The 37th Amendment: A Novel (21 page)

“What did you say?” Jordan yelled.

“Nothing,” Ted shouted back. He studied the road ahead. The right lane was a solid line of red tail lights, the left lane ahead of him a solid block of black. He thought he saw something glint, then it was black again.

“I don’t like this,” he said. He extended his right arm like a railroad crossing gate in front of Jordan’s chest. “Hang on,” he shouted.

The Corvette veered sharply left and a horrible scraping sound cut through the noise around them. Ted grabbed the wheel with both hands and grimaced as he guided the car down the shallow embankment and onto the sandy, gravel-covered median. He maneuvered uselessly to avoid the scrubby desert plants that studded the ground. Jordan gripped the inside of the car door. Ted winced at the crunching, snapping, battering sounds under the Corvette. Then, to the right, he saw it: a ten-foot-wide spike strip in the left lane, waiting for him like an open grave. “Hah!” he shouted. He drove another half-mile or so on the median, then slowed slightly to drive up the embankment and back onto the highway. There were no warning lights visible on his dashboard, and the Corvette sounded all right, except for the rattling of some pebbles kicked up by the tires. Ted pushed it to the maximum. Only the helicopter saw them drive over the Nevada border.

“We made it!” Jordan shouted, pumping a fist triumphantly in the air. “We’re in Nevada! They can’t touch us in Nevada!”

Ted eased up on the accelerator. Something under the car had started to make an odd noise. “Would you look in the inside pocket of that jacket,” he asked, “and grab my wireless? I want to look up a number.”

“Not while you’re driving,” Jordan said firmly. “Do you want me to look it up for you?”

“No, now that I think of it,” Ted muttered. “I can’t call him from my wireless. Someone could get the records.” He turned his right turn signal on and carefully, legally, changed lanes. When he reached the town of Jean, he exited the Interstate. They drove under a garish monorail track and into the parking lot of a cartoonish Old West hotel. Ted parked as far away as he could, centering the Corvette neatly over the painted line dividing two spaces. “C’mon,” he said, “Let’s find a phone.”

Jordan slipped her feet reluctantly into her high-heeled pumps and climbed out of the convertible. “Wait,” she said, “I see a parking spot across the freeway that’s a little further away.”

“Funny,” Ted said. He took his leather jacket from her and grabbed his wireless from the inside pocket. Then he draped the jacket over Jordan’s shoulders.

“Thanks,” she said. They trudged across the parking lot toward the double-door entrance to the hotel.

“Separate rooms, right?” Jordan asked.

“We’re not staying here,” Ted said.

“It does look horrible,” Jordan agreed.

“It’s not that.” Ted held the door for her. “Too many security cameras. We’ve got to stay out of sight. At least until we know what’s going on.”

“You think there might be federal charges against me?” Jordan asked nervously.

“Hell, I don’t know,” Ted said. “You’re the expert. I just think we should stay out of sight.” They found a public phone bolted to a grimy floral-papered wall near the restrooms. Ted consulted the screen of his wireless, fed a bill into the phone’s currency reader and keyed in a number. He heard a metallic ringing sound on the line.

“James Dixon.”

“James, how ya doing, buddy? This is Ted Braden. Hope I’m not calling too late.”

“Ted, hey, great.” James was shouting over the sound of traffic. “No, it’s not too late. I’m just leaving the new Williamsburg and heading to the office to write the story. The official opening was tonight.”

“Yeah? How was it?”

“Oh, you know, they’re all the same. This one has robot cockfights. Are you in town?”

“I’m on my way. A friend and I decided at the last minute to drive up.”

“Great. Where ya staying?”

“Well, to be truthful, I don’t know yet.”

“Oh, man,” James said. “You picked a bad night to come up without a reservation. The town’s jammed. Why don’t you meet me at my office and I’ll see if I can get you in someplace.”

“I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“Hey, I owe you a favor. Got a pen? Let me give you directions to the paper.”

Ted jotted the directions on the back of a service station receipt. “Thanks, James,” he said, “I’ll see you in about thirty minutes.” He hung up the phone and turned around.

Jordan was gone.

“Jordan!” he yelled. He eyed the door of the ladies’ room hesitantly. No one seemed to be in the area. He pushed the door open an inch or two. “Jordan?” he called.

There was no answer.

Well, this is great, Ted thought. He saw a sign with a large white arrow under the word CASINO. Sighing irritably, he followed the arrow down the carpeted corridor to a pair of glass doors. Through them he saw Jordan, elegantly out-of-place in her icy blue silk suit and matching pumps, feeding ten-dollar bills into a slot machine. He pushed the door open.

“Cash out,” he said. “We’ve gotta go.”

“One more,” she said, tapping a button. Suddenly a wild ringing sound blasted from the machine in front of her. Jordan let out a yelp. “I won!” she screamed. She was jumping up and down on the gaudy flat carpet. “I won!” she screamed again. “Look, look, look!”

Ted saw a half dozen gold nuggets and three animated miners on mules pulsing on the screen. The machine was flashing like a lightning storm, but no coins were dropping.

“How much did I win? How much did I win?” Jordan shrieked.

“Apparently too much for the machine to pay out,” Ted said. He saw an elderly woman pushing a metal cart toward them. “We’ve got to go,” he said.

“Not until I get my money,” Jordan said with a big smile.

“Now,” Ted insisted. “You’re in hiding, remember? California authorities may know I’m in Nevada because they watched my car drive over the border. But they don’t have any evidence that you’re here. Maybe Nevada won’t tell them. But if you fill out federal tax forms, Washington will tell them.”

“I’m pretty sure they won’t,” Jordan said.

“How sure is pretty sure?”

Jordan’s face was the picture of anguish. “Oh,” she wailed. “Let’s go.”

James Dixon’s office was a blue-walled cubicle deep inside a two-story concrete building near downtown Las Vegas. James offered Jordan the chair opposite his desk and grabbed a chair from an adjacent cubicle for Ted.

“So,” James said with a warm smile. His L-shaped desk was crowded with a large computer display, a wide keyboard and many stacks of papers and disks. James switched on a lamp and swiveled his chair to face the two of them. “Welcome to fabulous Las Vegas,” he said cheerfully. “I made a couple of calls already. My guy at the Galaxy said he thinks he can get you in there. He said he’ll call me right back.”

“Uh,” Ted said.

“No good? I thought you’d like the Galaxy. Great location.”

Before Ted could answer, the computer beeped and a red box came up on the lower left side of the screen. “Just ignore that,” James said, shooting it a fast glance. “It’s only a police bulletin.”

“Really?” Ted said offhandedly. “Local, or state, or what?”

“We get just about everything,” James said. He looked over at Ted with a trace of curiosity. “Something you’d like me to check for you?”

Ted hesitated. He looked at Jordan. She was silent.

James swiveled his chair to face them again and leaned back. He waited.

Ted drummed his fingers on the metal armrest of his chair. “We may be in a little bit of a situation,” he said. “It’s possible that some people in L.A. are looking for us.”

“People?” James asked, “Or police?”

Ted didn’t answer. “Police,” Jordan said.

James looked sympathetic. “Want me to check?” he asked.

Ted leaned forward. “Off the record, okay?”

“Off the record,” James agreed. He tapped the keys of his keyboard. The computer beeped and a screen of text appeared. James scrolled through it rapidly. Then he stopped. “You drive a Mako Shark Corvette?” he asked in an awed voice.

Ted nodded.

“Really? You drive it on the streets? You just drive it around?”

Ted nodded. “I show it sometimes on the weekends,” he said.

“That is so toxic,” James said. “Is it here? In the parking lot?”

Ted nodded.

“Well, we’d better find you someplace to keep it. You don’t want to drive that Corvette back into California. The CHP has an all-points bulletin out on it.”

The woman who answered the door looked to be in her early seventies, so she was probably eighty. Her hair was red, cut in an old-fashioned spiky style and gelled shiny. She wore a heather gray Los Angeles Dodgers sweatshirt and baggy black jeans and carried an armload of what looked like twelve-inch-square printed cardboard folders.

“Hi, Jimmy!” she said brightly. “I was just making a little more room in the garage.”

“Hi, Grandma,” James said, “Here, let me carry those for you.” He took the stack of folders from her. “What are these?”

“My Aunt Cheryl’s old record collection. I keep saying I’m going to throw this stuff out one day, but I never do it.” The woman looked up at Ted and Jordan, standing behind James on the driveway. “Hello!” she called.

“Grandma, I’d like you to meet Jordan Rainsborough and Ted Braden,” James said, waving them forward. “Ted, Jordan, this is my grandmother, Tiffany Dixon.”

“Nice to meet you,” Tiffany said, shaking their hands. “Come in. No, wait, you’d better put the car into the garage first. Jimmy, why don’t you put those albums on the washing machine and open the garage door.”

“Thanks, Grandma,” James said, stepping past her into the house. Tiffany took Jordan by the elbow and led her inside, leaving Ted alone with his car keys. He heard the garage door open with a bang. James walked out onto the driveway again.

“Okay,” James said. “Let’s get your car in the garage before somebody sees it.”

Tiffany’s living room was cluttered with knickknacks and family photographs. Jordan, looking uncomfortable, was seated on an ivory leather sofa that must have been very expensive when it was new. Tiffany was pouring a greenish herbal tea into glass mugs when Ted and James walked in from the garage.

“I hope your neighbors don’t mind all the noise at this hour,” Ted said sheepishly. “That Corvette kind of makes its presence felt.”

“Don’t give it a thought,” Tiffany said. “Nobody has their hearing aids in at this time of night.”

Ted accepted a cup of tea and sat down on the sofa. “Ms. Dixon, I can’t tell you how much we appreciate this.”

“Call me Tiffany,” she said. “It’s no problem at all. If Jimmy says it’s an emergency, it’s an emergency. I don’t need to know more than that.”

“I’m sure we’ll get this all straightened out in a couple of days,” Jordan said unconvincingly.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” Tiffany said. She looked from Jordan to Ted and back again. “Are you together?” she asked, pointing two index fingers toward the top of the stairs, “Or separate?” She pointed one finger at the stairs and one at the sofa.

“Separate,” Ted said, clearing his throat.

“That sofa is a sleeper,” Tiffany said, “And Jordan can have the guest room upstairs.”

James came up behind Tiffany and kissed his grandmother on the cheek. “Thanks for everything, Grandma,” he said. “I’ll talk to you in the morning.” He took his car keys from his pocket and headed for the front door. “Bye, you guys,” he said. “Get some rest.”

“James,” Ted said, “Thank you.”

“First rule of journalism,” James smiled, “Protect your sources.”

Bright sunlight beating on the east-facing living room windows awakened Ted. He blinked a few times, bringing the unfamiliar room into groggy focus. He rolled over onto his side and reached for his wristwatch on the coffee table. It was 6:45.

Except for his pounding headache, the house seemed quiet. He swung his legs off the side of the folding bed and sat up. There was a small, sharp pain in his neck that hadn’t been there the night before. Ted stood up and went in search of two aspirin.

He found them in the medicine cabinet of the downstairs bathroom, but no water glass, so he headed back toward the kitchen. There he found a package of chocolate chip cookies, a half-gallon of calcium-enriched orange juice and a television. He pulled a chair out from under the kitchen table and made himself comfortable.

The TV had the old kind of remote control so Ted had to surf through the channels until he found the news. He looked at the clock. Five minutes until the top stories. Munching on a cookie, he watched a feature story on the new Graham Bayley movie. Hilarious, they said. Stupid, he thought. Ted sat through a commercial for the new Williamsburg hotel and casino. Colonial maids in low-cut bodices sashayed through topiary gardens. Robot roosters battled in a pit. Gamblers threw dice. Some poor unfortunate witch went up in flames. Typical Vegas, Ted thought. The witch trials were in Salem, not Williamsburg.

Eventually a fanfare of cheerful music signaled that the news was back on. “Hello, I’m Bren Rogers,” the anchor said with a pert smile, “and here are the top stories this hour. Authorities in Los Angeles say a woman connected to the scandal in the district attorney’s office is a fugitive from justice today. Assistant District Attorney Jordan Rainsborough disappeared from her Los Angeles apartment last night shortly before police arrived with a search warrant.”