Getaway (32 page)

Her passport.

She stared at him for a moment, and then she started laughing.

Lying in
the dark of her room, she wondered what Morales would be willing do to keep her here. Could he have her arrested? On what charges? Or maybe he didn’t need any. Maybe being a witness, a material witness, or whatever you called it, maybe that was enough.

Or he could just phony up some more drug charges. Or file the ones that were already there.…

Would he try again? The man who’d hurt her?

Morales must be counting on that, she thought, that she’d feel threatened, would want to turn to him for protection.

It was tempting. Maybe she was being stupid, naïve, but she thought that he meant what he said. That he actually wanted to help her.

But what could she really tell him? About Gary? About Daniel?

If he really is honest, he’s better off not knowing, she thought.

By now it was about 10:00
P.M
. Early for Vallarta. Late for her. She felt doped up, drowsy, but everything still hurt. Maybe a book, she thought. Maybe she could read, if the pain in her head would let her.

There was a knock at the door.

She felt her heart jump into her throat. Stupid, she told herself. It’s probably Paloma. Probably.

As long as it wasn’t fucking Gary.

“Just a minute.”

She hobbled to the door.

It was Daniel.

[CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE]

“What happened to you?”

“You don’t know?”

“I …” He looked past her, into the room. “Can I come in?”

She hesitated. All her trouble had started when she’d let Daniel into her room the first time. And she still didn’t know how dangerous he really was.

Maybe I’m being stupid, she thought. Maybe Gary was right.

She stepped aside and let him pass.

He had his small canvas bag slung over one shoulder, and as soon as he shut the door, he reached into it and pulled out what looked like a walkie-talkie, like the kind her friends in TV production used.

“What—”

He shook his head a little, touched a finger to his lips. “Got anything to drink?”

“I think there’s beer in the fridge,” she said.

She lowered herself, with difficulty, onto the bed, watched him as he pushed a button on the device, stared at it, and opened the refrigerator door.

“There’s a few. You want one?”

“Sure.” Might as well.

Daniel pushed another button on the device. It started playing a sound, something between running water and one of those rain sticks that the pseudo-hippies at Venice Beach liked to shake. He put it on the nightstand.

“It’s white noise,” he said quietly. “Just in case anyone’s listening that this didn’t pick up. Where’s your cell phone?”

“I don’t know. Not here. Gone.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“I know Gary. A cell phone’s the easiest thing in the world to use. He could hack the GPS, and there’s spyware you can put on it that turns it on, makes it act like a microphone. So he’d have some idea when you were coming and going, where you were. And he could hear some of what you said if the phone was close by.”

“Oh, God.” She thought about it. Her stomach twisted. “Charlie. And you and me. That’s how …”

“Yeah.” He pulled the desk chair up next to the bed and opened the beers with a pocketknife, handed her one. “Okay,” he said. “What happened?”

“Someone hit me on the head, threw me in a car trunk, took me up to the dump, and tried to kill me. Then they killed Charlie. And where the fuck were you?”

“I …” He stared at her. He’d gone pale. “Jesus.” He took a long pull on his beer. “I didn’t know.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“I tried to call you,” he said. “I came here, I looked everywhere for you. I finally found out you were in the hospital but that you were gonna be okay. I thought … I thought it was better if I didn’t go to the hospital, if I waited until you got out.”

“Why? In case the police were watching?”

He flinched, and she knew she’d called that one right.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell them anything about you. I didn’t
tell anyone, except Charlie.” A surge of acid burned her throat, and she swallowed hard. “And Gary.”

“You told Gary?”

“I had to. He caught me when I was trying to get out of town.”

“Shit. What did you tell him?

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. What you told me I should tell him. You know, how he should lay off me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s not good enough!” Daniel looked away. Drank more of his beer.

“Look at me, Danny,” she said. “Look at me. I didn’t ask for any of this. I talked to Charlie because I was desperate. He tried to help me, and he died. And you come in here with some
spy
toy, and then you just
sit
there, like, like … 
Shit!
”

She’d moved the wrong way. Pain stabbed down her shoulder, her arm. It hurt to breathe.

“What’s wrong?” He came and sat on the bed next to her, started to put a hand on her shoulder, stopped.

“I have two broken ribs and a broken arm, you asshole.”

“Jesus.” He chugged the rest of his beer, went to the fridge and grabbed another one. “You could’ve stayed with me.”

“Oh, right. After you said you wanted to kill me.”

“Look, I was pissed off. I mean, how’d you think I was gonna feel? Come on, Gary was
paying
you to fuck me!”

“Like I had a choice? Like I could count on you?”

He sat down on the bed, next to her but not touching her, as though she were surrounded by some invisible barrier.

“You don’t think I’m the one who did this, do you? Do you trust me now, at least?”

“Trust you? You must be joking.” She drank some of her beer. One beer with Vicodin, that wouldn’t hurt, would it? “But no, I don’t think you did this. It’s not how you operate.” Funny, how she was suddenly sure of that, if nothing else. “I mean, the dump. Why the dump? It was hard to get up there. There were people who might have seen him. He could have just killed me on the
street. Or anywhere. But it was making a point. Like the pig’s head. You know? It was …”

Performance. That’s what it was.

“Gary has a funny sense of humor. You said that. It’s some kind of a game to him, isn’t it? It’s
fun
.”

Daniel nodded. Hung his head and studied his beer. “He’s a sick fuck,” he said.

“And you’re … you’re
what
? Who are you, Danny? A good guy? A spook? Some sleazy bus driver for drug lords?”

“The less you know, the better off you are,” he said tightly. “Look, I’ll get you out of here. I’ve got an idea how to do it. But you have to play along.”

Was it better to play along with Daniel or trust Morales? And not just Morales but the system behind him as well. The corrupt cops. The suspect judges. The drug cartels, with their fingers in everything.

And the system behind Daniel? Did she even know what it was?

“All right,” she said.

It wasn’t even the devil she knew. It was the devil she knew better.

They sat there for a while in silence.

“Is there anything I can get you?” he finally asked.

“No … Yes, this sling, this brace thing I’m wearing. I can’t take it off by myself. And I hate this shirt.” The shirt Gary had brought her. “I don’t want to wear it.” Now she was crying. She couldn’t seem to stop. “Just help me get it off. And take it away. I don’t want to see it.”

“Okay,” he said, a helpless note in his voice. “Okay, don’t worry. I’ll do that.”

He helped her take off the sling and swathe, gently unwrapping the swathe, cradling her arm as he removed the sling. He guided her good arm out of the sleeve of the T-shirt, pulled the shirt over her head, and peeled it down her injured arm.

“Sorry,” he said when she winced from the pain of the movement.

“You can’t help it.”

He was looking at her body now, staring and then looking away, at the bruises, she figured, deep and purple on her ribs and arm, and on her hip, too, but he couldn’t see that.

“There’s a nightshirt in the dresser,” she said.

He nodded. Let out a short, hard breath. Then he wadded up Gary’s T-shirt and threw it in the corner.

“There’s a
party I’m supposed to go to tomorrow. It’s just up the coast. You’ll come with me.”

“I’m not supposed to leave town. Morales told me.”

They lay in bed. He’d helped her with her nightshirt and the sling and swathe. Sweat gathered under its pads and straps. He’d taken off his shirt and lay there in his shorts. It was easier to talk that way, lying down.

“It’s not far,” he said. “Just in San Pancho. It’s a little town past the north end of Banderas Bay.”

“How is that going to help? Going there?”

“I’ve got some business to do. But I can get a plane close by. I’ll fly you back. To the States.”

She almost laughed. “What kind of business?”

“It’s complicated,” he muttered. “Look, it’s up to you. If you want to go, I’ll take you.”

She thought about it. “What about the police?”

“If they’ve got somebody watching, you’re not going to look like you’re running. We’re just going to a party, that’s all. And the cops here, they don’t exactly have a lot of resources.”

“What about Gary?”

“Fuck Gary. He doesn’t have anything to say about this.”

She was so drowsy—from the drugs, from the beer, from the pain in her head—that it was hard to think straight.

Was there another choice? She couldn’t come up with one.

“What’s everyone going to think, seeing me like this?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“They’ll know,” she said. “Everyone knows everything here.”

“You got mugged,” he told her, his face inches from hers, his
features blurred by the dark. “Robbed. But you’re feeling better, and you wanted to go out, just to get your mind off what happened. Right? Can you sell that?”

“I guess.” He sounded like Gary, she thought.

“Try to sleep,” he said.

“You don’t have to stay.” She wasn’t sure if she even wanted him to stay.

“I’d better. You shouldn’t be alone when you have a head injury. Didn’t the doctors tell you that?”

She nodded. It’s better that he’s here, she told herself, and there was something comforting, she had to admit, about having him lying there within arm’s reach.

“I’ll get you out of this,” he said. “I promise.”

[CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR]

He left early the next morning
, before the sun had even risen. “I’ll be back to pick you up around four-thirty,” he said. “I’ve got some stuff I have to deal with. Can you be ready?”

“I’ll need some help getting dressed.”

“Oh.” He thought for a moment. “I’ll come at four. Does that give you enough time?”

“Sure.”

What did she have to do, other than dress? Not pack. She was leaving all these things behind.

After Daniel left, she managed to put on a pair of shorts and her Mephisto walking sandals (her cute Kenneth Cole flip-flops were lost somewhere up at the dump) and hobble downstairs for breakfast.

Forget a bra. That wasn’t going to happen.

“Oh, Señora Mason, you look much better today!” Paloma exclaimed.

“Really?” Michelle doubted it. “Thanks,” she added quickly. There was no point in saying what she really thought, not here, not now.

“Let me bring you some breakfast.”

Michelle sat at a table by the courtyard fountain. Drank a cup of coffee. Ate a couple pieces of toast and some fruit. Petted the calico cat when it came by looking for handouts.

She thought about writing Maggie another e-mail. Tell her what was going on. That she thought she’d be home soon but she really wasn’t sure.

What was the point, though?

If I make it home, I make it, she thought. If I don’t, what was the point of telling Maggie what had happened? How would that help anyone?

Would telling Maggie result in some kind of justice?

If I’m gone, what difference does it make? she thought.

Besides, if Maggie didn’t know anything, maybe they’d leave her alone.

After that, Michelle took a Vicodin and went back upstairs to lie down.

“What should
I wear? This?”

She showed Daniel the black dress she’d worn that night to the cocktail party downtown—the dress she’d bought with Gary’s money.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” He sounded distracted. “Maybe bring along some shorts and a sweater or something. And your swimsuit, to make it look good. It’s at the beach, and there’s a pool. People’ll be spending the night there, so no one’s gonna wonder if you have some extra things.”

“So I can bring a toothbrush?” She tried to make it light. Why not? If she could joke about it, maybe it wasn’t as bad as she feared.

“Sure.” He grinned. “Hey, go to town—bring the floss.”

He helped her dress. She didn’t want to look at herself in the mirror. If she saw how ridiculous she looked, how wounded, how
helpless
 … she didn’t think she’d be able to make herself leave the room.

“Ready?”

“Almost.” She had her tote bag, stuffed with a bathing suit, a pair of shorts, her favorite blouse, underwear, and the one sweater she’d brought, which so far she’d worn only once, on the plane from Los Angeles.

In the hobo she packed a lipstick, her Olympus E-3 and her point-and-shoot camera, a T-shirt, her passport, and the money that remained, about two thousand dollars.

As she stuffed it into an envelope from the resort hotel, she thought, If I’d just left it behind, maybe I would have gotten away. Maybe I would have made it to a bus going out of town. And maybe Charlie would still be alive.

There was nothing she could do about that now, except regret it.

Daniel had
driven over in a different Jeep: older, considerably more battered than the tricked-out late model he’d driven before.

“New car?” Michelle asked.

“Mine’s in the shop,” he muttered.

She wasn’t sure she believed him. You’re going to do something illegal, something dangerous, maybe you didn’t want to do that in your own car.