Dangerous Times (21 page)

Never came home, she thought. Lisa certain
Kirk was punishing her, as he had done before, staying at
Beverly’s. Poor Kirky-baby, she sneered.

Lisa stepped into the room and snapped the
light on. She sat at the edge of the bed, coat on her lap. The
closet door was open, the full-length mirror on its inner side
angled toward her. Lisa pulled the coat off her lap and watched
herself remove her knee-high boots.

She fell back onto the coat and inhaled the
cologne that lingered in the cashmere. Shutting her eyes she saw
herself in David’s arms, saying goodbye. “God,” Lisa sighed; could
have stayed with him a while longer if she had known Kirk wasn’t
here.

She opened her eyes, took her socks and
tights off, set her bare feet on the bed and spread her arched
legs. Wearing nothing under the short skirt, Lisa gazed at her
reflection and admired what was awakening. The moist prize sought
by every man she had ever met.

She rested her head back on the cashmere
coat. She shut her eyes again and pictured the group of them
leaving Korky’s at closing time. The party they’d had at David’s;
Dr. David Elkins, rich and single. Waking his live-in housekeeper,
and that funny-face clumsy maid, Lisa snickered.

Eyes held shut, she cupped a hand over the
prize. Then rubbed gently. She imagined herself with David, the two
of them climbing the circular staircase to his bedroom.

Lisa heard a squeak. She opened her eyes and
saw herself off-center in the mirror. The closet door had moved,
she thought. Kirk and his can of oil had missed a hinge.

The door pushed shut and there he was with
his back against the wall.

“Jesus!” Lisa yelped, scooting to the far
side of the bed.

“No harm done,” he said.

The unfamiliar voice made her gasp, as if
she were stuck in a nightmare. The leather jacket, black
snap-button shirt and Levi’s. It was Kirk—but it wasn’t.

“Think I look like him?” he asked.

Lisa stared at the bandaged gauze on his
cheek. “Who are you?” she choked, eyes darting around now in search
of a weapon.

Clear to him what she was up to, it didn’t
bother him in the least. “Frank,” he answered her. “Sorry, I have
forgotten yours,” he apologized. “So much has happened to me since
I heard it.”

“Lisa,” she whimpered. “Someone told you
about me?” she asked with tears forming.

Frank said, “First things first, Lisa.”

Through her tears she saw his hand in a
blur, reaching into a pocket of the old marine jacket.

He unfolded the money and tossed it on the
bed. Lisa wiped her eyes and gazed at the hundred dollar bills that
lay at her feet. “Rape me and pay for it?!” she laughed in a sudden
fit of hysteria.

“No, I’m not that funny,” Frank grinned.
“I’m willing to wait until you warm up to me,” he said. “Money’s
the first log on the fire. You’ll be getting more as our business
venture blossoms into a solid relationship.”

“Business?” Lisa squirmed on the bed,
wanting him to disappear, glancing at the thousand dollars she
would like to keep.

Frank knew that her heart was an empty purse
that needed to be filled. From the first time he had seen her,
watching her leave here last night, seeing her again at Korky’s;
money-hungry, he smiled confidently.

“What,” Lisa said fearfully, eyes on the
smile.

“I’m pleased with the luck I’ve been
having,” Frank said. “John told me about you, when I ran into him
the other day. John and I are old marine buddies,” he explained
wistfully. “The Twins, they used to call us.”

John, Lisa thought. “You and Kirk?” she
said.

Frank was quick to get her meaning. “As for
myself, I prefer John. Not as harsh as ‘Kirk,’ don’t you
think?”

Lisa didn’t know what to think.

“There are some bad people after me,” he
said. “When I ran into ‘John,’ I was blessed with the opportunity
to buy my way to safety.” Frank sat at the edge of the bed. Lisa
slid off the other side and stood looking down at him.

He twisted toward her, laid a hand on the
coat and stroked its cashmere. “I gave John ten thousand dollars to
take a vacation. So that I could take on the John Kirk role and
stay safe. He assured me you would be…” The pause came as he caught
sight of the vein on her thigh. His straight razor glistened in his
mind.

Lisa shared the pause, thoughts on Kirk and
the money he had gotten. Son of a bitch didn’t tell her. Sold her
to his friend. Then seeing where Frank’s eyes were, she tugged her
skirt down.

The gesture brought him back on track. “To
put it simply,” he said, “I’m going to be paying you a lot to stay
here,” and he showed her his best smile.

The smile dissolved Lisa’s fear. The prize
between her legs reawakened, stirred by what she saw as Kirk’s good
looks, gift-wrapped over Frank’s self-confidence, tied in with the
sexy touch of danger he projected; and the money on the bed, with
the promise of more to come.

“Dyed your hair,” she said.

“It’s that obvious?” he asked.

“Won’t be if you let me give it a
work-over.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“And we’ll have to change the gauze on your
cheek,” she said. “Spot of dried blood on it,” Lisa added with her
own best smile.

Chapter
66

Hicks woke to the ring of the phone. He
raised a hand and shaded his eyes. “Sunup,” he muttered, the hood
of his car like a mirror under the Los Angeles sky. Hicks turned
from the glare and answered the phone with a yawn and a “Yeah…”

“Sound tired,” Patrolman Diaz said, “so
please try to pay attention; got important news.”

Hicks couldn’t believe it. Thought he’d
never hear from the sucker about what was goin’ down. “Give it to
me,” he said with a look at the dash clock. Forty-five minutes’a
sleep, he thought, better than nothin’.

“Well, I don’t know,” Diaz hesitated. “Maybe
I should call you later, let you get some rest.”

Hicks responded with a grunt of
exasperation, noticing now that the ignition key was on auxiliary;
the music he had been listening to, done and gone.

“The kid you beat up,” Diaz said.

“What about him?” Hicks had to prod
impatiently as he started the car and juiced the battery.

“I’m still here at the hospital,” Diaz told
him. “Been a long night for me, murder and a suicide.”

“Yeah, right; I bet. You got some Frank
Moore news?”

“Still on the loose,” Diaz said. “But to get
back to the Sinclair kid. Your big fist rattled his brain hard
enough to be the cause of death. Died five minutes ago.”

Hicks groaned, squeezed his eyes closed and
scrubbed his forehead.

Diaz snickered and said, “Look on the bright
side, you’re off the hook on the excessive-force charge.”

That’s why he called, Hicks realized, to
bury the knife in him. “What the fuck you sound so happy about?” he
snarled into the phone. “I’m gonna get hit with man-slaughter or
second-degree, an’ you want me to look on the bright side?!” and he
shut the car down with an angry twist of the key.

“Hey,” Diaz said cheerfully, “you told me to
call if anything comes up.”

“Stop playin’ with me,” Hicks warned
him.

“Glad to oblige,” Diaz laughed. “Seems the
game is over. For you, anyway.”

Hicks lowered his window. He threw the phone
out, heard it crack against the asphalt and watched its parts slide
across the street, where they disappeared under a parked car.

Kid had to go and die, the detective sulked.
Fuck it. Come hell or high water he was going to get Eddie Jones’
money back—get himself that two-million dollar finder’s fee.

Yeah, he thought, closing the window with a
look toward Frank Moore’s house. “Damn,” he said, surprised to see
a Mercedes sports car in the drive.

Chapter
67

Ty halted at the coffee table and handed
Kirk a snapshot of her husband. He leaned forward on the sofa and
studied the face. “Dark eyes, with natural blond hair and
eyebrows?” he asked.

“Yeh, that’s my freaky Frank,” Ty said. “And
I hope ya like the suit he’s got on.”

Kirk gazed up at her with a “Huh?”

“‘Cause you’re wearin’ it,” she said. “Not a
perfect fit but looks nice on ya, ‘cept for the dirt.”

Kirk looked down at his clothes, then at the
photo. “How could I be wearing his suit?”

“Like I said when I came and gotcha, maybe
you and Frank are partners,” she reminded him. “You’re playin’ the
decoy to keep him and the money safe.”

“Okay, then,” Kirk said as he stood up. Ty
took an apprehensive step backward. He pulled the suit jacket off,
unbuttoned his shirtsleeve and showed her the tattoo.

“Maybe a marine tattoo,” she shrugged. Then
said, “Frank wouldn’t have one’a those in a million years.”

Kirk buttoned the cuff, put the jacket back
on and sat. Ty saying, “And there’s somethin’ else. Bet the watch
ya got on has my name on the back.”

“I never looked at the back,” Kirk said as
he took off the Patek Philippe. He turned it over and read the
inscription aloud: “With all my love, Ty.” Kirk returned the watch
to his wrist and said, “Maybe it means you’re not telling the
truth; maybe I am your husband.”

“I don’t think so,” Ty said. She sat on the
coffee table and her tight black dress hiked up. Kirk thinking if
he were her husband, loss of memory or not, those legs would be
impossible to forget.

Kirk pulled his wallet and put the license
photo alongside Frank’s snapshot. “Both these pictures could be
me,” he said. “Tattoo covered, my hair dyed blond.” He touched his
hair. “Or maybe mine’s dyed dark.”

“It’s not,” Ty told him decisively. She
lowered her eyes to the pen and pad that lay on the coffee table.
“Know what dunderheads are?” she asked him.

“Yeah, why?”

“‘Cause that’s us.” She pushed the pen and
pad toward him. “Write Frank Lester Moore,” she told him. “See if
it matches the one on your license.”

“Of course,” he said. Anxious now, he
shifted forward on the sofa and lifted the pen.

Kirk and Ty froze at the sound of the
doorbell.

Chapter
68

Hicks went down the two steps that had led
him to the doorbell. He then waited next to the oleanders, where he
distanced himself from any surprises, coat open, hand on the butt
of his holstered .38.

He turned toward the tap he heard. Her long
fingers held the drape aside, and her Eurasian face came close to
the window. The detective’s heart skipped a beat. It’s her, he said
to himself, the one he saw at the hospital last night.

Ty felt her blood rush. It’s him, she said
to herself, the guy she saw at the hospital last night.

Hicks fumbled through the pockets of his
suit jacket, found his ID and held it up to the window.

Her big dark eyes fell on it. The drapes
closed. Hicks moved up onto the first of the two steps and stayed
there, just far enough from the door. He was well aware of his
intimidating six-foot-four blackness. The last thing he wanted to
see was fear on her face, the face of one of the most beautiful
women he had ever seen.

Damn, he thought, she couldn’t be Frank
Moore’s wife.

The lock tumbled. The door opened and there
she was in full figure. Hicks’ throat dried up. He cleared it and
said, “Mrs. Moore?”

“Yeh,” she nodded.

They stood in silence, seemingly stuck in
time as she folded her arms and leaned against the doorjamb. Hicks
had no idea that her knees had weakened. Had no idea that in her
mind she wanted to hide her starving teddy-bear face.

• • •

Kirk couldn’t hear anything. He peered out
of the kitchen and saw Ty against the jamb of the front doorway;
and beyond her—Damn it! he almost blurted out. The cop who tried to
gun him down in San Pedro, moving up the stoop and not
stopping.

She’s letting him in, Kirk winced. He ducked
back into the kitchen. He went to the rear door and opened it
quietly.

He stepped into the morning light; closed
the door slowly, carefully. Kirk worked his way around the
perimeter of the house. Reaching the front, he stopped. There was a
small blue car, double-parked. The driver was alone, a young woman
with reddish hair.

And now her hand was out the window calling
for him. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know her; he had to get
away from here.

Kirk bolted toward the Honda. The passenger
door swung open. He hopped in, said, “Let’s go!” and slammed the
door. Tires squealing, they sped away.

Kirk looked back at the house. Hicks ran
from the doorway, across the lawn and out into the street. Where he
gave up as the car reached the corner and made a turn.

Out in the middle of the street Hicks heard
the blast of a horn. He moved out of the way. A black SUV passed
him. He glimpsed two Chinese men behind the windshield, apparently
speeding after the Honda.

Eddie Jones’ soldiers, Hicks thought, must’a
been watchin’ the house all along.

Chapter
69

“What did you do to your hair?” was the
first thing she said to him.

“Nothing,” Kirk said. His eyes cruised her
slender figure, covered in jeans, wool sweater and leather car
coat. “You can slow down now,” he told her.

“You’re not Frank,” she said, green eyes
flicking between Kirk and the street ahead. “Face is pretty close,
but the hair and voice are wrong.”

“Okay, then,” Kirk said, “that makes two of
you.”

“Two of me?” she smiled.

Her smile lit her up, Kirk struck now by how
attractive she was.

“I know,” she nodded. “You’re staring at me
because you’re looking for the other me.”

“No,” Kirk said. “I meant two of you telling
me I’m not Frank. You and his wife—or my wife,” he added.

She laughed. “Are you one of those guys,
breaks into houses and walks around naked inside?”