I walked back toward Old Town, and on a little side street off Simonton, I found the Heaven Can't Wait Spa. It was housed in a Victorian mansion, its white paint gleaming in the reflected glow from the nearby streetlights. This was a more upscale part of town than where Crill lived, and the city had provided illumination more fitting to its wealthy citizens.
I walked up the wide front steps to the veranda that ran the width of the house. A porch swing hung from its chains attached to the ceiling. A discreet sign was fastened to the wall next to the door that announced the establishment's name and hours of operation. HEAVEN CAN'T WAIT SPA. OPEN UNTIL. MIDNIGHT. Beneath the words was a logo of some sort, a Greek cross encircled by flowers.
I looked at my watch. Almost eleven. I could hear traffic a half block away on Simonton, not heavy this time of night, but steady. Cicadas hummed in the shrubs on either side of the porch steps. Otherwise, there was quiet. No noise escaped from the house.
I opened the door and stepped into a large foyer. The hardwood floors gleamed with fresh wax. Expensive Oriental carpets broke up the space. A wide curving stairway rose to the second floor. Off to my right I could see through open double doors to what must have been the parlor when rich people lived here. On my left was a formal dining room with a crystal chandelier hanging low over a long table surrounded by chairs with carved backs.
The foyer extended past the stairway into the back of the house. There was a Queen Anne desk sitting on a large Oriental carpet next to the stairs. A young blonde woman rose from behind the desk as I entered.
She was wearing a white gown of some light material. It covered her from neck to ankles. Her hair fell straight to her shoulders. She wore no makeup that I could see. Eyes of deep blue. Her smile was perfect. A typical white bread girl from the Midwest.
"Can I help you?" she asked in an accent of the Deep South. Alabama maybe, or Georgia. Certainly not the Midwest.
"I was told I could get a massage here," I said.
She wrinkled her pretty nose at me, assessing my shoddy attire and perhaps my less than optimal body odor. "Yes, but it's three hundred dollars for an hour," she said, her smile displaying less wattage than before.
I pulled three one hundred dollar bills from my pocket and lay them on the desk. "Okay."
She smiled again, a little less dubiously, I thought, and pointed toward the parlor. "Have a seat in there," she said, "and someone will be right with you."
"I've never been here before."
"I didn't think so."
"Is this the only place you have like this?"
"No, sir. We have branches all over the Southeast."
"What other cities?"
"Many of them. Please have a seat, sir," she said, pointing again to the parlor.
I sat. I was tired. It had been a long day, and the beers I had drunk over dinner were making me sleepy. My eyelids were drooping, and I startled myself awake. It wouldn't do to crash here.
In a few minutes another young lady came into the parlor. She was wearing the same gown as the receptionist, and looked so much like her they could have been sisters.
"Come with me, sir," she said. "I'm Sister Amy."
SisterAmy? What was this?
I followed her up the stairs, getting another smile from the receptionist as we passed her desk. Sister Amy led me into a large bedroom, with a massage table on one side. A king-size bed with a canopy took up the other side of the room. I saw a large mirror attached to the underside of the canopy, angled to give the occupants of the bed a bird's-eye view of themselves.
A door, recessed into the wall near the massage table, led to a bathroom. Sister Amy pointed toward it.
"You may take a shower, if you like," she said.
"I think I'll pass for now."
"Would you like to pray?"
"Pray? No." This was weird. "Why would we pray?"
"This is a Christian house, sir."
"No. No shower and no prayer."
"Suit yourself," she said, and undid some sort of fastener on the gown. It fell to her feet, and she stepped out of it. She was completely nude. She stood quietly, as if waiting for inspection. I complied.
She was beautiful. Her breasts were full, but not large, her stomach flat, tapering down to a thatch of blonde pubic hair. Her body was without scar or blemish, except for a small tattoo at the top of her left breast; a Greek cross in a circle of flowers.
There was something not quite right about the way she looked at me. Her blue eyes seemed dilated, and were fixed on a spot above my head. Her face and voice were devoid of animation. It was almost as if I were talking to a robot.
"Do you really want a massage?" she asked. "We can just fuck if that's what you want."
"I really don't want either," I said.
"You don't like me?"
"It's not that. You're beautiful, but I'm really looking for someone else."
She frowned slightly, as if not sure what to make of this.
"There are other girls," she said. "I'll tell Sister Barbara to send someone else up."
"No. I don't want any services."
"But Sister Barbara said you asked about a massage."
"Sister Barbara?"
"The receptionist."
"I'm looking for a girl named Peggy Timmons. Do you know her?"
"No. Is she in the Circle of Lilies?"
"Circle of Lilies? I don't understand."
"Who are you, sir?"
"I'm just a guy trying to find his daughter."
She bent to pick up her gown and wrapped it around her. I had enjoyed the scenery, and I was a little disappointed that it was now covered up.
"I'll see what I can find out," she said, and walked over to the bed and sat down. She was still, her hands folded in her lap, as if waiting for something.
I stood there for a minute, wondering what to do now. The door from the hall burst open, and a man rushed in. He was about my height and had a shaved head. He was barefoot and wore a pair of chinos and a white T-shirt that clung to his muscles. He was a weight-room freak. Probably worked out several hours a day. I wasn't in the mood for another fight.
I pulled the pistol from my pocket and pointed it at his face. He stopped in his tracks, his momentum almost pushing him forward onto his stomach. He put a foot out to catch himself. He was about six feet from me.
I said, "I don't know who you are, but you'll be dead if you take another step."
I backed up so that I had a view of the girl and the bruiser. She'd apparently activated some kind of emergency call button that had brought a bouncer on the run.
Sister Amy hadn't moved. "Bruce, he's looking for his daughter," she said.
Bruce looked at me. "What's her name?"
I shook my head. I didn't want anybody getting rid of Peggy because I was trying to find her. Bruce looked at Sister Amy.
"He said her name, but I forget," she said in that flat tone she'd been using all evening.
I lowered the pistol so that it was pointing at Bruce's chest. "Forget it pal. Just move out of the way so I can leave."
"That's not going to happen, buddy. You won't shoot me."
I shot him in the foot. He screamed in pain and fell to the floor, grabbing his bloody foot.
"Wrong," I said, and ran for the door.
As I reached the stairs, doors to other rooms were opening. Men and women in various stage of dress peered out. I took the stairs two and three at a time. As I got to the bottom, another weight lifter came out of the parlor. I pointed the gun at him, and he backed up, holding his hands in the air. I hit the front door, bounded down the porch steps, and ran toward Simonton.
I heard footsteps on the sidewalk behind me. At least two people were chasing me. I was running flat out, hoping to reach the major thoroughfare before they caught up with me.
I was fit from running on the beach, but they were in better shape. The footsteps were getting closer. I was breathing hard, used to jogging, not sprinting.
The sound of a pistol shot cracked the air. A bullet gouged a chunk of cement from the sidewalk near my left foot. I dove to my right, into the hedge that lined the sidewalk.
I could see my pursuers through the leaves of the bushes in which I landed. There were two of them, the one from the parlor and another brute. They were still coming, running. I had the. 38 in my hand. I raised it and shot the parlor guy. He grabbed his gut and fell to his knees. His buddy dove into the shrubs less than twenty feet from me. Lights came on in the house behind the bushes.
I took off again, rounding the corner onto Simonton, where I saw two bicycles propped against a low wall. A young couple was sitting on the nearby grass, holding hands, talking quietly. I grabbed the closest bike, a girl's model, jumped aboard, and pedaled off. The young man hollered at me, but I didn't look back. I didn't think he'd leave his girl to chase me.
I headed southeast on Simonton, riding the sidewalk, staying in the shadows of the trees lining the road. I was passing city hall when a police cruiser pulled into my path. I came to a stop as the patrolman got out of his vehicle. I waited, straddling the bike. He walked toward me, his hand resting near the gun holstered on his equipment belt.
Oh, shit, I thought. Oh, shit.