Daughter of Darkness (14 page)

    At the prospect of seeing her again, he felt his heart begin to pound against his chest. He'd been in love a few times in his life. But never like his.

    Then the gates were opening and a silver Jaguar pulled out on to the road.

    

    

    

    If the man driving the Jag knew he was being followed, he didn't let on. He drove at a respectable speed and didn't try to initiate any sudden turns.

    The dark countryside of hills and tall fir trees and farmland posted NO HUNTING soon gave way to the suburbs. Coffey missed the open land as soon as he was out of it. He loved seeing the moonlight paint cornfields and piney hills with its silver tones. Then came church spires, a Pizza Hut, a McDonald's, a Wendy's, a shopping mall. Suburbia. Everything neat and orderly. The train depot where commuters came and went. The small brick medical clinic where the earnest young doctor was eager to examine you and test his new skills. The football field ablaze on what had once been expensive pastureland, a Thursday night game pitting one suburban high school against another, the marching bands booming away in the stands. Coffey could almost smell the coffee-did it ever smell better than at a football game on a chilly night?-and taste the popcorn and feel the special thrill of glimpsing the girl you secretly had a crush on.

    Then the Jag found the freeway entrance and shot far ahead of Coffey. Coffey sped up to keep pace. For some reason, the Dan Ryan was crowded tonight.

    It was easy to slip into memory here, wife and daughter in the car as they were returning from a long weekend trip, the heater creating a soft, sleepy cocoon; the radio playing soft music low; the three of them luxuriously tired and ready for the warm, clean sheets of their own beds. The world had seemed so right, so
knowable
back then. Nothing could go wrong in such a realm. Nothing…

    Coffey had to do a little frantic driving to catch the Jag again, changing lanes abruptly, zipping in and out of car packs. He got a few horns honked at him, and a teenage girl gave him a double-whammy-her horn
and
her middle finger.

    But he caught up with them, finally, keeping a two-car distance between himself and the sleek Jag. He tried to see if they were having a conversation or if Jenny was simply sitting there, staring out the window. But it was impossible to know from this distance. All he could think of was warning her, of getting her away from the blond man, whoever he was.

    The Jag driver still seemed to have no idea that Coffey was following him. No idea at all.

    

    

    The La Royale Restaurant was one of those places where the parking valets always put the Mercedes Benzes and BMWs in the back. They didn't want to give the place a bad name. The Rolls Royces went up front, where people driving by on the street could see them. Tonight, there were five. The valet had put them in a straight, gleaming line. The hoods and roofs reflected the purple tint of the sodium vapor security lights.

    The Jag pulled up to the valet. He gave them a claim check for the car and then took it to the back of the small parking lot. The blond man and Jenny went inside. Coffey watched all this from down the street. He didn't like anything he was seeing. He particularly didn't like the way the blond man put a familiar and possessive arm around Jenny's shoulders as they walked to the formidable front door of the restaurant. Who the hell was this guy, anyway?

    Coffey still had no idea what he was going to do. He'd just have to see what he found inside and play it from there.

    The valet didn't need his lips to sneer. He could do it with his eyes. He looked monumentally superior when Coffey came up to the front door dressed in his blue suede jacket, white shirt, jeans, white socks, and penny loafers.

    "The sock hop's down the street, mate." the valet said. He looked like a male model who might actually be able to take care of himself with his fists. He wore a mock-toreador outfit, snug red jacket, snug black pants.

    "That isn't where I'm going, 'mate,' " Coffey said. "I'm going inside."

    "Oh, yeah?"

    "Yeah"

    Coffey started to open the door, but the valet put a strong hand on his arm.

    "You're not going in there dressed like that, mate," the valet said.

    Coffey removed the valet's hand from his arm and then startled the young man by shoving him backward, shoving him hard enough to knock him up against a parked car.

    Inside, the decor was solemn and reverent as a church. One did not come here merely to indulge the gross animal need for chow. One came here for-as the menu said-"the most unique dining experience in Chicago."

    Coffey was reading the menu because there wasn't anything else to do. He sat in the bar, which was elevated a good five feet above the restaurant stretching out before it. You could see the restaurant through a long piece of plate glass. The bar was as dark as the restaurant, all leather and deep, dark pile carpeting and flickering candlelights. The catacombs had probably been better lit than this place.

    Jenny and the blond man were sitting in the center of the restaurant. The wine waiter was taking their orders. In French, no doubt.

    Every minute or so, Coffey looked up from the menu to check on Jenny. Still there. How was he going to warn her when the blond man was sitting there?

    "The wild game in truffle broth comes with a pecan-dipped veal chop," the bartender said, nodding to the menu Coffey was holding. He was a stout man in a red brocaded vest, a white shirt and a string tie that was more Western than La Royale. Two of his front teeth were gold.

    Coffey smiled. "You sound like a commercial."

    "I'm not kidding. They always give the help a meal every night. It's usually whatever the special is. I had the wild game tonight, and it's sensational."

    Coffey slid the menu back to him. Apparently, they left the menus on the bar so you could figure out what you wanted to eat while you were waiting to be seated. "I'd take another Diet Pepsi."

    "Sure you can handle it?"

    Coffey laughed. "Maybe if I pace myself, I'll be all right."

    The bartender stared at Coffey for a time and then said, "We don't want any trouble."

    "Trouble?"

    The bartender leaned over, his elbows on the bar. "What's she doing, stepping out on you?"

    "Who?" Coffey said, surprised.

    "Look, friend, you obviously didn't come here to eat. Not dressed like that, you didn't. And you keep staring through the glass there at somebody in the restaurant. Last guy that did that, he sits here for an hour, hour-and-a-half really knocking back the martinis. I finally had to cut him off. Sonofabitch could barely walk. I'm getting ready to call him a cab and get him the hell out of here, but all of a sudden we get really busy, so I can't get to it right away. In the meantime, the guy sneaks off. He goes over to the restaurant part, walks straight over to this table where his wife is sitting with her boyfriend. He turns the table over, and then he starts working on the boyfriend. Mousy little guy, cheap suit, thick glasses. The boyfriend isn't any giant either, but he's a hell of a lot bigger than the husband. But the husband just starts stomping the guy. Nothing like a woman to make you crazy. Takes four busboys, me, and the maitre d' to pull the little guy off the boyfriend."

    "And you think I'm going to do that?"

    "I think it's at least a possibility, friend. You seem mighty interested in that one table down there."

    "He's my cousin."

    "Sure, he is."

    "He's my cousin by marriage. My blood cousin asked me to check him out. Make sure he was being faithful. I guess I got the answer I didn't want."

    The bartender looked at him skeptically. "So what re you going to do about it?"

    "Nothing. I mean, nothing like start trouble. I'll just call Amy and tell her what I found out."

    "She's going to be pissed, that's for sure." Then the bartender nodded to the table where Jenny and the blond man sat. "I got to give her husband one thing."

    "What?"

    "He's got great taste."

    "You know who she is?"

    "Huh-uh. But I sure know she's beautiful. Wow."

    "How about the Diet Pepsi?"

    "Just remember, no trouble."

    Coffey nodded. He felt like a bad third grader the nuns were giving one last warning. "No trouble," he said, like a good little boy.

    

    

    It was another half hour before Coffey saw his chance.

    By this time, the bar had filled up. The entire restaurant was starting to reach its maximum capacity. Places like this didn't really fill up till nine o'clock or so. The bartender had apparently decided that Coffey was harmless, after all. He scarcely looked at his ill-dressed customer any more.

    The blond man got up and left the table, presumably to go to the men's room.

    This was Coffey's chance.

    He was down off the bar stool quickly. He worked his way through the crowded bar and started across an open space between the bar and the restaurant proper. The maitre d' a tuxedo'd man who looked like all the stuffy high-society men in Marx Brothers movies, lurched toward Coffey, clearly bent on stopping such a slovenly specimen from coming into
his
eatery.

    Coffey just kept on walking. There were small knots of people here and there-all the pretty people drinking, thinking they'd got it made, as Bob Dylan had once sung-and Coffey used them as blockers as he headed for the goal line. The maitre d' didn't want a scene, God forbid. He fell back in place, up near the rostrumlike stand where he greeted customers. He stood there in his tuxedo and glowered with enough heat to go super nova.

    Jenny's back was to him as he approached the table.

    He hurried to her table and sat down in the blond man's chair.

    Over her white turtleneck sweater, she now wore a navy blue blazer with a family crest on the breast pocket. With her dark hair, her seductive blue eyes, and her vivacious red lipstick, her beauty almost physically rocked him. He just wished he had time to sit here and appreciate.

    "I think you have the wrong table," she said quietly.

    He leaned toward her. "I don't look familiar?"

    "Please," she said, "I'm really not in the mood for any games. My friend is here and-"

    "Your friend?" he said. "How long have you known him?"

    "That's none of your business. I really don't want you sitting here."

    A huge Japanese man, also in a tuxedo, was now standing next to the maitre d' and the maitre d' was nodding in Coffey's direction. The Japanese man, who had to be six-seven or six-eight and two hundred and fifty pounds, started moving purposefully down the aisle between the tables. Right toward Coffey.

    "I'm trying to help you," Coffey said. "The police are looking for you. Somebody's identified you-not by name but by description."

    He saw that it was hopeless. She couldn't be a good enough actress to fake the blank look she gave him. She obviously saw this as a hustle of some kind-a romantic fool taking a desperate chance on meeting her. She didn't look troubled by anything he said-his words didn't seem to awaken any memories in her-she simply looked irritated.

    "All I want is a quiet dinner," she said. "I really need to relax. And I can't relax when you're bothering me like this."

    "I'm trying to help you," he said again. But he knew it was futile.

    Then a hand the size of a catcher's mitt gripped his shoulder and began the slow but certain process of grinding his shoulder into a fine, powdery dust. The Japanese man no doubt spent a good deal of his time working out. He could probably bench press a Buick.

    "Oh, thank you so much," Jenny said, looking up at the bouncer. "I wasn't sure what to do."

    "You don't know him?" the bouncer said. He might be Japanese but he spoke perfect Chicago English, right down to the familiar nasality of tone.

    She shook her head. "No. And I don't
want
to know him either."

    That was all the bouncer needed to know. He doubled the strength of his grip on Coffey's shoulder and literally lifted Coffey to his feet. Coffey wasn't exactly a small man himself.

    The blond man had just reappeared. "What's going on here?" he said, seeing the bouncer jerk Coffey from his chair.

    "I'm just assisting the lady," the bouncer said.

    "It's nothing to get upset about, David," Jenny said. "Anyway, it's over now."

    "I'd still like to know what happened," David said, glancing at Jenny, then at Coffey. He wore a dark blue double-breasted suit, a buff blue shirt, a paisley blue silk necktie. All of them expensive.

    Then Jenny looked overwhelmed by it all, her cool facade starting to crack. "I think I'll go to the ladies' room."

    "It's all right, Jenny. It's all under control now." David's voice surprised Coffey. It was deep and masculine, but there was a gentleness to it that was comforting. Jenny brightened a bit at the sound of it.

    "I'll be back, David. Don't worry."

    She stood up, excused herself from the table, and walked away.

    "Let's go," the bouncer said to Coffey.

    "I want to talk to my friend here about International Investigations," Coffey said.

    At the mention of the agency, David's eyes narrowed and he seemed to really look at Coffey for the first time. "Who
are
you?"

    David wasn't what Coffey had expected. He seemed to be a decent guy.