Miracle Man (8 page)

"Wally? Meet me at
Gen's in twenty minutes. We've got a war on our hands."

*

Gen's Cafe was a warm little
establishment specialising in focaccia and exotic coffees, directly across the
road from the Miracle Cinema. Lahra sat pensively at one of the window tables,
looking out at the Miracle, toying with a salt shaker. She could make out her
reflection in the glass, and was surprised at how composed she looked. Her
insides were a knot of determination and fury, and every time Marcus Dean's
face appeared in her mind the knot tightened. And every time she made a
conscious effort not to think of him, it backfired. Like a fish snared on a
line, the more she tried to distance her thoughts from him, the more he reeled
her in.

The bell above the door
jingled, awakening her from her daydream, and Lahra looked up to see Wally
entering. She smiled, and stood to greet him, then they both quickly sat as the
waitress came over to take orders. Peppermint tea for two.

"Thanks for getting
here so soon," Lahra said.

"That's okay, Doc. When
you tell me there's a war going on I move fast. So what is it? What's the
problem?"

Lahra sighed deeply. She'd
been wondering how to relate everything to Wally and she'd been going over it
and over it in her mind, but it didn't make it any easier to say. "Marcus
Dean is the problem."

"Marcus Dean. The guy
who bought the Miracle," Wally confirmed with an indignant sniff and
twitch of his moustache.

"And the guy who's now
my neighbour," Lahra added. She saw the curious look on Wally's face and
went on. "I 'ran into' Marcus Dean several times yesterday. To cut a long
story short, he bought the old Taylor place about six months ago as a country
retreat. Seems he saw the Miracle Cinema and decided it was the perfect
location for a high-tech amusement centre. So he came up with some
redevelopment plans, presented them to his superiors at the engineering firm he
works for, and they gave him the green light to make it work. Apparently he's
on some crusade to become a partner and this is his big ticket."

"How did you find all
this out?"

"Well, I saw him
swimming in the river when I arrived yesterday." The images of Marcus’s
naked form sliding through the water filled her head, but she did her best to
ignore them. "I went to see who it was and we talked a little. He
suggested we get together as neighbours last night, to get to know one another
a little better. He seemed nice enough, so I agreed. Of course, at this stage I
knew nothing about what was going on. Then when you told me about the cinema
and you being fired I just couldn't think about anything else so I didn't
bother about seeing him. Only he took it upon himself to drop in." The
next few scenes were about to be cast onto the cutting room floor. "We
spoke for a while, and that's when you called. Then I duly went crazy and
kicked him out."

"You kicked him
out?"

"Yep. Didn't even wait
for an explanation. So this morning I decided to go over and confront him, to
find out what I could. I was naively hoping that there'd been some sort of huge
misunderstanding. But he only confirmed the worst. Demolition begins next week,
and they're planning to build a giant-sized pinball parlour. I just don't
believe it."

"So what did you
do?"

"There was nothing I
could do. I told him I'd do everything I could to stop him, then left. And here
I am and I'm not sure where to begin. I need your help on this."

The waitress delivered two
cups and a pot of tea to the table. Wally's grey eyes looked at Lahra, and she
could almost see the machinations of his mind behind them. The Miracle Cinema
sat silently across the road like a third party in the conversation.

"You say this Marcus
Dean works for some company in the city?"

Lahra nodded.

"So chances are they've
got an army of lawyers that specialise in all of this real estate development
stuff."

Lahra nodded as if to say
yes, probably.

"And we've got about
three days to figure out a way of stopping them from tearing down the
Miracle."

Again Lahra nodded, slowly.

"Boy, you sure know how
to pick a fight, Doc," Wally said shaking his head.

"Wally, think about it.
I don't have to tell you how important the Miracle is to Riverbank, let alone
how important it is to you and me. It's one of the most beautiful buildings of
its era. Any building that special should be protected at all costs."

"I know that, and you
know that. But I've watched over recent years, and people just don't seem to
come here like they used to. It doesn't seem like the people of Riverbank know
what we know."

"Wally, you've done
everything you could to keep the Miracle on its feet. But with someone like
Perkins running it it's no wonder business has been going downhill. At least
his father cared about the place enough to maintain it and have a decent
program. Perkins is gone, now. If we can find some way to get the people of
Riverbank behind what we want to achieve, maybe we can stop Marcus, or at least
get him to rethink."

"In three days?"

"I know, I know,"
Lahra conceded. "But we have to at least try. From what I understand, all
of this business has been planned without the town being aware of any of it.
It’s all back door deals. If we make it an issue people might sit up and start
listening. We have a university full of students! Surely they're dying to
protest about something!"

Lahra smiled at Wally, and
once again she watched the activity behind his eyes. But this time there was
something else. An added spark. An energy.

"I have an idea or
two," he said at last in a low, gruff voice. "But if we start this,
there's no turning back. No regrets if things don't come out right. If you
declare a war, Doc, you have to be prepared to fight."

"Lately I've been
surprising myself at my ability to handle confrontations. I can handle it if
you can."

Wally's moustache curled up
into a smile. "Alright. Here's what I was thinking..."

But Lahra's attention was
suddenly elsewhere. Wally's gaze followed hers through the window, into the
street. Pulling into a parking space right alongside the Miracle was a black
convertible BMW.

"Lahra, what is
it?"

Lahra swallowed hard as
butterflies sprouted wings in the pit of her stomach and took flight. Until now
the concept of Marcus Dean's association with the Miracle Cinema was almost an
abstract one. It had been discussed, but little else. Now, seeing him emerging
from his car with the Miracle right there behind him, the concept became
concrete. Cold, hard and inescapable.

"That's him,"
Lahra said softly, as if Marcus might hear from across the street.

Wally pinpointed the tall,
well dressed man who was now crossing the street. Lahra's pulse went up a notch
as she realised Marcus was heading straight for the café.

"Heading our way,"
Wally observed.

The small brass bell above
the door rang and Marcus Dean came in off the street. He hadn't seen Lahra
sitting there, and went straight to the counter. She watched his every move.
The way he opened his jacket to get his wallet from inside. The action of his
jaw as he asked the waitress for two take-away lattes. The turn of his wrist as
he checked the time on his silver wristwatch. She lowered her cup and sat in
silence, waiting for the inevitable.

Marcus turned and saw Lahra.
She thought a smile had begun to grow across his lips, but before she could be
sure his face went stony serious. Their eyes locked for several seconds,
finally broken by the arrival of his coffees. He passed a ten dollar bill over
the counter and told the waitress to keep the change, then moved across and
stood near, but not too near, Lahra's table.

"Lahra, what a pleasant
surprise," he said, but there was nothing pleasant in his tone.

How easy it would have been
for Lahra to lose herself in his eyes. Memories of the night before, of the
sweetness of his lips engaging hers, hammered the thin veil of control inside
her. The angry knot in her stomach was unfurling as if he had some sort of
telepathic control over it, breaking it down, taking away the very thing that
allowed her to keep her distance from him. She had to keep control. She had to
stay focussed. Every second she had to remind herself that Marcus Dean was no
longer the man who had kissed her in a way she had never been kissed before. Now
she had to find a way to think of him only as her nemesis.

Lahra traded a glance with
Wally, then addressed Marcus. "Something tells me we'll be crossing paths
quite a bit in the near future. Marcus, I'd like you to meet Walter
Dymple." Marcus acknowledged Wally with a smile, and Wally managed to cock
an eyebrow in response. "He was the projectionist at the Miracle Cinema
before you lost him his job."

Marcus’s smile faded
quickly, and Wally smirked beneath the cover of his moustache as he sipped his
tea. "Mr Dymple, as I tried to explain to Lahra, I'm very sorry about the
current situation, but once we have finished our job there will be plenty of
employment opportunities for you to take your pick from..."

"And as I tried to
explain to
you
, Mr Dean, being out of work is not the issue," Lahra
argued. "Obviously I was wasting my breath."

Lahra and Marcus stared at
each other for what seemed like a very long time. His green-gold eyes were like
a palette of emotions. She could see dark colours of defiance, mixed with
flickering hues of remembrance. A part of her yearned to wake up as if from
dream, to discover that the conflict between them wasn't real, that this whole
mess was just imaginary fiction. But she knew better. There could be no backing
down to Marcus Dean. She met his gaze with equal defiance, banishing all traces
of remembrance from her mind.

"Well, I must be
going," Marcus said, stepping away. "It was nice to meet you
Walter."

Wally didn't look up from
his cup. Lahra raised hers to her lips. The brass bell rang as Marcus stepped
out into Main Street. The two of them watched silently as Marcus strode toward
the Miracle, where a man waved to him in greeting. It was Perkins. Marcus
handed one of the foam cups to him, and they went inside.

Lahra looked across at
Wally, a grim expression on both their faces. "So," she said
eventually. "What were these ideas of yours?"

*

The Riverbank Gazzette was
one of two local newspapers in the region, but it was by far the more popular,
and the only one circulated three times a week. Lahra had found the paper quite
useful in the past, though not for the reasons its editors might have hoped
for. It had often served as kindling in her fireplace.

Now Lahra sat in the
reception area of the modest Riverbank Gazzette office building, leafing
absent-mindedly through yesterday's edition. The bulk of the stories were
pretty much as Lahra had always remembered them. Farmers' complaints, senior
citizens' activities, university issues, craft markets. The kind of lightweight
stories found in any number of country towns around the globe.

Wally sat next to her,
reading over her shoulder. She went to turn the page but he stopped her.

"Wait, wait! That's him
there," he said pointing to a byline on the page. "Malcolm
McGuire!"

Lahra looked at the article.
She read the headline aloud: "
'Holy Service Visitation by Holy Cow.'
"
She then read on: "
'The congregation at Charlotte Anglican Church had
its hymns upstaged last Sunday morning when a stray cow meandered into the
church and made its way to the altar. People watched disbelievingly as the cow,
belonging to local farmer Mr Colin Wright, made Sunday brunch of the floral
arrangements.'
" Lahra lowered the paper. "Well this friend of
yours sure has a feel for important social issues."

"Believe me,"
Wally assured, "Malcolm knows this business. He's worked in Edinburgh,
London, Seoul, everywhere. He's written some pretty big stories in his time.
And besides, we don't have anybody else who can help us at such short
notice."

"Walter!" a voice
boomed, making both of them jump. Lahra turned to see a short, elderly man with
wispy red hair approaching them, arms outstretched. "It's been way too
long, old friend! How the devil are you?"

Wally stood, smiling
broadly, and the two men embraced, patting each other heavily on the back.
''I'm good, Malcolm. And as usual you look healthy enough to hurl a few
telephone poles up Main Street."

The two men laughed, and
Lahra stood. Malcolm must only have been an inch taller than her. He looked at
her with a smile and winked at Wally.

"Ah, I see you're
dating again!" he quipped in his Scottish lilt. "Do I get an
introduction?"

"Malcolm, this is my
dear old friend Lahra Brook. Lahra, Malcolm McGuire."

"Hello Mr
McGuire," Lahra said, shaking his hand.

"Malcolm, please,"
he corrected her. "And you may be a dear friend of Walter, here, but if
anyone's old, believe me, it's him!"