The Last Good Kiss (38 page)

pretending to wave his empty glass at the bartender,

"I've got some friends, some business associates actual-

lOS

ly, who sometimes make movies. Just for fun, you

know."

Stacy sneered. "Fun and profit."

"You got it, kid."

"And I guess you'd like to check my moves before

you put me in touch with these friends of yours, right?"

"Why not?"

"Right." She snorted. "Hit the road, man. You want

a free sample, call the Avon lady."

"I, ah, don't mind paying," Jackson said cautiously.

"A hundred for a half and half," Stacy said quickly.

"You look like the kind of john who'll need it. "

" A hundred!" he said so loudly that the bartender

and most of the patrons looked around.

"If you can't afford the merchandise, man, get out of

the store," she said, then became very interested in her

drink. I don't know how Stacy knew to play him tough

instead of giving him the hooker's usual honey and

promises, but it worked like a charm.

"Sure," Jackson said. "Sure, that's fine. Let's do it. "

"Let's see the bread," Stacy said without looking at

him.

The poor bastard had to cash a check and endure the

bartender's sly grin when he brought the bills. He

handed the money to Stacy and chugged his third

martini.

"You hold it," she told him. "I just wanted to see it. "

"My car's right out front," he said, falling over

himself trying to be casual.

"My motel room's at the airport," Stacy said. "Let's

hit it."

"Right," Jackson said, then turned to his hired

friend. "Hey, man, let's go."

"Who the fuck's that?" Stacy asked, holding back

against Jackson's hand.

"My driver," he answered loftily.

"Is he going to hold your dick, man?" she said.

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"I'll be back," Jackson said, and his friend sat back

down quickly and ordered another drink.

I brushed the curly-haired wig out of my eyes and

followed them outside. This was the only part where I

had told Stacy what to say. I didn't want her in

Jackson's car.

"Hey, man," she said, "I got a rented car right there.

Why don't you follow me?"

"I'll bring you back," he offered grandly.

"What if I don't want to come back here?'' she

asked.

"When I get through with you, honey, you'll follow

me anywhere," Jackson insisted, ushering her into his

Cougar.

I stood on the curb and watched them drive away,

wondering where the hell Trahearne was with the other

rented Ford. I kicked myself for trusting the old man to

wait outside, for not having another ignition key for

Stacy's rental unit. Five minutes later, Trahearne

finally showed up, his big face flushed, a sorry smile

twisting his lips.

"They took off, huh?" he muttered as I opened the

door and shoved him from behind the wheel.

"Where the hell have you been?" I asked as I gunned

the car down the street and made the corner in a

four-wheel drift.

"Listen, son, we left the whiskey in the other car," he

said, waving a pint of vodka at me, "and I knew we'd

need a drink. We're too old to do this kind of crap

without a drink. So I went around the block to buy a

bottle. What the hell difference does it make?"

"He wouldn't follow her," I said as I slipped through

a yellow light ahead of a bus. "She's in his car, and if

they're not at the motel when we get there, if he took

her home or someplace else, I'm gonna have your ass,

old man, and have it good."

"Goddammit, C.W. , I didn't know," he whined,

207

then he changed his approach with the sort of clumsy

grace drunks think of as quick-witted. "What the hell,

boy , that little lady can take care of herself. You can be

damn certain of that." Then he slapped me on the

shoulder again, hard enough to start th� bleeding from

torn stitches. I jerked the wig off and threw it on the

floor at his feet. He picked it up and laughed, holding it

out like a prize beaver pelt. "You looked like shit in

this, you know," he said, then sat it on his head like a

hat. "Of course, I look like a million dollars," he said,

then laughed again. He reached over and ripped the

phony mustache off and stuck it crookedly on his upper

lip. "How's that?" he asked, grinning. When I didn't

answer, he said, "Aw hell, come on, don't be so

damned serious. Have a little drink and try to relax."

He nudged me with the pint, and there didn't seem to

be anything else to do. "They got my Melinda, boy, and

I don't know what to do," he said as I handed the bottle

back. "I don't know what to do."

"Try doing just exactly what I tell you to do," I said.

"For a change."

"You're in charge," he said, "but it better come out

right."

"Wonderful," I said, as I turned off Colorado onto

32nd through a service station.

When we got to the motel, the plum Cougar was

parked in front of Stacy's room. I left Trahearne in the

car, told him to wait, then went in through the other

room and the connecting door. Jackson was already in

the saddle. Stacy's eyes were pleading over his fat,

pimpled shoulder. Before I could .get his attention by

sticking a silenced .22 in his ear, he grunted and

moaned, trembling, and Stacy's eyes filled with tears. I

clubbed him on the back of the neck with the automatic's butt, then jerked him off her onto the floor and kicked him in the stomach hard enough to twist my

208

ankle. I started to kick him again, but Stacy jumped out

of bed and grabbed my arm.

"It's all right," she said, "it's all right. It doesn't

matter." Then she shook my arm hard. "It doesn't

matter. Really."

"I'm sorry we were late," I said.

"It doesn't matter," she said again.

"It does to me," I said.

"My fault entirely," Traheame apologized grandly as

he came through the connecting door, "all my fault,

honey, but it couldn't be helped."

Stacy took one glance at Trahearne, then one step,

and she slapped him so hard she nearly knocked him

down. "You drunken piss-ant," she whispered, then

slapped him again.

"What did I say?" he wondered as she raced past him

into the other room. Then he saw Jackson naked on the

floor. "Lemme get my hands on that son of a bitch," he

roared as he moved toward Jackson. I hit him on the

point of the shoulder with the butt and he sat down on

the bed. "Jesus Christ," he muttered.

"Just sit there and shut up," I said.

"Goddamn it, it's my wife they took, you son of a

bitch, it's my wife," he said.

"If you don't shut up," I told him, "it's going to be

your widow. I thought I told you to stay in the car."

"It's my wife," was all he answered, then he made

himself comfortable on the bed, sighing, "I always fuck

it up."

I took a roll of strapping tape and bound Jackson at

the ankles, knees, wrists, and elbows, then I stuffed his

dirty sock in his mouth and locked it there with a loop

of tape around his neck. As I worked, I heard the

sound of Stacy brushing her teeth and showering in the

other room's bath. The noise of her toilet went on long

enough to get Trahearne's attention.

"I never do anything right," he whined.

209

"I told you to shut up," I said. "Get off your ass and

give a hand with this piece of shit."

"Yes, sir," he said, then giggled, covering his mouth

with a finger. It was like trying to deal with a

two-hundred-fifty-pound fifty-seven-year-old baby. I

couldn't understand how Catherine or Melinda found

the patience or energy. Hell, I couldn't even understand how Traheame found the energy to be such a bastard. At least he got off the bed, grabbed Jackson

under the anns, and before I could help, carried him

into the bathroom and deposited him in the tub. "Was

that okay, sir?" he said with a Gary Cooper smile

somehow fitted on his moon face. Schizophrenia-that

was the word I had left out. Trahearne sober and

during certain stages of drunkenness was a sad old man

with a hell of a load of character, but during other

stages of his drunks, he was a two-hundred-fifty-pound

fifty-seven-year-old schizophrenic child.

" ust get the hell out of here, okay?" I said.

"I'm all -ight now, he said. "I know I've been a fool

and an idiot but I'm all right now. We've got business to

tend to, I know, and I'll slow the drinking down, drink

myself sober. I've done it before. So have you. You

know what I'm talking about."

"Just stay out of the way, then," I said.

"Of course," he said, sounding as sober as Oliver