Simple Intent (26 page)

Reilly was three miles down the road before anyone noticed he was missing, and three miles after that he saw Gina. He almost missed her, and would have too, if she hadn’t been squatting by the road. It was the whiteness of her bare ass and the way she scrambled up so quickly to cover it that turned his head. He slowed down, pumping the cranky brakes.

Gina ran up the road now, waving her arms and shouting, “Stop! Please!” 

Reilly leaned over to roll down the window as she ran up to the van. 

She said, “It’s you.”

He smiled, a faint attempt to assure her. 

“What are you doing out here?”

“Need some help?”

Gina said, “Uh, yeah, it’s Hi. He’s been shot, and he’s... not well...”

Her voice trailed off as she turned toward the woods, her arm in front of her like a divining rod. “He’s right here. At least he was. Hi?” 

“Hang on.”

Reilly pulled the van off the road, left the headlights on hoping they’d help a little. He climbed down, saw the shape of Gina in the woods ahead of him. His eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the dark. The woods were just charcoal shadows and ebony shapes. 

He stepped off the road, took two steps and was feeling around where to place his foot next when he heard a low voice. “That’s far enough, Soldier.”

Reilly turned his head in the direction of the voice. 

“Ah-ah-ah. No funny stuff. I’ve been watching you, and the others across the ridge. Think you’re smart, do you? Going to waltz right in here and take my patrol? Well guess again, Soldier.”

Reilly blinked, his eyes now better adjusted so that he could see Berger, down and to his left. There was something odd about the way he sat with his leg stuck out in front of him. But more than that, Berger had a gun—another fucking gun—pointed at Reilly’s face. 

Berger mouthed, “Gotcha,” then aimed the gun lower. 

Soldier? Patrol? Yeah, the guy’s not feeling well, all right. Before Reilly could figure out how to handle the wack-job under the tree, he heard Gina tromping through the undergrowth, cursing at the whipping branches.

“Hi? Where are you? I told you I didn’t want to play hide and seek. C’mon. I got us a ride.” 

Berger followed her voice with his gun hand, then looked at Reilly and whispered, “That one of yours, Soldier?”

Reilly thought back to all those corny war movies he’d seen as a kid. There was always a Commander, wasn’t there? 

He took a breath, and then barked, “Soldier! I command you to holster your sidearm.”

Berger’s gaze faltered. 

Reilly turned on him, leaning into his face with as cruel a grimace as he could muster. “Are you with me Soldier?” He poked Berger in the chest. “Do you know who I am?” 

Berger’s gun hand dropped to his side. 

“I am your Commander, Soldier.”

“Sir?’ Berger’s voice sounded tiny. “Is it you, Sir?”

Gina crashed through the bushes. “There you are.”

Berger snapped his head around, whipped the gun up and pointed it at Gina, who kept coming. 

Reilly yelled, “Gina! No! He’s got a gun.”

Gina held her hands out. “Hi? What’s wrong, honey? Don’t you want to go for a drive?’ She took a step forward.

Berger moved his gun between Reilly and Gina, and finally stopped on Reilly. “You almost had me.” He laughed. “I know you.”

Reilly smiled lamely, playing along. 

“Hi?” Gina said, coming closer.

Berger swung the gun to her and said, “It’s you I don’t know.” He squeezed off two rounds, hitting her chest and belly. 

Reilly saw Gina’s body jerk, her neck snap back like someone had pulled her from behind. He stumbled backward as he heard the sickening thump of Gina’s body hitting the ground. He scrambled behind a tree and held a hand over his pounding heart. He tried to control his breathing, tried to think. 

He counted to ten then called, “Berger! It’s Captain Steubing! We need you back at Base, Soldier. The General requests your presence. Where are you at, boy?”

Reilly waited.

“Over here, Sir.” 

Berger might have been talking to his dear mother in their sunny kitchen in Kansas, not a hint of the previous psycho-military routine. Reilly wondered how many people were in Berger’s head, and prayed to God that Berger liked the Captain. 

“I’m injured, Captain. Going to need a little help.”

Reilly came around the tree, approached with a swagger.

Berger looked pleased to see him. “And I sure could use some grub, Sir.” 

Reilly reached for Berger and the gun. He stashed it in the back of his pants, then hefted Berger up. 

With an arm over Reilly’s shoulders, Berger hobbled through the woods and up the slope to the road. 

At the van he started wailing, “I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to get hurt.”

Reilly patted his back. “It’s okay. Come on now, son. We’re going home.” He got him into the back, gave him a jacket for a pillow and Berger was out, murmuring and crying a bit in his fitful dreams.

Reilly fished around inside the toolboxes and crates and finally found a flashlight under the passenger seat. He followed its beam through the trampled-down brush to the place where Gina had fallen. 

If he didn’t look at the missing part of her, Reilly could almost convince himself she was resting. He ran the flashlight over Gina’s hair and scratched face. Yeah, she’s just taking a little nap in the woods. Except people don’t sleep with their eyes wide open. Reilly turned away; something silver caught his eye. He shined the flashlight at the bushes where Gina had burst through and found her backpack purse dangling from a branch. He grabbed it and headed back to the road. 

At the van, Berger was still out. Reilly hit the van’s interior light and dumped Gina’s purse on the seat. He pawed through keys, tampons, lipsticks, mints, found a few bottles of pills with Hiram Berger’s name then he hit jackpot. Cell phone. 

He powered up the phone. There was still a little juice in the battery. It beeped. Reilly looked around. No service. 

He slipped the phone in his pocket, checked out the pill bottles and selected three Ativan. He opened a can of beer from the gas station, dumped the capsules in and grabbed a bag of chips. Berger woke, murmuring and moaning about his leg, as Reilly climbed to the back. “Hey there, pal. Look what I got. A nice cold beer and some chips.” 

Berger propped himself up on an elbow, winced when he tried to move his leg. “Give me that,” he said, pointing to the beer. 

Reilly handed it over and opened the bag of chips and set it by Berger then climbed back into the driver’s seat and started the engine. 

Berger downed the beer, belched and said, “How much longer?” As if they were on a family trip.

Reilly smiled into the rearview mirror. “We’ll be there before you know it.”

Berger mumbled something else and shoved a handful of potato chips in his mouth, spilling some on his shirt and pants.

Reilly started up the road, looking for a clearing. The van was all bump and rattle with the gusto of a tortoise, but it beat walking and he had a full tank.

Hope was dangerous. Ray knew what it could do to a man. For some, it pushed them to accomplish wondrous deeds, like a magical charm. For others, it caused despair and desperate measures. It was what the hope was based on, more than hope itself that made the difference. 

Did a mother hope her sick child well, or did she hope for a doctor who knew the cure or the plant to yield the extract that would provide the remedy? Was hope specific, or was it better to generalize and cover all the bases? 

Ray had been down this path before, a number of times, and knew there wasn’t an easy answer. He advised his clients against stepping down the path of hope. Better to stay on the broad, well-lit road of it is, what it is.

Just this once, Ray allowed himself the pleasure and the promise of hope. Because this time the path was wider, better traveled. This time Sailor would be his lantern.

IT'S too late, Fast Eddie.”

“They don’t call me that anymore.”

Maria laughed. “Yeah, well maybe not to your face. Isn’t that right, Paris?’ She looked at the woman frozen behind Deluca then turned away, grabbed the cigarettes off the nightstand and took her time selecting one. She tapped it on the back of her hand then lit it and inhaled deeply.

Deluca said, “Haven’t you heard, Maria? Those things will kill you.”

Maria laughed. “Only if I’m lucky.” Smoke rode on her words. “How long do you think that would take, Eddie? Tell me, because I’ll smoke all day if I have to. Maybe I could just hook myself up to a machine.”

“What are you talking about?” 

“I’m dying, Eddie.” Maria snubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray then walked to the bed. “Doc says I have a few months, maybe a year, if I’m lucky.” She lowered herself to the edge of the bed then leaned back on her elbows and crossed her legs. The robe fell open to her lap. “Think I’ll be lucky, Eddie?”

“I think you’ll make a deal with the devil. You’ll outlive us all.” He looked at his watch.

“Going somewhere?” 

“Just waiting for someone.”

“Really? Company? Perhaps I should get dressed.”

Deluca shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. Jeremy won’t care. Actually, the less clothes the better, I’d think.”

Maria arched her brow. “Why Eddie, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you meant me harm. You aren’t threatening me, are you?”

Deluca laughed, fanned his arm over the cassette tapes and papers on the table. “Who’s threatening whom, Maria?”

“That’s not a threat, Eddie. It’s the truth.”

Deluca stared at her, then smiled. “Oh, I get it now.” He clapped his hands. “The Final Act. Dying broad sets the record straight, clears her name and her conscious and all that bullshit before she passes on to—to where, Maria? Think I don’t know what you and Lou Gallo did back then? Think I didn’t know you planted that gun for LeChance? Christ. I knew everything. King told me about the heroin, even offered me a piece of the action. It was all going so well.”

Deluca spoke to Paris but kept his eyes on Maria. “Paris, why don’t you call Jeremy and find out what’s keeping him. Stay close.”

Paris nodded to Maria and slipped something from her pocket onto the table of evidence before she crossed the suite to the bathroom and closed the door.

The mirror was still fogged, the air steamy with a touch of lavender. It might have been cozy until Paris remembered what was happening on the other side of the door. She rubbed her palm on the glass, cleared an oval for her face.

In the other room, Deluca stepped closer to Maria and stood over her. “We could have made things work.” 

Maria craned her neck to see his eyes. 

He reached out to stroke her cheek and ran his thumb from her temple to her chin. “God, you were something back then, you know it? Really hot.”

She blinked her large eyes at him.

“Yeah, you still got it, don’t you? I remember the first night we were together. When you came to me. You stood there in my shit-box apartment wearing that black raincoat.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “That black raincoat, and nothing underneath. God, you were beautiful, so damned beautiful.” He opened his eyes. “You asked me—you begged me—to help you. And I did, didn’t I? I would have done anything for you back then, Maria. All you had to do was ask.” 

He stepped back and murmured, “It wasn’t just about the sex.”

Maria scoffed. “It’s always about the sex, Eddie.” She stood up, wrapped the robe tighter. “Why would God give me this?” She ran her hands over her body. “If I wasn’t supposed to use it?”

She lit another cigarette, smiled at him. “I like to think of it as a barter. A kiss for a favor, dinner for a blowjob, a few minutes in the coat closet for a passing grade in science. A night of fun in a shit-box apartment on Franklin Street to keep me and my mother out of prison.” 

She walked away from him. “See, Eddie, everything has a price. And for most of my life, I could afford it. This time, the bill’s too high. It’s time for somebody else to pick up the tab.” 

Facing the window, Maria saw Deluca’s confusion reflected in the glass, his mouth open like he wanted to say something, his eyes hurt, then angry. She shifted to block the reflection, and waved her cigarette to the dark room across the street. 

There was a rustling sound behind her, then Deluca said, “You never really loved me, did you, Maria? Gallo was right. You’re a cold-hearted bitch.”

“Me?” Maria spun round, “What about you?”

Deluca held the Colt, the gun from the baggie. The same gun Chancy had used on King. The same gun Gallo had used on Moreno. He raised it and smiled.

“There’s something ahead.” Sailor pointed down the road.

Banning slowed down. “Local cops. Probably just a barroom brawl.”

“Stop.” Jeremy put his hand on Banning’s shoulder and leaned his face over the seat back. “Might be worth a look.”

Banning glanced at Sailor. She shrugged.