it sucks.”
“I hear you. How you and Broker getting on?”
Nina studied him briefly. In less than five seconds he had started to snore. She leaned over and gave him an elbow in the shoulder blade. He grumbled, rearranged himself, and proceeded to breathe normally. Then she turned back to the phone and checked the time on the display: 7:39. Jesus. She’d slept for nearly nine hours.
“Don’t know. I crashed the minute I saw the bed. Now I’m up and he’s out cold.”
“I was thinking we could get some breakfast.”
“I’m for that. But I think I’ll let him sleep. Where are you?”
“On the highway east of town, in our trusty Volvo.”
“Give me a few minutes and I’ll meet you in front.”
Nina put the phone down, got up, and headed for the bathroom. After taking her first carefree pee in a week, she got in the shower. The jets of hot water were a good start, but it would take days for the booze and amphetamines to work out of her system.
And for what?
Don’t think about it.
She shampooed her short hair, worked in conditioner, and decided not to shave her legs. Janey was waiting. She rinsed off, toweled, and thoroughly enjoyed brushing her teeth.
She dug through her go-bag, found a pair of loose-fitting shorts, a tank top, and Chacos. Out of habit her hand went to her pistol belt.
Nah. Clothes were all wrong. And anyway…
Then she took a moment to study Broker, who was strangled in a twisted sheet, spread out, hogging the bed, as usual. And she remembered how, asleep, all the care lifted off his face. Except for the bushy eyebrows, he looked like a young boy. She smiled. A rough young boy who’d read too much Robert Louis Stevenson…
We will have to talk, she reminded herself. She kissed the tip of her finger and touched him on the forehead. She wrote a note and left it on the table. “Went out for coffee with Janey. Be back soon.” Quietly, she started to slip out the door. Then, on impulse she returned, dug in her cosmetic bag, found the lipstick, and applied it. She went back to the note and blotted her lips, leaving a full, open-mouth impression of a kiss.
That’ll mess with his mind.
She grabbed her purse, eased out the door, gently closed it behind her, and walked down the stairs, through the lobby, and outside. Whoa. She squinted her eyes and took a step back.
After living for a week in half-shadow, the sun was doing double time and had turned the sky into one vast blue flame. She looked around. No Janey yet. So she ducked back in the lobby, flipped open her cell, and called Broker’s folks in Minnesota. His dad, Mike, picked up.
“Hi, Mike, it’s Nina.”
“Hey, kiddo, how you doing?”
Nina scrubbed her knuckles in her hair, blinked several times. “Looks like I’ll have some leave. I wanted to tell Kit I’ll be coming home.”
“Home?” Mike Broker said.
“Yeah. Is Kit there?”
“Irene took her down to the beach to pick cobbles. They’re set up to paint them. If you wait…”
“No, let ’em go. I’ll call back after breakfast.”
“Okay. Ah, Nina-what’s my kid up to?”
Nina thought about it and said, “Tell Kit her dad and I will be coming home together.”
After a moment of thoughtful silence, Mike said quietly, “We look forward to seeing you both.”
Nina ended the call and went back outside as Janey pulled the Volvo in front, looking like someone hiding a hangover behind Ray-Bans. Nina came around and got in. Janey wore an old baggy Take Back The Night T-shirt, gray shorts, and sandals.
“Where’d you get the shirt?” Nina said.
“I found it in the trunk, washed and folded in a Goodwill bag. So I figured, what the hell, goes with the car.”
Nina fished a pack of American Spirit filters from her purse. “I gotta start working on quitting,” she said, reaching for the lighter in the dashboard.
“Why? You thinking of taking up a different line of work?”
“I thought maybe counterterrorism analyst for Fox or CNN,” Nina said.
“Not housewife?” Janey looked pointedly at the motel.
“Hey, fuck you.” Nina gave her the finger.
“I wish. But then you’d never go back to him,” Janey said with a coy smile. “Okay,” she said, shifting back to work mode. “There’s the place by City Hall or the one back down the road.”
Nina blew a stream of smoke. The taste of nicotine reminded her of something. On impulse, she said, “I’m going back to the bar. Just for a second. I need to tell Ace something.”
“Not smart.”
“C’mon. Two minutes.”
“You sure?” Janey said.
Nina nodded her head. “Look, you don’t have to come. I’ll drop you off, you order breakfast. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
Jane put the car in gear, steered onto the highway, and headed west. “No way. I go along to keep you out of trouble.”
Dale’s eyes were red from lack of sleep as he stood in the office of Shuster and Sons and kept looking out the window, across the street at the Missile Park. He could feel Joe’s equally tired eyes burning a hole in his back. They had passed a fitful night in the office, grabbing snatches of sleep punctuated by arguments. Joe had been on his cell regularly to George. George had started out pleased as could be over last night’s successful diversion. His self-congratulations fizzled, however, when Dale refused to budge from Langdon. Now George was stuck at the abandoned gas station at Camp’s Crossing. He’d waited there all night. And George didn’t like waiting. Dale didn’t care how pissed they were; he’d made up his mind: he wasn’t leaving without her.
He turned to glance at Joe, then returned to the window. Joe and his gun didn’t scare him that much anymore. Not after Gordy. He continued to stare across the road. Where was she?
“Hey,” Joe said, shoving the phone in Dale’s face for the third time in as many hours, “talk to George.”
Dale took the phone. As usual, George remained calm; even without his morning coffee. “She’s gone, Dale. I saw her last night. They all got in a helicopter and flew away.”
Dale didn’t believe that. He could just tell. He knew things. So he told George, “I’m going to give it another hour.”
“Okay. An hour.” Patient George, teacher, mentor, puppet master. He chided gently, “Did you make the follow-up call to Irv Fuller? It’s very important to make that call.”
“I know, give him my Social Security number,” Dale said. “I’ll call him when we’re through talking.”
“Good,” George said. “An hour.”
Dale got off with George, then dutifully reached Irv Fuller, on his cell.
“Yeah?” Irv said, guarded.
Dale smiled. Old Irv was nervous, worried that Dale would harass him for the balance owed on the machines. Instead Dale said, “Just checking if that Deere is giving you any trouble.”
“Well, one of the boys says that loader is riding kind of hard.”
“Tell you what,” Dale said reasonably, “I’m passing your way later today, thought I might drop by and give her a look. Maybe see the job. Say around four or five this afternoon.”
“No problem,” Irv said, sounding relieved that Dale didn’t mention money. “Just need your Social Security number. They’ll run a quick background check to get you by the gate.”
“Sure thing,” Dale said. He gave Irv his Social Security number and said goodbye. He turned to Joe. “See. Easy.”
Joe seemed a bit relieved. He thrust out his hands, palms up, fingers spread in a plea.
Dale stood his ground and continued staring across the road.
“Forget it,” Joe said. “Like Ace told you last night. She’s gone.”
Gone. Dale shook his head. He had not told Joe about Gordy and the information was a source of power. But he wasn’t strong enough to get what he wanted alone, not just yet. He needed Joe and his gun. “Just before the sun came up we took a drive through town and saw her husband’s car at the motel, remember? She could be there,” Dale said.
Joe was adamant. He shook his head. “Even if she’s at the motel, there’s too many people around. Can’t be done. Let it go. Dale, we’re too close. Let’s not fuck it up.”
Dale stared at him hard. Joe was different from him. Joe’s gifts were practical, tactical. He was not inspired. Dale, who was inspired, couldn’t let it go. He’d prepared a place for her. It was meant to be. He knew it.
And then he knew it for sure.
“Look! Look!” he shouted, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Joe rushed to the window and actually slapped his hand to his forehead. How had they allowed themselves to become so dependent on this nutcase?
The answer came easily. For the money. For the access.
So Joe watched it come together like a swarming nightmare he was powerless to escape. He watched the red Volvo pull off the highway and come to a stop in front of the bar. He watched the woman with the red hair get out from the passenger side. The one Dale wanted. He watched her walk to the front door of the bar.
“Now we’re cooking with gas!” Dale shouted as he went toward the door.
Joe watched his spreading nightmare crowd out the day as Dale grabbed his yellow backpack-that little kid’s pack with the butterfly on it-and headed out the door.
Joe shifted from foot to foot at the window as Dale strode confidently across the road. “There goes my life,” he said, shaking his head. “My whole fucking life…” He had no choice. He was chained to the nightmare rails and could only follow and make Dale’s fantasy come true. Everything depended on it.
“Zarba.”
He grabbed the compact gym bag at his feet and walked stiffly out the door.