The Kill Riff (14 page)

    "I was doing temporary work for an accounting office, and I met this guy there, Jonathan. We'd had coffee a couple of times, nothing heavy. He told me about his separation, and I told him about Reese. Jonathan was frighteningly normal, almost boring. The type of guy you absolutely ignored in high school. But he turned out to be very considerate and caring."

    Lucas furrowed his brow. She interpreted it as disapproval.

    "Oh, no, it's not as if we met on the sidewalk and jumped into the nearest bed," she said. "It took a long time for anything physical to happen. And I never thought of anything physical happening, because Jonathan struck me as the type of guy who was a virgin on his wedding night, and I didn't need him for sex. Not at first."

    "Reese found out about Jonathan?"

    "I don't know. I don't see how. Maybe he was just guessing and read guilt in my eyes or something. Or sniffed it out, like they say a wolf can sniff out fear. I've heard some people can do that. Reese smoldered for a while. Nonspecific. Then, when we came out here, he brought it up."

    "Convenient." He was nearly finished. The bandages were more attractive than the bruises.

    "It scares the shit out of me to think he was planning to beat me to death the whole time we were

    driving up here. Just beat me, and leave me here to die. I never felt so removed from help. In the big bad city at least you can con your way into an ambulance, even if you're broke. Out here, the trees suck up the sound before you can even scream."

    He buttoned her into the overalls. Back in the cabin, she swallowed two more codeine tablets with coffee.

    "I was lying on the ground. I could feel my blood mixing with the dirt. And Reese said, 'You can stay up here and fuck the grizzly bears, puss.' And the goddamned thing is, when I finally was able to stand up, I was more scared of imaginary grizzly bears than I was of Reese. Although I'm sure a grizzly bear has better table manners. I just motivated myself the hell away, as fast as I could crawl. I'm not even sure there are grizzly bears around here, anyway."

    Lucas shook his head slowly from side to side. "I don't understand how somebody like you could get tangled up with… with such a…"

    She saw him groping for the word, avoiding it, perhaps, so she provided one. "Such an obvious psycho?" She pulled in a deep breath and released it in a sigh. "I really can't tell you. A girlfriend of mine, Tanya, used to go with a biker. A member of the Axemen, went by the handle T-Bone. A real righteous iron horseman. Had a lot of those pin-and-ink tattoos-a teardrop by his left eye for each prison stretch he'd served. T-Bone had four teardrops the last time I saw him. He'd killed at least two other guys in prison, in self-defense. The most humorless dude I'd ever seen in my life, and here he was going out with Tanya, who used to be Miss Super Yuppie, Miss Valley Girl. She was crazy about him; no explanation. How did I wind up with Reese? Maybe because I'd had a lot of guys who were all talk and nothing beyond. You know-if some junkie tried to knife us in a movie theater, my boyfriend would try to talk it over with the guy. Civilized behavior. And I'd be lying there with my trachea in my lap. Maybe Reese was my way of acknowledging the hazards of city living, my man of direct action. He'd take the junkie and turn him inside out while he was mouthing off, pumping up for the fight." She tried to turn her head to look out the window. At a stab of pain she gave up. "And look at all the benefits I reaped. I suppose you really do live and learn. Reese, I guess, was another in a long line of mostly failed experiments."

    She fumbled the pill vial, and as it rolled to the edge of the table Lucas caught it. Her hands toyed with themselves in her lap. "I'm a tad woozy. All my friends use dope regularly, like jam on toast. I don't even touch the weed anymore. So any time I take a painkiller it knocks me on my ear. No fair, says I."

    She was aware of Lucas's voice saying, "How old are you?" But she had not looked at him for a long time, and the voice seemed to come from a great distance. The effect was that of a gentle interrogation, on the fringes of sleep.

    "Twenty-three. Twenty-three and a half."

    "You look younger."

    "People tell me I talk older. They always say that, like it compensates for something."

    "Well, you're unusually articulate." Lucas leaned back, and the front legs of his chair disengaged from the floor, to hover. "You don't seem handicapped by the seven-word vocabulary most kids use these days."

    "Oh, you mean fuck this, fuck that, fucking-A, in-fucking-incredible?"

    He laughed lightly. "You remind me of my daughter."

    You're my favorite asshole, dad.

    "You have a daughter?" Now she looked at him with her good eye. The other one moved around inside the swollen eyelid, trying hard to see him. "You don't look that old. Old enough to have a daughter my age, I mean."

    "Her name was Kristen. She would have been twenty this year. She's gone, too."

    "Oh, god, I didn't-"

    "Don't apologize. It's okay."

    After a beat, she said, "I'd ask if you knew anybody among the living, but I'm afraid you'd have to include me out."

    "Sam Goldwyn used to say that." He saw the nonrecognition in her expression. "Never mind."

    "Think I'll live, doctor?"

    "I don't think we need to check you into an ICU. Reese didn't spend too much time bashing you, but he made the most of the hits he got."

    "He's built," she said ruefully.

    "If you're seeing and breathing okay today, I'd take a chance on your pulling through."

    "I don't want to go back to the city," she said. "For what? Reese has trashed my stuff; I'm positive. And he's laying for me. No thanks. Cops can't protect you from someone like that. If he's blown town, there's still no rush-he's still trashed my stuff."

    "The charges would be pretty serious," said Lucas.

    "I have no burning desire to spend my life looking over my shoulder." Then, with an abrupt detachment that was chilling, she added, "If I ever see Reese again, I want to be whole, and functional. And ready."

    "I could go with you," Lucas offered, strictly spur of the moment. "If he was around, and thought you weren't alone, then maybe-"

    "That's sweet of you, but no good. It puts us in the position of fear, see? Besides, I'm in no hurry to leave here. Though that depends on how long you'll allow me to impose on your hospitality."

    She was leading him. He could feel it. Like the feeling he'd gotten with Kristen sometimes. She was steering. He dismissed her gratitude. "No imposition, Cass. You were, and still are, in need of serious-"

    She overrode him. "Come on, Luke, lighten up! That's my ploy. I'll be more flagrant: I want to hang out at your mountain retreat for a while. I know I'm not very formidable right now, but in a few days I'll be on the road to recovery, and-bingo!"

    "Bingo?"

    "You'll have a faithful Indian companion. Girl Friday. Whatever you want. I'll even launder my own irreclaimable socks. You've already told me I'm a terrific conversationalist, and I'm a person you know who's not dead. Think carefully before you turn down an offer like this."

    It cut to the marrow; it seemed very correct. Lucas felt an undeniable sense of rightness while speaking to her. It was not just the vague echoes of Kristen. It was as though Cass was supposed to be part of what was happening. As logic, it was specious. As a healing thing, it seemed to hint at a vast good. She was very much like Kristen in the best ways: sharp and attentive and able to catch him off guard with wit. His mind raced ahead.

    "You're welcome to stay as long as you want, Cass," he began, formulating a back story as he went. "But if you do… there's something I may need your help with."

    "Anything." She said this with absolutely no hesitation. "I'm entitled to say 'anything' because I owe you my life."

    He let it pass without protest. He did not feel like objecting. "Let me put it simply. There's a very remote possibility that my ex-wife will be looking to harass me. She may eventually sleuth up the location of this cabin. And when she does, she may come up here to cause a scene, possibly with her attorney in tow."

    Her good eye widened. "Your dead ex-wife is going to show up here?"

    "Oh-no." He backpedaled.
Boy, had that lie sounded idiotic!
"I've been divorced twice, once very recently, and it was a rough one. Nasty. It's one of the reasons I'm playing hermit up here. In the city, it's twelve phone calls a day, shrieking arguments, confrontations, endless angst. I don't need it.''

    "Who does? Looks like you're up here for healing, too. What you need is a diversion. No sweat."

    "Nobody'll recognize my Bronco. It's new. Otherwise it'd be hidden in the brush."

    "What's her name?"

    "Sara. If she knew I was here, we'd be under siege right now."

    "Sounds like a real harridan," Cass said, already on guard against the mention of any other women in Lucas's life. "Also sounds like you and I are kind of in the same boat."

    On the remote chance that Sara could track him to this place, he could now utilize Cass to detour her, perhaps buy time if it was needed. Just in case Sara's smarts jeopardized his plans by figuring things out too much in advance. He had given Cass a motive for secrecy with which she could easily sympathize, considering the nature of the man who had assaulted her.

    He worked on that angle, reinforcing it. "At one time, I loved Sara just as much as I'm sure you loved Reese." Don't slice the baloney too thick, he thought.

    "Yeah, isn't true love just a casketfull of laughs? I think I can deal with your Sara if she shows up. Just promise me you'll take care of Reese if he ever shows up. Run him over with your Bronco or something." Lucas was certain she had a few good combat tricks in readiness and was probably a great actress when it came to the kind of fakeout he might need for Sara. "So. Anything else special? It's easy so far."

    He brought her more coffee. "Something important. I have to go away from time to time. I'm usually gone about twenty-four hours; a day or two at most. But the trips are essential."

    "Business?"

    "You got it. I can't maintain my existence up here without the proper machinations. And I'd feel a lot more secure if someone was here to maintain the cabin while I'm gone. It's a pain to shut everything down and pack everything up, just for a few two-day absences."

    "That one's easy, too. What's the room with the lock?"

    "I have-what?"

    "The room with the lock. Do I need to know what's in there, in order to run this place while you're gone?"

    Lucas glanced toward the secured Whip Hand room. How far should he embellish this? "It's storage, mostly files. I have a stereo in there I can drag out. A gun, too. Thus the lock, for when I'm away. But if you're going to be here… well, I've got tapes of just about everything. From Motown to Mahler to Whip Hand. There's a radio."

    She mulled this over. "What Mahler?"

    "Fifth and Sixth symphonies."

    "Sold." She sipped the hot coffee. Her eye considered the pill bottle again.

    "Better not overdo it. Lie down for a while. You sure you're up to staying here?" He asked this more in worry about his immediate schedule than from honest apprehension about her injuries. There might be hidden complications, ones that could not be permitted to hamper his one-time-only timetable. But she solved that tiny twinge of conscience with her answer.

    "Howzabout we don't worry so much, huh, Luke? I feel better already. All things considered, I mean. Let's look at this ias another of my gambles, another in my long line of experiments. Just from staying here, I think I'll pull through. And if I don't… do me a favor and bury me in the forest. That's romantic. Funerals are a maximum pain in the ass."

    He nodded. After suffering through Cory's funeral, then Kristen's, he never wanted to countenance that ghoulish custom again in his lifetime. "Your wish is granted. And I have one more request, before you drop off to sleep in that chair."

    Cass was fighting to hold her head up. "Sure. Like I said, anything."

    "It's serious. The most crucial thing of all."

    "Shoot. Before I pass out." She obviously longed to get horizontal.

    "Don't call me 'Luke.' Makes me feel like Walter Brennan is hobbling after me. It's Lucas."

    "Righto, Lucas. It's a deal. But let's not shake hands on it; I'd probably scream." She held up her wounded hand limply, like a dead sparrow. "I think I'm gonna need some help, to get from here to there."

    He assisted her to the pallet. He had another sleeping bag in the Whip Hand room. He would haul it out later, set up another bunk on the opposite side of the hearth. "Okay?" he said when she was down.

    She said, "Yep. Thanks, Luke." Then she was fast asleep.

    

    

    THE INDEX CARD IN LUCAS'S shirt pocket bore a list of names.

    KIRK MOORE

    PHILIP T. LONGLEY

    DAVID KLEIN

    MARK FAWCETT

    CALVIN WESTBROOK

    MURRAY BANNER

    BOB CALLAHAN

    They were safe names, anonymous names, the sorts of names you saw on the badges of conventioneers and never remembered. Bland, forgettable, Americanized names, so unexotic that they slid easily off the ear and into oblivion.

    All that was needed to pinpoint Brion Hardin, the keyboardist of Electroshock, was a concert schedule and an FM radio. Lucas admired all the convolutions of his little piece of espionage.

    He had driven back to San Francisco and checked into the Holiday Inn for two days, fronting cash and checking the Bronco into a pay lot across town. He stayed in the room just long enough to order lunch from room service and mess up the ordered neatness of the room itself. He tore the paper band from the toilet and the plastic from the drinking cups. Then, leaving his TV set on low and dialed to the pay-per-play movies, he hung the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the doorknob and caught a shuttle bus for the airport from another hotel.