Dangerous Times (24 page)

The bad luck was that the light was on
because of the dank weather. Means Kirk could be in there, Staub
worried. He knew there had been times Johnny-boy slept at his
mother’s, when things got out of hand with Lisa. Could be him,
Staub kept thinking, if the hospital released him, Beverly nursing
him now.

He pressed his cheek against the wet glass,
closed an eye and used the other to spy between the blinds and
window frame. He glimpsed the end of Kirk’s old bed, saw bare
calves and feet, two pair, one over the other, and they were
moving, as if—

“Holy shit,” Staub whispered in disbelief.
He stumbled backward from the window. Kirk was alive and making it
with his own mother?!

Driven to have another look, he returned to
the window too quickly and banged his forehead against the glass.
“Shit!” he blurted out as he brought a hand to his forehead.

The blinds snapped open and Staub was
face-to-face with who he thought was Kirk, naked, wearing nothing
but a devilish grin.

Chapter
80

Miu Chuan raced the speedboat through the
drizzly mist. A canopy with tied flaps sheltered the stern, where
Hicks and Ty sat. She leaned against him to warm herself. Hicks put
his arm around her and pulled her tight.

On their portside sat Kwok Tran, his .45 in
hand, at rest on his thigh. He took a flask from his coat pocket.
He handed it to Ty and said something to her in Chinese.

Ty shifted her eyes starboard to Kirk and
Emily, cuffed together at the wrists, sitting close for warmth,
both gazing at the flask.

Ty passed it to Kirk. He gave her a
thank-you nod, uncapped it and handed it to Emily for the first
hit. Emily took a gulp, then another.

“Hey!” Ty hollered over the roar of the
inboard. “Don’t hog it!”

Emily tossed her a nasty look and handed the
flask to Kirk. He took a swig, then returned it to Ty, the cap
swinging from its little chain. Ty screwed the cap onto the flask,
leaned across Hicks and gave it back to Kwok Tran.

“It’s empty?” Hicks asked.

“Forget it,” Ty whispered to him, “‘less ya
wanna take a nap.”

Emily swooned, began to slide off the
cushion and passed out as Kirk stood and caught her. Easing her up
onto the seats he glared at the others with angry realization.

Ty returned the look with a shrug. She,
Hicks, and Kwok watched Kirk lose his balance and collapse out cold
on deck, handcuffed wrist pulling Emily down with him.

“Pardon my French,” Hicks said to Ty, “but
would you mind tellin’ Kwok that’s some mean shit he’s got.”

Chapter
81

Beverly sat in the recliner and tightened
her bathrobe. “Gawd, no, Bob,” she answered with disgust. “Me and
my son?” She lowered her voice. “It was Lisa-the-tramp, with
Frank.”

Staub stood close, his weighty body hovering
over her. “Lisa,” he nodded. “So who’s Frank?”

He heard the toilet flush and looked to the
hallway. Frank left the bathroom and came out into the living room.
As if alone, he stopped at the coffee table and lifted a magazine.
He sat on the sofa and casually thumbed his way through it.

Staub was speechless. Except for the
bandaged cheek, Frank looked just like Kirk: Levi’s, boots, black
snap-button shirt—face and hair…“What the hell is this?” Staub said
finally.

“Frank is Johnny’s friend,” Beverly told
him. “In the marines they used to call ‘em The Twins.”

Staub pressed his thick lips together. His
mistrustful eyes went to the suitcase next to the sofa. “And he’s
livin’ here?” he asked irritably.

“For a few weeks,” Beverly said, “in
Johnny’s old room.”

“And paying for it,” Lisa smiled, appearing
out of the hallway in jeans and tight sweater, brushing her
shoulder-length hair.

“What’sa matter,” Staub said, “the guy can’t
talk for himself?”

Frank looked up at him. “Do you happen to
have the morning paper with you?”

Staub said, “No, I don’t.” He studied the
look-alike…last night in the hills, he thought.

Lisa started for the kitchen. “We’ll get the
paper for you at the market,” she said to Frank. “C’mon, Bev, let’s
make out a list.” Beverly made sure her bathrobe was tightly
closed. She stood in her furry mules and followed Lisa into the
kitchen.

Staub’s eyes still on Frank…yeah, he was
thinking; hair looks like it could be dyed…blond ghost who hit him
with the shovel.

Frank knew what Staub was thinking, seeing
his chubby hand touch the bruised side of his salt-and-pepper
scalp.

The women within hearing distance, Staub
stopped himself from saying anything about what had happened in the
hills. “You the asshole that left the satchel in the back’a my
pickup?” he growled instead.

“Bob, I’m glad you said that.” Frank sat
forward and set the magazine down. “You’ve helped confirm what had
been a questionable observation of mine.”

“What the fuck you talking about?”

“The point being,” Frank explained, “that
it’s always the assholes who call other people assholes.”

Staub’s cheeks reddened. He glanced toward
the kitchen, bent over the coffee table and brought his face close
to Frank’s. “You’re the fuck who hit me last night,” he snarled.
“Stole my pickup, left it at the shop.”

“Bob, do me a favor and back off. I don’t
like the smell of cheeseburgers.”

Staub grabbed him by the collar and pulled
him up off the sofa. About to throw a punch he saw a flash of
light. His hand flew to his throat and blood seeped between his
fingers. He stared with confusion at the straight razor Frank held,
stumbled back over the recliner and hit the floor, gurgling and
writhing.

Frank went into the bathroom and washed the
blade clean. Bob Staub, he thought, pile of garbage with the stench
of future trouble, down and out in the first round. Frank dried the
razor with a towel. He draped the towel on its rack, then folded
the razor and put it back into the medicine cabinet. He wasn’t
worried about prints. The ones on the razor were John Kirk’s,
thanks to charred Charlie.

Frank heard Beverly shout, “Jesus H!” Lisa
crying out, “Bob—Bob?!”

Chapter
82

Kirk stirred, waking on his back in the
darkness. His fingers rubbed at the hardwood floor, hand moving to
stop against the denim of Emily’s jeans. He sat upright and his
cuffed wrist tugged at hers. Emily moaned. Kirk whispered her name,
then asked if she was all right.

“I think so,” she said weakly. “Where are
we?”

Lost in space, he thought in the blackness,
knowing the feeling had something to do with his vanished past. “On
a ship,” he answered. Emily slid against him, Kirk captured by her
fragrance.

She said, “I thought nothing could ever
frighten me.”

“Let’s get up,” Kirk said. “Move along a
wall and find our way out of here.” They got up cautiously, cuffed
wrists keeping them close.

A high overhead light clicked on. Its
harshness forced their eyes closed. Then opening them, Kirk and
Emily were face-to-face, locked in the moment.

It was broken by the clank of the bulkhead
hatch. Turning toward the sound they saw the supply cages that
surrounded the large open space they stood in.

The hatch opened. Hicks lowered his head and
stepped in over the rise of the threshold. .38 in hand he was
followed by Ty, Eddie Jones coming in behind her.

Kirk and Emily gazed curiously at Ty’s
uncle: Eddie’s wispy white hair flaring down to the white sash of
his black satin robe. He reminded Emily of the phantom she had seen
recently in an Asian horror movie.

Hicks and Ty stayed back near the hatch.
Eddie passed them silently in his white-trimmed black slippers. He
came to a stop before his captives, gray eyes on Emily, as if he
had found a rare specimen. “Interesting,” he said.

“Why’s that?” she asked, thinking his smooth
face had to be the work of a plastic surgeon.

“Green eyes, red hair,” Eddie answered, “and
no ‘freckles’ is the term?”

Emily’s fear dissolved quickly. “And you
have no ‘wrinkles,’” she said.

Kirk’s cuffed wrist pulled at hers, enough
to let her know she was putting them at risk. Hicks and Ty
exchanged a look, and Eddie said to Emily, “You wish to provoke
me?”

“Sorry, no,” she apologized. “We can blame
it on my parents. My mother’s Irish and my father’s Italian.”

“Ahh,” Eddie exhaled with a change of mood.
“No doubt a fiery pair.”

“No doubt,” Emily smiled. “Now how about
getting these cuffs off us.”

As if he hadn’t heard her, Eddie slid his
Asian eyes over to Kirk. “But for hair color, your resemblance to
Mr. Moore is a great coincidence. Or is it?”

“I have no idea,” Kirk said.

“Yes,” Eddie stated. “Ty has informed me you
remember nothing of your yesterdays.”

“She’s right,” Kirk said. “Nothing before I
woke up in the hospital last night.”

“Thank you for establishing it was you,”
Eddie smiled, “not Mr. Moore who occupied the hospital room.” Then
said, “With your loss of memory I must assume you do not remember
how much Mr. Moore paid you to perform your part.”

Kirk glanced at Ty. “Mrs. Moore thinks I
might be her husband’s decoy,” he said. “Is that the part you mean,
the one I play for money, paid to get caught and maybe killed?”

“Interesting,” Eddie said. “But if I am to
believe you are innocent, why would you play at murder?”

Hicks noticed Ty stiffen. He guessed she was
thinking her uncle had no right to accuse anyone of murder; killed
her parents, Hicks thought with disdain for the man.

“Playing at murder?” Kirk said; Emily
wondering now if he’s been hiding the truth from her.

“Last night,” Eddie began, “two of my most
trusted were killed while transporting Mr. Moore by speedboat.”

“I don’t know anything about it,” Kirk
said.

“The speedboat has been found in San Pedro,”
Eddie continued. “It has been washed of the blood and is presently
being returned to me.” He paused. “There is no doubt Mr. Moore is
the guilty party.”

“Then why am I here?” Kirk asked him.

“You are considered to be Mr. Moore’s
‘partner in crime,’ I believe the expression is.” Then said,
“Perhaps you assisted him upon his arrival in San Pedro.”

“Really. And what makes you think that?”

“Tommy Shee,” Eddie said. “He arrived at
your hospital room last night, where upon you proceeded to end his
life.”

“To save my own.”

“Was it to save your own life that you
killed Mr. Ling in the hospital parking lot?”

Good question, Hicks thought, flashing on
the moment he had blown Ling’s head off. Let the white boy take the
blame.

“Ling’s dead?” Ty said. Thinking what a
lucky thing that was; glad she hadn’t told Hicks of her partnership
with Ling. No, she would tell Hicks later, uneasy about keeping
anything from him.

Eddie turned to Ty and said, “Yes, a most
unfortunate event.” His gray eyes moved to Hicks. “An event,
Lieutenant, which had occurred soon after I spoke on the phone with
you and Mr. Ling.”

“Right,” Hicks said. “I’d left him at the
hospital, then got a police call about what happened an’ went
back,” figuring a half-truth was better than none.

“As I have been informed,” Eddie smiled
serenely; Hicks unsure if he was being toyed with.

Eddie turned back to Kirk and Emily. “We
must leave you now,” he said tiredly. “We shall soon meet again,”
and he moved gracefully toward Hicks and Ty. “At which time we
shall hear the truth,” Eddie said as they left.

“The cuffs,” Kirk called after them,
punctuated by the clank of the hatch lock.

Chapter
83

Frank and Beverly stood at the back of her
cottage, under an eave that sheltered them from the morning
drizzle. Frank, dressed in Kirk’s clothes, didn’t mind the broken
zipper on the jacket. He wasn’t bothered by the mid-fifties
temperature.

Beverly wore black galoshes, a yellow
slicker over her jeans and flannel shirt; blond hair stuffed under
her yellow rain hat, hands in yellow kitchen gloves.

“You look like the fisherman on the oyster
crackers’ box,” Frank smiled.

Beverly kept her somber eyes on the
rolled-up rug that lay bulky at the side of the driveway. “Some
blood in the living room,” she said trance-like. “Clean it up when
we get back.”

“I’ll take care of it while you’re gone,”
Frank said. “As promised, a little something to ease the pain.” He
pulled out a rubber-banded wad of hundred dollar bills. Beverly had
no reaction, eyes glued to the rug. Frank lifted the flap of her
slicker pocket and slid the money into it.

Staub’s pickup coasted up the driveway and
stopped alongside the rug. Lisa hopped out in her designer rain
boots, hooded red slicker over jeans and wintry sweater, hands in a
pair of powder-blue kitchen gloves.

Lisa went around to the tailgate and dropped
it open. “Now I remember what this rolled up rug reminds me of,”
she said. “On a TV show I saw a snake swallow a big fat rat.”

“Jesus H,” Beverly scowled. “Have you no
feelings?”

“Not for this rat,” Lisa said as she tapped
the rug with her boot.

“All right, that’s enough,” Frank said.
“Time to heave–ho.”

The three of them struggled with the weight
of the rug. Beverly and Lisa huffed and puffed as they tilted it
upward and leaned it against the tailgate.

They took a break. Beverly panted and said,
“Gawd, it’s heavier than when we dragged it out here.”

“The rug rat’s gotten waterlogged,” Lisa
snickered.

“Let’s finish this,” Frank said easily. He
crouched and took hold of the rug’s bottom end. Beverly and Lisa
grabbed the length, both grunting as the rug slid up onto the
tailgate. The three of them then pushed it deeper into the bed.