Thursday's Child (30 page)

Mickey shook her head. “You found the boy and brought him home safely, babe. That was the job you were hired to do.”

“I know that, damn it.”

She walked over and rubbed his arm affectionately. “The police will get Turchek one of these days. And even if they don't, that's not your problem. This isn't the O.K. Corral, and you're not Wyatt Earp.”

Gar gave a hard tug to the rope Spock was still pulling on. “Mick, I know what you're saying is right. But I can't get over the feeling that this is all so unresolved. How can I work on another case with this still hanging over me? It wouldn't be fair to anybody.”

She gave up with a shrug.

“I saw Beau today,” he said after a moment.

“Oh? How is he?”

“He looked fine. We didn't talk.” Gar didn't meet her gaze. “He was going into the medical building and didn't even know I was there.”

“So what you're saying is, you were spying on him.”

He frowned. Trust Mickey to get right to the heart of a thing. “I don't think that ‘spying' is the right word, exactly. I was just checking up on him, that's all.”

“You act like Turchek is going to come swooping out of the sky and carry him off again.”

That wasn't actually so far from what he
was
feeling, but Gar shook his head. “No. But I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. And I just want to be sure that when it happens, the whole thing doesn't land on top of the boy. I like Beau, damn it, even if he is a pain in the butt.” He finally quit playing with the dog. Spock looked a little relieved as he padded off to his bed and curled up. Almost immediately, he was snoring.

Gar got up and headed for the phone. “I think I'll see if he wants to go grab some dinner tonight.” He paused, looking at her. “If you don't mind?”

She shook her head. “Actually, it's a good idea. Maybe when you see that he really is okay, you'll be able to relax.”

“Thanks. Sorry about this.”

Mickey smiled. “Hell, Sinclair, your mother-hen act is one reason why I love you.”

He grimaced and went to the phone.

Lieberman was such an asshole.

Beau stretched his Nike-clad feet out across the oriental rug and smiled blandly at the psychiatrist. Nothing but dumb questions. The
same
dumb questions over and over again. Sometimes Beau answered them one way and sometimes he answered them just the opposite way. He was hoping that Lieberman would get sick of the endless sparring match before long. Then they could stop spending an hour together every fucking afternoon.

Lieberman occupied himself with filling another pipe. “Tell me, Beau, do you ever blame your parents for dying? For deserting you?”

That was one of his favorite questions. Today, Beau decided, he just wasn't going to answer anything at all.

“Are you feeling any sense of responsibility for the people who died while you were held hostage? Because you didn't do anything to save them?”

No, he just wasn't going to say anything. Let Lieberman jot
that
down in his damned notebook.

“I notice that you keep playing with that pin in your ear. Why did you feel the need to mutilate yourself in that way? Do you feel as if you deserved to be punished for something you did?”

Beau yawned.

“Were you sexually molested by the man who was holding you hostage, Beau?”

That was a new question, at least. Beau couldn't even believe that he'd heard it right, in fact. “What did you say?” he asked, forgetting his determination not to speak at all.

“Did Robert Turchek sexually molest you?”

Beau leaned forward in the chair. “Why don't you just shut the fuck up?” he said in a tight voice. “I'm sick and tired of you and your damned questions. I'm tired of it, and I'm leaving.”

“Okay, Beau,” Lieberman said cheerfully. “We're out of time for today anyway. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Well, maybe he would and maybe he wouldn't. Beau was really sick of this crap. He'd rather go to jail, for Chrissake.

He stayed mad all the way down to the lobby, where Harold, as usual, was waiting for him. Somebody was always watching him. Talk about being a fucking
hostage
. Now he had no freedom at all. It was clear that nobody trusted him.

Once Harold had done his duty by delivering him safely back to the house again, Beau went straight to his room. He was sitting on the bed, watching a soap on TV, when his phone rang. It rang so rarely that he jumped a little before reaching out to answer it. “Yeah?”

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

Beau knew the voice immediately, of course. Automatically, his gaze went to the door, but it was safely closed. “Robbie,” he whispered. “Shit, it's really you.”

“It's me. How you doing, Tonto?”

“I'm okay,” he lied. “How about you?”

“Oh, I'm hanging in.”

“How'd you get my number?”

“Connection at the phone company. Even unlisted numbers can be bought if the price is right.”

Beau stretched out on the bed. He was excited and scared at the same time. He realized suddenly that what he felt for Robert was a strange mix of affection and fear. He loved him, yeah, but it was hard to forget that he was a killer. “Where are you?”

“In town.”

His heart was pounding. “Can I see you?”

“Not right now.”

He couldn't stop the disappointment from filling his voice. “Why not?”

“Well, things are sort of complicated. I just wanted to call and check on you. You're really okay? The cops aren't hassling you or anything?”

“No. Well, I have to see this damned shrink.”

“Didn't I always say you were crazy, boy?”

Beau laughed. It felt good.

“Look, I have to run now—”

“Robbie, don't go.” Beau stared at the television screen, not seeing the picture at all. “I'm not doing so good, if you want the truth. I really need to see you.”

Robert was quiet for a moment, then he sighed. “Here's the deal, Tonto. I have a few things left to do in town here. One more day, probably. Maybe two, depending. Then I'm splitting for good. Probably I'll head south. Cross the border and decide then what to do next.”

“Yeah?”

“If you want me to, I'll call you again before I leave. Meanwhile, you think about what you want to do.”

Beau licked his lips nervously. “You mean I can come with you if I want to?”

“I mean, think about it, Tonto, that's all. Just think real carefully about it.”

“Okay. I will. You'll call, for sure?”

“Yes. I will. Bye.”

“Good-bye, Robbie,” Beau whispered.

Then he hung up slowly.

3

Gar declined Harold's invitation to wait inside for Beau. It was his experience that no matter how much his clients needed him when they hired him, his charm seemed to disappear once the job was done. Bluntly put, they didn't want him around to remind them that he had ever been necessary.

So instead of going in, he walked back to his car and leaned against the front end. He wasn't quite clear about either his motives for asking the boy to dinner or Beau's reasons for accepting. Maybe, as Mickey had said, he just needed to see that Beau Epstein had, indeed, been saved.

It was only a couple of minutes before the door opened again and Beau came out in a near-run. He was wearing jeans and a clean white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The Batman cap was still on his head. He also had the sunglasses on, even though it was already getting dark. With anybody else, Gar would have assumed that they were Going Hollywood. With Beau, he didn't think that was it.

They greeted one another briefly and got into the car.

“You want to lose the shades, please?” Gar asked him before starting the engine. “You don't have to travel incognito anymore.”

“Okay,” Beau said with rather surprising good cheer.

Then Gar noticed the safety pin. “What's with the ear decoration?”

Beau looked at him challengingly. “You have a problem with it?”

Gar shrugged. “Not me.”

“Good. That makes you pretty much a minority of one.”

Gar was in no hurry, so he drove out to a seafood place he liked in Malibu. Once they had settled in and ordered, he took a really good look at Beau. The boy didn't meet his gaze and seemed to be wishing that he had his dark glasses on. “So how's life in the real world?”

Beau seemed puzzled by the question. “What's that mean?”

“Well, I was thinking that everything that's happened to you lately must have started to seem almost like a dream by now. Your time with Turchek, I mean.”

Beau stirred his lemonade. “Maybe. Except that now you're starting to sound like that dope Lieberman. He talks about my dreams, too. Pretty soon, you'll be talking about sex, right?”

“I don't think so,” Gar said mildly.

But Beau seemed angry anyway. “You want to know if Robbie fucked me or something, too? Is that the real reason for this meal?”

Gar stayed calm. “The only reason for this meal is that I wanted to have dinner with you. That's all. Sex is not my idea of a terrific table conversation. Neither your sex life nor mine. Fair enough?”

After a moment, Beau nodded and then relaxed. “Okay. I'm sorry. But Lieberman just yaps on and on about things like that and it makes me mad.”

“I can understand that.”

Beau smiled faintly. “I'm not telling him a damned thing.”

“That's one way to handle it, I guess. How are you getting along with your grandfather these days?”

“Okay.”

“That's an improvement, isn't it?”

“I guess. He still thinks he can make me into Jonathan, except this time maybe I'll be a son who won't turn out to be a big disappointment.”

Their dinner was served and for a few minutes they both just concentrated on eating. Gar watched Beau pack away the food as if it might disappear before he had enough. “You seem to be in a pretty good mood tonight,” he commented.

Beau shrugged. “I'm out of that fucking house and talking to a normal person for a change. That would put anybody in a better mood, right?”

“I guess so, but I thought that maybe it was something else making you so cheery.”

Beau was sopping up melted butter with a crust of bread. “Like what?”

“Like maybe you heard from Turchek.”

He just kept chewing, his face showing nothing at all. “That's a weird thing to say.”

“Is it?”

“Sure. Robbie's probably still in New York. Or maybe he's in China by now; who knows?”

“Maybe.” Gar took a swallow of his drink. “Can we cut the crap for a minute, Beau?”

“Yeah?”

“I just want to ask you to be very careful. Turchek is a hunted man. And that makes him even more dangerous. He might try something desperate.”

Beau seemed amused. “I'm not scared of him.”

“Maybe you should be.”

But Beau only smiled.

Gar gave up. “Well, just remember, I'm here. If you need somebody.”

For a moment, Beau's blue gaze fixed on him solemnly. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Thank you, Gar,” he said quietly. “But I'll be fine.”

Gar hoped that was so.

Robert was getting things together.

He had a car now—another cash-in-hand, no-questions-asked deal—and a gun, same thing. He also had a briefcase filled with money. All three of those things made him feel better. So did the fact that he was clean-shaven, his hair cut, and he was wearing clean clothes. He was himself again.

That wasn't all good, of course.

He was just having a quiet drink at a bar he'd never been in before when somebody slid into the booth.

“Well, look who's back in town,” a silky voice said.

He knew without looking who it was. “Hello, Leonard,” he said. “What the hell do you want?”

Leonard was one of those slimy little men who hovered on the edge of all the real action in life. Once in a while a man like him would hit the jackpot, but chances were he'd lose it again the next day. Leonard would sell his mother or his virgin daughter if the price was right.

Now he looked a little offended at Robert's tone. “Hey, buddy, you shouldn't be alienating anybody still willing to talk to you, should you?”

Probably he had a point, but Robert wouldn't give it to him anyway. “I'm doing fine,” he said.

“Sure you are. Probably that contract out on you is somebody's idea of a joke.”

“It's all just a misunderstanding. I'll have everything straightened out soon.”

Leonard leaned over the table and smiled. “Well, here's hoping you get it straightened out before the contract gets fulfilled.”

Robert didn't say anything, and after a moment Leonard got up and left the bar.

Robert left immediately after. It wasn't a good idea to hang around there now, because Leonard was probably on his way to sell somebody the location of a wanted man like him.

Instead of going directly back to his motel room, however, he cruised to a slow stop in front of the Epstein mansion. Through the bars of the high black fence, he could see that all the lights were off but one up on the second floor. He figured that maybe it was Beau's room. The kid must be awake.

Robert waited a few minutes, thinking that maybe Beau would come to the window. He could flash his headlights or something, just to say good night.

But nothing like that happened, so he finally drove away and headed for the motel.

Once there, he sat on the lumpy bed for a while and did some serious thinking about the contract that was out on him. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened, of course. In his line of work, it was almost an occupational hazard.

But this was the first time he'd ever felt that the odds were with the other guy. It was not a feeling he liked.