F Paul Wilson - Novel 04 (31 page)

“Why are you crying?”
Katie’s voice startled her. She wiped at her cheeks and her hand came
away wet and stained with mascara.

Poppy sniffed and stifled the building
sobs. Can’t go to pieces now. Got to hold together for Katie.

“Because I’m sad,
Katie.” How did she say this? She didn’t want to start answering
questions about lovers and death. “I… I lost a very dear friend
today.” She felt something touch her. She looked down and saw
Katie’s little hand patting her forearm.

“That’s okay.
I’ll be your friend.” And that only made Poppy cry harder.
I’m a basket case, she thought. I’ll kill us both if I don’t
get off the road and pull myself together.

Somewhere north of Baltimore she
spotted a GAS-FOOD-LODGING sign before the Edgewood exit.

She’d never heard of Edgewood
and figured maybe that was good. Who’d look for her in Edgewood,
Maryland?

She hit the Exit 77 ramp and the
first place she came to was a Best Western. A Denny’s and a
McDonald’s occupied the opposing corners.

Perfect.

She pulled into the parking lot,
turned off the engine, and sat there, unable to move, feeling like she suddenly
weighed a couple of tons. She felt so totally alone, so unsure. Was stopping
here the right thing? What would Paulie do?

He’d probably say. Get off
the road, park the truck around back, and hole up until you’ve made a
plan. Don’t go running around without a plan.

Okay. She’d make a plan. But
first she’d have to like figure out how to pay for the room. Cash or credit?

She opened Mac’s wallet and
went through the credit cards. All those different names—James King, Eric
Coral, Francis Black, Steven Garter, Jason Rattle, William Boa… stolen
cards or real accounts with phony names?

Weird, she thought. All snake
names. That couldn’t be a coincidence. And she remembered what Paulie
used to say about him—“a real detail guy.” Not the type to
get caught with hot plastic. Probably a good bet they were real accounts.

Good. She’d rotate them and
save her cash. Mac sure as hell wouldn’t be reporting them stolen.

“How come your face is all
black?” Katie said.

Poppy glanced in the rearview
mirror. Her cheeks were a mess of black smears.

“That’s mascara. I
kinda like to pile it on.”

“How come? And how come your
lips are all black too?”

“Because I use black
lipstick, silly.” Poppy wondered at all the questions, then realized that
Katie had never seen her without a mask until this morning.

“And how come you got
earrings in your face?”

Poppy glanced in the mirror again.
She barely noticed the diamond stud in her left nostril and the fine silver
ring through her right eyebrow anymore. Nobody she hung out with gave them a
second thought. Hell, most people she hung out with were pierced a lot more
than her. A lot more.

But they did make her stick out in
the straight world. She’d never minded that before. Liked to flaunt it,
in fact. Thumbing her nose at all the uptights.

But the last thing she wanted now
was to stick out. The rings had to go.

But not all of them.

“Want to see another?”
She pulled up her shirt and showed Katie her pierced belly button. “What
you think of that one?” Katie made a face.

“Eeeuuuuw! How
come—?”

“That’s enough
questions for now. Let’s go get us a room.”

“We’re staying
here?” Her eyes lit up. “Oh, goody! I hope the bed’s got
Magic Fingers!” And Poppy did something she’d thought she might
never do again. She smiled.

“I think we’ve got
trouble.” Alien Gold had said he was calling from a parking lot in Falls
Church. His words made Carlos’s back muscles bunch.

“Tell me.”

“Nothing doing at his house.
We drove by twice and didn’t see anything unusual. But it looks like the
shit’s hit the fan at the second address.” The Falls Church house.
Carlos squeezed his eyes shut. He knew it!

“What has happened?”

“Cops all over the place.
Looks like it might have been a raid or something. Couldn’t get a good
look.”

“Our friend’s
car… the Jeep?”

“Couldn’t tell you. I
mean, what with all the squad cars, the ambulances, the EMS trucks, who could
see? We passed by and did a typical rubbernecking thing, but the cops on the
street kept us moving. Did see a body, though.”

“Was it?”

“Couldn’t tell. Wrapped
head to toe in a sheet and rolling toward the meat wagon.” Mierda! This
could be disastrous. But he could not let Gold or Llosa know he was upset.

“Return immediately. We must
make plans.” He hung up and drummed his fingers on his belly. He had
contacts down at D.C. police headquarters. He would contact them and find out
exactly what had happened in the Falls Church house.

Worst case scenario was that
MacLaglen was dead. That meant his treacherous little tape would soon be on its
way to numerous federal agencies. And that meant that Carlos would be on his
way to the private airport where he kept his new Gulfstream V.

MacLaglen alive and in custody
would be almost as bad. MacLaglen had a lot of pride, but he would be facing
grievous charges. How long before he struck a deal to give up the one who had
hired him? Carlos guessed he’d last about a day. MacLaglen in custody
would also prompt a hurried trip to the airport.

But what about Maria? If Carlos had
to run, he’d never be able to return. He might never see his Maria again.
So she’d have to come with him—like it or not. He’d have
Llosa grab the perra and drag her out to the plane.

But where could he go? Colombia
would be the safest as far as extradition was concerned, but extradition was
only one of his worries.

After all, he had failed. Either
through his damned tape or his confession, MacLaglen would expose a plot by the
drug cartel to assassinate President Winston. Attempts to put la compania out
of business, either by a frontal assault or by legalizing its product, would
intensify.

Somehow he couldn’t see
Emilio Rojas welcoming him with open arms. He might have to find a new home.
He’d worry about where later.

He looked up the number to the
airport. Best to call and make sure his jet was fueled and ready to go.

“Whoops, there’s some
news,” Poppy said. “Leave it there for a minute.”

“I don’t like
news,” Katie said.

She had the remote pointed at the
motel TV, her thumb poised over the button. She’d been in the middle of
channel surfing when Poppy spotted the word HEADLINES on one of the D.C.
stations.

“It’s only for like a
minute, honey bunch. I just want to hear something.” Poppy leaned
forward, listening. The big story seemed to be President Winston’s sudden
admission to Bethesda Naval Hospital—“for a check-up before leaving
for Europe next week.”

“Look, it’s Uncle
Tom,” Katie said.

“Right, honey bunch. Just let
me listen a sec, okay.” This super-straight-looking babe—Heather
Something—who looked like she’d never had a beer, let alone a
joint, came on and started plugging legalized drugs.

“Look what we’ve done
by educating people about the perils of smoking. In the 1950s the average
American consumed thirteen pounds of tobacco per year. The per capita
consumption is now down to seven pounds a year and falling. Yet tobacco is
legally available. The exact opposite trend has occurred with illegal
narcotics. The conclusion is obvious: We can address the problems and focus
public education on a legal addictive substance far more effectively than on an
illegal one. Using antismoking campaigns as a model, there’s no reason we
can’t cut U.S. consumption of legalised drugs by an equal percentage.”

Great, Poppy thought. Just when
I’m like getting off the stuff.

The newswoman went on to read
stories about protests against the President’s drug decriminalization
proposal and closed with a tape of the Reverend Bobby Whitcomb calling down
Holy Fire upon the head of President Winston.

Damn. Not a word about a double
murder in Falls Church.

Maybe she’d been
wrong—maybe no one had called the cops. That meant Paulie could still be
lying there, and would keep on lying there until the landlord came looking for
his rent check or somebody reported the stink.

Poppy couldn’t bear the
thought of that. If she didn’t hear something by tomorrow, she’d
phone in a “tip” to the Falls Church fuzz. Of course, maybe the
murder of two nobodies couldn’t like compete with all the stuff the
President was doing.

“Okay,” she said.
“Hit that button to your heart’s content.”

But the channel didn’t
switch. Poppy looked over and saw big tears rolling down Katie’s cheeks.
She moved closer and put her arms around her.

“Whatsamatter, little
Katie?”

“I want to go ho-home,”
she said.

Poppy held her tighter. “I
know you do, honey.” But I don’t want to let you go, she thought.
Paulie’s gone and you’re all I’ve got now.

But she knew she had to. She just
had to figure out a way to get her back where she belonged without like landing
herself in a jail cell.

Poppy gave Katie another squeeze.
But maybe she could keep her a little while longer. Just until— She
stiffened as a terrifying thought struck her. The cops wouldn’t be the
only ones looking for Katie. As soon as the people Mac had been working for
found out he was dead and his precious “package” missing,
they’d be out looking for Katie too.

And me.

No choice. For Katie’s sake.
Poppy was going to have to get her back home tonight. Suddenly, Poppy wanted to
cry.

She couldn’t believe how
attached she’d become to this little girl. Like she’d filled an
empty place within her, an emptiness she never even knew she had. And when
Katie was gone, Poppy knew she’d leave an even bigger empty place, so big
it might swallow her up.

Dammit, she thought, stop thinking
of yourself for once. Katie doesn’t belong with you, and she’ll
only get hurt or killed if she stays. Whoever’s after us will be looking
for this pierced-up gal towing a little girl. We’ll both be better off if
we split up.

“You know what?” she
said as brightly as she could. “We’re gonna make your wish come
true. We’re gonna figure out a way to get you back to your Daddy.”
Katie straightened and looked at her.

“Really? I’m going
home?”

“Yes, baby. You’re
going home.”

Katie threw her arms around her and
squeezed. “Oh, thank you, thank you!”

Poppy felt the tears start.
“I’ll miss you, little Katie,” she said, sniffing.

“Don’t cry,”
Katie said. “You can come visit me. We’ll play Chutes and Ladders
and I’ll show you all my dolls.”

“Right,” she said
dully. “That’ll be great.” I’ll never see you again,
little Katie…

Poppy pulled free and stood up. She
wiped her eyes and said, “Okay. First step is to get in touch with your
dad. You wouldn’t just happen to like know your phone number, would you?”

Katie rattled it off.

“You’re one smart
girl,” Poppy told her.

“My Daddy made me memorize
it, in case I got lost.”

All right. But what next? She
wondered if she was smart enough to figure out how to work this without getting
caught. What would Paulie do… ?

John picked up on the first ring,
almost knocking the receiver off the kitchen wall in his mad rush to get to it.
He didn’t want it waking Mom.

“Mr. Vanduyne?” A male
voice, low-pitched, official sounding.

“Yes? Who’s
this?”

“This is Sergeant James
Waltham, Falls Church Police Department. Sir, do you have a daughter named
Katie?” Oh, no. Oh, please, God, no!

He opened his mouth but
couldn’t speak. He reached out blindly with his free hand, found the back
of a chair, and dropped into it.

Finally… “Yes?”

“We found a bottle of pills
that seem to belong to her.”

“Pills? What about Katie? Do
you have Katie?”

“No, sir. Just her pills. Do
you know where your daughter is?”

“She’s
been—” No. Don’t tell him. “She’s been on a trip.
Where did you find them?”

“At a murder scene.”

“A murder—? My God!
She’s not—?”

“No, sir. No child victim
there. But we did find some children’s clothing—a Holy Family
school uniform and—”

“Oh, God!”

“Sir, just where is your
daughter?”

“Look. I’ll be right
down. Just tell me where you’re located and I’ll be there in
fifteen minutes.”

Sgt. Waltham spelled his name and
gave John the police department’s address. John hung up and called
Decker’s private number. He repeated to Decker almost word for word what
he’d been told.

“What’s it mean,
Bob?”

“I wouldn’t even hazard
a guess right now. But this might be a major break for us. You stay put.
I’ll go down there and see what—”

“Not on your life! I know her
clothes! I can identify them!” Didn’t Decker realize that he had to
see that blazer and jumper with his own eyes, touch them, bunch them in his
hands?

“No. Stay there. You might
get e-mail—”

“I gave you my
password—you monitor my e-mail. I’m going to Falls Church. See you
there!” And he hung up.

As John stepped toward the hall
closet to grab a jacket, his cellular phone began to trill. He snatched it off
the counter.

“Is this Mr. Vanduyne?”
A woman’s voice this time— young but husky.

Two calls in a row with the same
question. But who had his cellular number?

“Yes. Who’s
this?”

“Got someone who wants to
talk to you.” A rustle, a rattle, and then a child’s voice.