Karen heard a knock on the door and thought it was room service. She turned down the TV and crossed the room. Another knock. She looked through the peephole and saw a big meaty face, features distorted in the wide-angle opening, but she knew who it was. She saw the handle turn, and swung the safety bar in place just before the door opened a couple inches and locked. She could see him clearly now as he tried to slide his hand through the opening and grab her, but his hand was too big and she turned and leaned her weight against the door and felt it jam him and heard him groan.
She ran into the living room and picked up the backpack. She opened the sliding door and moved out on the balcony, and felt the hot heavy summer air. Behind her she could hear O'Clair driving his weight against the door, trying to break the safety bar. She didn't have much time. There was a lot of traffic below her on the street in front of the hotel, cars double-parked and cars slowing, trying to pull up to the entrance. Two big custom rock band buses were parked down the street. A horn honked. She picked up the backpack with both hands, swung it and let go, and watched it fly toward the next balcony and land on the concrete floor.
Inside the room Karen heard the molding shatter and the door give. She stepped on the seat of a black wrought iron chair and put her foot on top of the metal railing, unsteady, trying to balance-the ground three stories below, and then just went for it, airborne as O'Clair appeared behind her and tried to grab her, reaching over the railing for her leg, but he was too late.
She jumped to the next balcony, landed on her feet, picked up the backpack and glanced over at him as he pulled a gun and aimed it at her. She didn't hesitate, opened the sliding door and went in and locked it. The room was freezing, but it felt refreshing, coming in from the heat. There was a suitcase open on the bed that was unmade. She lifted the backpack on the mattress and squatted down and slipped her arms through the straps. There was a newspaper on a little captain's table like the one she had in her room. A section of the Detroit News was spread open under a plate with breakfast scraps: leftover scrambled eggs, a slice of bacon with too much fat on it, a half-eaten piece of toast, a coffeepot, but no cup. She heard the shower and moved past the bathroom.
She opened the door a crack, expecting O'Clair to be standing there. She looked down the hall toward her room, heart pounding. Where was he? She looked left and saw the exit sign, and knew she had to go for it, and do it now. She swung the door open and took off, glanced back and saw O'Clair coming out of her room, running after her, limping on his bad knee.
She made it to the stairs, opened the door and started down, taking them two at a time, getting some rhythm going. She was halfway to the second floor when she heard the door above her open and snap closed. She glanced up and saw O'Clair and felt his weight send tremors through the staircase.
O'Clair took the stairs as fast as he could with his knee that was still mushy and numb ten years after a bank robber shot him with a Taurus 9. The round shattered the patella, and put him in the hospital for two weeks, and then had three months of physical therapy. He remembered the scene like it was yesterday, Terry Booth, an FBI agent squatting in a catcher's position next to him, telling O'Clair he'd been shot and not to move. O'Clair said he knew he'd been shot, he was in fucking agony and there was blood everywhere, and not to worry, he couldn't move if he had to.
O'Clair made it to the bottom and opened the door that said "One" in white block type on the brown wall, and walked into the lobby. He crossed the marble floor, went out the front door and looked down Townsend Street toward the parking structure, and saw her or thought he did at the end of the block, crossing the street, red hair, wearing a backpack. He ran now, limping but moving pretty well, made it to the end of the street, saw her enter the parking structure half a block away, sweat rolling down his face, the air hot and thick.
Bobby was crossing Merrill Street, carrying two Cokes and two Quizno's Italian subs, starving and sore after sleeping in the car all night, listening to Lloyd snore and fart, waiting for Karen to come out of the hotel, and there she was running into the parking structure. Where in the hell was Lloyd at? He dropped the food and drinks on the street and went after her. He knew her car was parked on the fourth level. They'd driven through the parking garage till they found it. Lloyd had this strip of metal he slipped in the driver's side front window and popped the lock in two seconds. Bobby was impressed. Lloyd was a real pro. They searched the car but didn't find anything, no money anyway.
As he got closer he could see Karen through the glass wall just inside the entrance, just part of her going up the stairs. Bobby ran in after her, dodged an SUV pulling out and ran up the stairs to the third level. He'd take the ramp up to four and surprise her as she was coming down. He had the.32 in his pocket. He took his cell phone out and dialed Lloyd while he was moving.
"Where the fuck're you at?" Lloyd said. "I'm starving."
Bobby heard loud rock music in the background. "I'm in the parking garage, chasing Karen," Bobby said.
"Who?"
"Karen," Bobby said. "The girl who stole the money, the girl we've been looking for, remember her?" Fuck Lloyd. He flipped his phone closed. He was on the ramp almost at the fourth level when he heard tires screeching and saw a Mercedes sedan coming at him, and stepped out of the way. And right behind it was a silver Audi. He drew the.32 and aimed it at Karen as she blew by him, Jesus Christ, and ran down the ramp after her.
O'Clair was walking in the entrance to the parking structure as a silver Audi came toward him, Karen behind the wheel. She slowed down and then accelerated and swerved around him, and drove past the exit booth, the windshield frame hitting the wooden parking gate, snapping it off. She accelerated, braked, swerved around the Mercedes, horns honking, took a hard right, moving down Pierce Street.
O'Clair ran out the entrance lane. There was a line of cars waiting to drive in. He walked up to a white Land Rover, glanced in the driver's window. There was a gray-haired guy with a pony-tail, talking on a cell phone. O'Clair opened the driver's door, stuck the barrel end of the Browning 9 against his chest and told him to move over. He needed the car. The guy closed the cell phone, flipped the armrests up and scrambled over the console into the passenger seat.
O'Clair got in behind the wheel, accelerated and drove through the stop sign at Merrill. It felt good in the air-conditioned car, although it was heavy with the smell of cologne. Pony's cell phone rang, a loud annoying instrumental. O'Clair reached over, grabbed it out of his hand, opened the window and threw it.
"Thanks," Ponytail said. "That had my whole life programmed on it."
He had an annoying voice with a lispy whine.
O'Clair saw the silver Audi up ahead, stopped in traffic. He watched it swerve around a Jag that was double-parked, and take a hard left down an alley behind an apartment building.
Ponytail said, "Will you at least tell me where you're taking me?"
O'Clair went left on the next street that ran parallel to the alley and gunned it, the Land Rover surprising him with its power. He slowed for a stop sign, rolled through it, took a right on a street called Henrietta and watched the Audi come out of the alley, turn right and stop at the traffic light at Maple Road.
It couldn't have worked out better. He was behind Karen in a luxury SUV, and she didn't have a clue. O'Clair looked straight ahead at a storefront with the word "Anthropologic" on it, and wondered what kind of stuff they sold in there until he focused on women's clothing on mannequins in the windows.
The light turned green and Karen took a left. O'Clair followed, giving her room.
Pony started in again: "If you let me go, I won't say anything."
O'Clair couldn't take any more of his whiny voice. He reached in his sport coat pocket and brought out the Browning 9, reached across the console, aiming it at his face, and said, "One more fucking word…" O'Clair didn't finish, but Pony looked at him and seemed to finally get it. He didn't say anything else. Jesus, he was annoying.
Bobby came out of the parking garage and watched the silver Audi head down Pierce and take a left in the alley just south of Maple, right behind the exclusive Pierce Street condos. Lloyd pulled up in the Mustang and he got in and Bobby said, "How'd she get past you?"
"I don't know," Lloyd said.
"What the hell were you doing?"
"Nothing."
They went after Karen but Bobby didn't hold out much hope of finding her. Lloyd took a left on Merrill, heading west and Bobby couldn't believe it, a silver Audi appeared, coming out of the alley, moving parallel to them on the other side of Shain Park. He watched it turn right on Henrietta, disappearing in traffic.
Lloyd took Merrill to Chester and went right, Bobby thought they'd circle around and catch her driving by on Maple. This was trendy Birmingham, rated as one of the best walking towns in the country Bobby had once read, a square mile of boutiques, coffee shops, restaurants and bars. They waited at a traffic light, a store called Linda Dresner on his right, a few mannequins posing behind the glass in high-style gowns. Smith & Hawken was across the street with its window displays of plants and gardening equipment. He saw the silver Audi turn left on Maple, heading toward them. "Turn," Bobby said to Lloyd, but he couldn't. He saw the Audi go right on Bates. The light turned green but they couldn't move, cars were still blocking the intersection. Lloyd honked and said fuck and started giving people the finger. When the intersection cleared, he floored it, crossed Maple, taking Bates that turned into Willits, curving around a four-story apartment building with restaurants on the first floor and a valet stand on the sidewalk. They drove all the way to Old Woodward and crossed it.
Bobby said, "She must've gone the other way. Turn around."
Lloyd gave him a sour look and said, "Yes, sir."
Karen waited for the light to change. What was taking so long? She checked the rearview mirror, watched a Land Rover pull up behind her. She scanned the cars creeping by in front of her searching for O'Clair, searching for Bobby and Lloyd. A skateboarder appeared out of nowhere, glided by the side of her car and took a right down the sidewalk next to a store called It's the Ritz. Karen was jumpy, nervous. She took the Mag out of her purse, not sure of anything, and put it on the seat next to her. She watched a group of teenagers crossing with the light in front of her, the girls looking full-grown mature, breasts showing under skimpy tank tops, and the guys looking like little kids, short and scrawny, waiting to hit their growth spurt.
The light turned green and Karen eased the clutch up and accelerated. She took a left on Maple, cruised to Bates and went right. The Land Rover appeared in her rearview mirror again. She went left on Willits, gunning it now, the Land Rover disappeared and then reappeared, trying to stay with her.
At the top of Willits Hill she floored it and hit fifty at the bottom and seventy going up the incline on the other side. She looked back and saw the Land Rover come over the crest of the hill, airborne, landing hard, off balance, the shocks taking the punishment.
Karen took a hard right through a residential neighborhood, the Audi bouncing hard on the uneven blacktop. She held the wheel in both hands, looked in the rearview. The street was empty and she let out a breath.
She pulled in the driveway of a house that had a "For Sale" sign in front and drove behind it and parked, hoping the people weren't home. She got out of the Audi and went to the side of the house where she had a view of the street and saw the white Land Rover speed by. She ran out and watched it go to the end of the block, slowing down at a stop sign and then accelerating.
She got back in the Audi and did a 180 and rumbled down the driveway. She looked right and saw the Land Rover coming back down the street, and gunned it. The back end slid out as the tires made contact with the asphalt, and she shifted into second.
Karen saw the Land Rover closing in fast, its grille filling the rearview mirror. She thought it was going to ram her until the turbocharger kicked in and the Audi picked up speed. She took a hard left at Willits. The Land Rover didn't make the turn and went off the road into the woods behind a small apartment complex and crashed into a tree. She could hear a horn blaring like it was stuck, and drove back up the hill and passed Bobby and Lloyd going by her in the red Mustang.
Bobby saw the Audi pass them and said, "Jesus, that's her."
Lloyd hit the brakes and spun the wheel. They went off the road, down an embankment and shot back up to the top of the hill. Lloyd braked hard, the engine rumbling. Willits, the street they were on, met Haynes, which turned at a forty-five-degree angle around a building.
Lloyd looked at him and said, "Okay, now what?"
Bobby looked one way and then the other. He didn't see a silver Audi A4 in either direction. But he knew she wouldn't have gone left and risk getting caught in slow-moving traffic in town. He said, "Go right."
Lloyd looked at him and said, "How do you know?"
Bobby said, "You're just going to have to trust me."
Lloyd popped the clutch and the rear tires squealed and locked on the pavement and they were moving. They went right again and Bobby saw the Audi about three hundred yards ahead on Maple Road, making the turn up the hill. Lloyd went through a red light at Southfield. Bobby was looking for police cars. He looked left and looked behind them on Maple, and then looked down the side streets they passed, going up the hill toward the waterfall at Quarton Lake. They went all the way to Telegraph Road, had to be six miles, without seeing a silver Audi with a good-looking redhead driving it.
Lloyd pulled into a gas station, glanced over at Bobby and said, "Got any more ideas, smart guy?"
He didn't. Not at that particular moment. Karen had gotten away from them again and he wondered if they'd get another shot at her.
The force of the collision set off the airbags. O'Clair's face made contact with the one that came out of the steering wheel and it felt like somebody hit him with a bag of sand. The hood was buckled and steam was pouring out of the radiator, and the horn was stuck on, making a racket. He was dazed, trying to focus. Ponytail was slumped over, unconscious, leaning against the passenger side airbag. O'Clair pulled the door handle but the door wouldn't open. He put his shoulder into it, but couldn't budge it. He pressed the window button and the glass went down and now he brought his legs up and squeezed through the opening head first, hands making contact with grass and dirt. His legs came out the window and he landed on the ground.
A voice said, "Sir, are you all right? Do you need help."
O'Clair looked behind him and saw a good-looking woman about forty, coming across the street, wearing a gardening belt, carrying pruning shears in her hand. He got on his feet and took off moving into the woods. He was unsteady, trying to find his legs. The air was dense and humid, sweat rolling down his face, as he followed the terrain downslope to a creek that wound its way through the woods, mosquitoes feasting on him. He crossed the creek, doing a balancing act on a tree trunk that had fallen across it, and went east up a steep slope and came out at Southfield and Maple, his shirt drenched, breathing hard.
It occurred to O'Clair at that moment he was getting old, tired from walking up a hill. He heard sirens and saw cars pulling over, a police car zipped by, followed by a mobile rescue unit and a yellow lire truck speeding through the intersection. It looked like this rich suburban town had been waiting for a little excitement and now they had it.
O'Clair waited for the parade of emergency vehicles to pass and the light to change, then he crossed Maple and walked three blocks back to the hotel. In the lobby, he ran into the bellhop who'd helped him earlier. His name was Colin, a thin little guy with white-blond hair and skin that was so fair it almost looked blue.
Colin said, "What happened to you?"
"Get me a copy of her bill." O'Clair could feel sweat running down his face that stung from the impact of the airbag and the mosquito bites.
"I don't know," Colin said. "I'd have to find a computer."
O'Clair handed him a damp, crumpled $20 bill.
Colin took it in his hand, made a face like he didn't want it, opened his fingers and saw the amount. He looked at O'Clair and said, "I don't know if I can-"
"I'll be in the coffee shop."
"Okay," Colin said, "but it's going to take some time."
"You've got ten minutes," O'Clair said. "Don't make me come looking for you."
Colin put the bill in his pocket now, figuring he was going to earn it, and headed toward the reception area.
O'Clair was drinking the hottest fucking coffee he'd ever had in his life, scalding his tongue, sitting at a tiny white circular wrought iron table in the coffee shop of the Townsend Hotel. The coffee and blueberry muffin he ordered came to $4.51 including tax. O'Clair asked the girl behind the counter if she'd made a mistake.
"No sir, it's a $1.75 for the coffee and $2.50 for the muffin.
See, it says so right here," she said pointing to a menu open on the counter between them.
O'Clair saw Colin, the bellhop, come in the room, looking around and he waved him over.
Colin handed him an envelope. "Sir, here's your bill."
O'Clair took it from him and pulled out a piece of neatly folded off-white stationery, the paper heavy, the hotel name in shiny gold type. Colin said he had to get back and moved away from the table. O'Clair opened the bill, studying it. Karen had made four phone calls, two to the same number. The cost for two nights, including room service and a couple movies, came to $963-more than O'Clair's mortgage payment.