Forever Friday (25 page)

“Just coffee,” Gabe said flatly.

After the waitress delivered two cups, they sat in silence. Gabe lit a cigarette and Huck peered outside. The sun would be down soon, but the street was crowded with people.

“You want to talk?” Huck asked.

“We have. There’s nothing else to say.”

“Then let’s go back to the room.”

Gabe shook his head. “We have to meet with the Ranger.”

“Was he the one who killed Clark?”

“I don’t know.” Gabe blew out a cloud of smoke. “He’s dead and you’re alive. That’s what matters.”

She couldn’t believe Clark was dead, the shock of his actions numbing the grief over his death, at least for now. Everything seemed like a horrible nightmare, none of it real. A Texas Ranger had killed Clark, then removed her from the car while she was still unconscious. When she regained consciousness, another Ranger sped her to a kindly doctor who’d declared her to be “one bruised but lucky young lady.” Then Gabe had arrived at the doctor’s office.

“And the doctor is sure Clark didn’t …” She looked across the table at Gabe. A tear slipped down his cheek.

“I’m positive. We can thank the Rangers for that.”

“How did they know I belonged to you?”

“There was an envelope in your purse with cash and a withdrawal slip with both our names on it. The law knew I was here working for Gulf, so it wasn’t hard to figure out.”

She stared out of the window. Did Clark think the police would never find out? Or that Gabe wouldn’t hunt him down and make him pay? She did feel sorry for his family and wondered what would drive a man to such a bitter and tragic end.

And where was Mister Jack when she’d needed him most?

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” Gabe asked.

“Coffee’s fine.” They’d both been too upset to eat. She reached across the table for his hand. He loosely held it a moment, then released it. Huck felt hot tears roll out of her eyes. Shameful tears. Was what happened her fault? If she could start the day over, she would. But what was done couldn’t be undone. And because she’d been so childish, so impulsive, she was almost raped.

And Clark was dead.

Gabe held out his handkerchief, so she took it and buried her face in her hands. It was all she could do to look at him, never having seen such anger and hurt occupy one man’s face at the same time.

At the doctor’s office, Gabe had been visibly upset. But after hearing the story, he was overcome with emotion, saying at least a dozen times how blessed he felt that she was alive. So he took her back to his hotel room, where she bathed and changed clothes. Then they’d lain on the bed and he’d held her for over an hour. Feeling guilty, she’d confessed about Clark’s letter, explaining between sobs how he’d not only apologized for his former actions but sought their forgiveness. That’s why she’d traveled to Kilgore with him.

“I wanted to tell you about … the letter … when we sailed on … 
Cleopatra
,” Huck said finally, “but I burned it instead. I’m … so … sorry.”

“If I’d read the letter, none of this would have happened,” Gabe snapped. “I would’ve known it wasn’t a sincere apology.” He stopped
holding her and stood, then crossed to the window and peered outside. The next thing she knew, he was facing her.

“Tell me the truth,” Gabe said, his voice an angry whisper. “Did you really expect me to forgive him? Do I need to forgive a dead man?”

Before Huck could reply, Gabe had walked out of the room.

The café door opened with a squeak. Huck looked up and wiped her eyes as Ranger Gonzaullas entered. He still wore the Stetson, and his uniform looked as clean and starched as if he’d just stepped out of the dry cleaners. The famous Lone Wolf Gonzaullas had saved her.

Gonzaullas approached their table and removed his hat. “I’ve done a little research, and there’s something you folks need to know.”

“Have a seat. Please.” Gabe stood grimly and the two men shook hands, even though they’d already met. “Cigarette?”

“Just coffee, thanks.” The Ranger signaled to a waitress, then sat. “Are you folks aware that Richards was connected to gangsters in Chicago? Had planned to rob the Kilgore National Bank?”

“Heavens, no.” Huck stared in disbelief. “I thought he was a bank examiner.”

“He was.” Lone Wolf paused as the waitress delivered his coffee, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Borrowed massive amounts of money from the mob. Missed a payment, so they threatened to put rocks in his pockets and give him an underwater tour of Lake Michigan. That’s when he started stealing from the banks he examined.”

Gabe lit another cigarette. “I guess he was privy to any account he chose.”

“Right.” Gonzaullas sipped his coffee. “Skimmed a little off the top from folks who’d never notice. Then he got greedy. Mob did too. So they made a deal to work together. That’s how we found him.”

“What about his wife?” Huck asked. “Did she know?”

“Left him three years ago. The reason he’d borrowed money in the first place was to fight one of the wealthiest families in Chicago for custody of his son. Six months ago, the boy died of pneumonia.”

“Oh no!” Huck gasped. “We had no idea.” At least what Clark had done was not just about her.

Gabe tapped his cigarette on the edge of an ashtray. “So how did you find him?”

“My partner and I arrested one of the two gangsters Richards planned to meet. Recognized him from a mug shot. After some thorough questioning, this lowlife copped a plea. The boys in Chicago had learned that when this bank job was over, Richards planned to relocate somewhere down on the Mexican Riviera with most of the cash. Mafia’s not big on being double-crossed, so they ordered a bullet put through Richards’s head.”

“Then it wasn’t … you?” Huck could barely speak.

“No ma’am. Best we can figure, these two goons had planned to meet Richards in town, but he didn’t show. So one gangster hung around the bank, while the other patrolled the road from Houston. When Richards sped by with a passenger, he followed. Sneaked some distance on foot and shot Richards through the rear windshield. Luckily, my partner and I got there and apprehended the shooter before he was able to finish—” He stopped. “It’s a miracle I noticed that old logging road. Thought I heard something in the distance, even though my partner didn’t. Just before we crossed Sandy Creek, we saw fresh tire tracks.” He furrowed his brow. “I’m glad you’re okay, ma’am.”

“What did you hear?” Huck faced the Ranger. “Please tell me.”

“Can’t really say.” He rubbed his chin and thought for a moment.
“A low rumble. Almost like what you’d hear just before a gusher. But different. Closest rig I know about is fifteen miles away. Out west, I’d swear it was a quake. The odd thing was that I heard it until I saw Richards’s car, and then the sound stopped. Guess this place is getting to me.”

“We can’t thank you enough,” Gabe said.

“And by the way …” Lone Wolf stood and put on his Stetson. “Spoke on the phone awhile ago with our office in Houston. They questioned a teller at First National Bank who swears a beautiful woman distracted Richards this morning. We think it delayed his being able to be alone in the vault. Kept him from making off with thousands.” The Ranger tipped his hat. “And folks think men make the best crime fighters.”

As soon as Gonzaullas left, Gabe signaled the waitress and ordered two grilled cheese sandwiches to go.

“That’s a good idea,” Huck said. “You might be hungry later.” She didn’t know how long the café stayed open, but they were the only customers left.

“It’s not for me,” Gabe replied.

“I can’t eat—”

“I telephoned Cutter. Even though baseball season’s in full swing, the Exporters have a few days off. He’s driving up from Beaumont and will take you to your folks. Should be here in about twenty minutes.”

“What?” Huck began to cry again. “We’re not going home?”

“I’ve got to stay here awhile longer.”

“How long?”

He ignored the question. “You’ll be just fine. Cutter knows what happened. Your folks don’t.”

“But what should I tell them?”

“Don’t tell them anything. You’re good at that.”

They were waiting in the hotel lobby when Cutter arrived. Gabe grabbed Huck’s bag, and they headed outside to her twin’s car. Gabe hugged her good-bye, then opened her door. Neither spoke.

“Thanks for the grub.” Cutter started the engine. “I think I’ll take her back to my place in Beaumont. The news about what’s happened is liable to find its way over to Huntsville.”

“Good idea,” Gabe said. “Should I phone your folks?”

“I’ll take care of that.”

“Thanks.”

“Any idea when you’ll be coming to get her?” Cutter asked.

“Sometime later in the week. I’ve still got a few days here.”

“On Thursday, I’m headed out of town with the team. Y’all stay on at my place as long as you need.”

Gabe nodded. “There’s a sandwich in the sack for Huck, but she probably won’t eat it.”

“I’ll take care of that too.” Cutter depressed the clutch and shifted into gear. “I passed a little soda fountain at the edge of town. We’ll stop there for a couple of root beer floats. It’s gonna be a hot night.”

Gabe watched the car disappear into the still evening. When he’d hugged Huck good-bye, they’d tried to act as though nothing was wrong between them.

But for the first time in their marriage, things were very wrong.

And Cutter wasn’t stupid.

For the next three days, Gabe worked in his temporary office at the bank in Kilgore from dawn until dusk. He only spoke when necessary and ordered all his meals to go, eating them at his desk. Thoughts of Huck occupied his psyche during every waking moment and even dominated his dreams. In his mind, her perfume still lingered in his hotel room. He’d tried to change rooms, and even hotels, but everything was full. So he walked the uneven plank sidewalks until the nightfall curfew, blankly staring into the eyes of strangers. After that, he roamed the nearby wooded trails and darkened alleyways for hours. It wasn’t safe, and he’d be arrested and thrown into jail if caught. He didn’t much care and, in a way, hoped some lowlife would be itching for a fistfight. But all he ever saw were stray animals and a few sleepy drunkards.

On Thursday evening he finished the Kilgore job, but wasn’t required to be back in his Houston office until the following Monday. He knew he should at least telephone Huck, and had started to several times after his initial anger subsided into numbness. But numbness soon morphed into guilt, which incurred another round of anger. And since she’d not tried to contact him, he wondered if things could ever be right between them again.

So he packed his briefcase and trudged back to the restaurant adjacent to his hotel a little before dark. He wasn’t hungry but remembered the grilled cheese sandwiches he’d ordered for Cutter. Everything he’d eaten during the past four days had tasted like fried sawdust. For some unexplained reason the grilled cheese sounded good, and he might
want a bite of nourishment during the night. He wasn’t sleeping much anyway and had to muster the strength to decide what he’d do next.

After paying for his order, Gabe clutched his bag of sandwiches and stepped outside, pausing in front of the hotel to smoke a cigarette. He peered down the dusty main road, now fading into the twilight. It was the last place he’d seen Huck. Recollections of her had been so painful, he’d forced most of them from his mind. He’d envision her face and then see Clark forcing himself on her. It made Gabe break into a cold sweat, made him want to vomit.

The cigarette had lost its taste, so he flicked it into a nearby spittoon. It was a good thing Richards was already dead because Gabe might’ve finished the job. The thought was both satisfying and terrifying. When he’d fought in the trenches during World War I, he swore he’d seen enough killing to last a lifetime. Apparently, a man’s view of “enough” might change.

“You planning on eating them sandwiches?” croaked a voice from the shadows.

Startled, Gabe turned. A whiskered old man with a wooden leg—probably a drunkard—sat on a bench in front of the hotel. “All yours,” Gabe said, handing over the sack. The man obviously needed them worse than he.