Whistle Pass (17 page)

Johnny slid aside a garbage can and pointed. “Basement window. Everybody sets garbage cans in front of them so nobody will think there’s a window there.”

He turned his back to the wall and kicked backward. Glass tinkled. Wood splintered. The kid sat on his butt and kicked away any remnants of the window. He pushed off with his hands and slid into the building.

Johnny’s voice echoed a bit, like he was in a big empty space. “Pull the can back where it was so if the cop drives by he won’t see the window’s gone.”

Half in, half out, Charlie grabbed the can and let its weight gently lower him to the floor. He adjusted the can’s position so only the metal container was visible looking out, figuring the reverse would hold true from the outside as well.

“Got a light?”

Charlie dug the matchbook from his pocket and scratched a match across the striker. The sulfur tip hissed and flamed. The room had piles and piles of boxes, dust-covered broken furniture, and a couple file cabinets. The air, amidst the coal stench, was musty, moldy, and damp.

Johnny tapped Charlie’s arm. “Stairs.”

They walked over and climbed the steps. At the top was a closed door. Charlie blew out the match before it burned him. The darkness swallowed the man next to him.

“Won’t the door be locked?”

A click, and the door opened. A channel of dull light sliced the pitch.

“Yeah. From the other side. People lock basement doors so nobody can get into the basement, but they keep the basement side unlocked so they don’t lock themselves in. Stupid, huh?”

“Apparently. But what if it had been locked?”

“Kick it open. It’s not like anybody’s here.”

They entered the entryway. Johnny stalled, staring at the door to the police department.

“I’ve always wanted to break in there. Just so I could say I did it.”

Charlie slapped the back of the kid’s head and once again wiped the hair grease on the jacket. “That’s your whole problem. You talk too much. Come on.”

They jogged up the stairs to the door to the mayor’s office. Johnny pulled out his switchblade.
Click
. The blade sprang into place. The thief wiggled the blade between door and jamb, then smiled and pushed the door open.

Charlie led the way. He grabbed the doorknob to Roger’s private office, but it was locked as well. He waved Johnny forward.

In two shakes of a lamb’s switchblade, they were inside.

Gray light through open curtains veiled the room. The paneling was the same as in Roger’s office at the Nugget. In a corner were a round table and three chairs. The desk was large. A leather-clad chair sat empty behind the desk. Various pictures of Roger and Dora and people Charlie had no idea who they were adorned the walls. Two bookshelves were packed with books and municipal awards. A door to the right of the desk had a hasp and combination lock sealing it shut.

“So, what are we looking for?”

Charlie put his hands on his hips and stared at the padlocked door. “Not sure. But I’m guessing it’s in there.”

Johnny grabbed the lock with one hand and gingerly turned the dial with the other. A faint click, and he pulled the lock open and grinned.

“Habit. People are always in a hurry, so they tend to leave the combination ready for the last number. All I ever have to do is turn the dial until it opens. They make this shit so easy.”

“Obviously,” Charlie growled. “Or you couldn’t do it.” He pulled the door open. “There’s probably loose change in the desk drawers. Help yourself.”

Johnny plopped down in the chair and swiveled back and forth. “Hey! Look at me. I’m the mayor!”

Charlie reared back to slap the greasy head again, but he’d gotten a little tired of wiping his hand clean, so he grabbed the kid’s ear and twisted instead. “Shut up.”

“Ow! Jesus! Okay, okay.”

Charlie turned his attention to the room behind the door. It was a closet lined with shelves. He took a step back to allow the dim light to reveal anything worth looking at. Little by little his vision adjusted, but the darkness was still too black. He thumbed a match across the striker of the matchbook and held the flame high. Orange flickered across books, small boxes, piles of paper, and a pottery umbrella stand with four tall rolled up papers. Three were blue. He grabbed one.

Wood scraped over wood—a desk drawer slid open.

“Dang! The mayor must not like to carry change in his pockets. There’s gotta be at least three bucks worth here.”

“Glad it’s a profitable night for you.” Charlie hoped the sarcasm wasn’t lost on Johnny, but he sensed three dollars in change might be a major score for the tin cup thief.

Charlie unrolled the blueprint on the corner table.

“What you got there?”

Charlie, hands on the ends, studied the white lines. “Not sure.”

“Holy shit.” Johnny’s head popped into view. Charlie turned slightly to minimize the stench of the hair gel. “What do you put in your hair? Axle grease?”

“If that’s all I’ve got. This is for the nuclear power plant.”

Charlie’s eyes opened wide. This punk knew how to read blueprints? “How do you know that?”

Johnny tapped at the bottom right corner. “Says so.”

Charlie’s ears burned. “Oh.”
Whistle Pass Nuclear Power Station Proposed Site Construction.
He let go of one end. The plans rolled themselves up. He returned that set to the umbrella stand and opened another. Different diagram, same identifying label. The third, same label, different lines. He grabbed the plain paper roll and spread it over the table.

This one was a plot map with red and green lines sketching out locations of where the plant would be erected. Broken yellow lines, along with handwritten notations, revealed the area was to be annexed into the town of Whistle Pass itself.

In the corner label box with jargon and numbers Charlie couldn’t decipher sat the property owner’s name—Dora Hamilton.

Now, that can’t be just a coincidence.
He let the paper roll over itself and stuck it back in the umbrella stand.

The nuclear plant was much more than a concept or ideal Roger was working toward. The darn thing was ready to be built once Roger got elected and pushed through an agreement with the state. And… on his wife’s land, no less. There had to be tons of money at stake, with a major chunk of it going in Roger’s and Dora’s pockets.

So what are these two fighting about? There should be more than enough cash to go around.

Unless Dora didn’t want the plant built. Charlie scratched at his stubble. But that didn’t make sense either. She’d seemed protective of Roger to an extent. Charlie doubted Roger could have even tried to make a run for the state office without her support.

He shook his head. This didn’t add up. Dora probably wanted the plant as much as Roger.

Charlie was back to square one.

A drawer slid shut. He looked over to Johnny, who shrugged his disappointment.

“Nothing else worth taking.”

“Let’s go. How do we get out of here?”

Johnny led the way to the stairs. “Front door. There’s a turn knob. We just walk out. The cop’ll think he forgot to lock it.”

“I thought you said you never broke in here before?”

“Yeah.” Their hurried steps echoed around them. “I haven’t. But I never said I hadn’t planned to.”

Charlie chuckled. Old Johnny wasn’t just a loser, he was an adrenaline addict, with burglary his fix.

The lock clicked. Johnny pushed open the door and stuck his head outside. “Clear.”

Charlie followed the kid out the door.

Johnny wore a massive grin. “That was fun. When you want to break in somewhere else, let me know.”

“Keep your mouth shut if you want to keep your nose.” Charlie smiled. “You did good. Go get your tires.”

Johnny winked and jogged across the street, where he disappeared into the fog and shadows.

Charlie headed for the hotel. The fog blanketed him like smoke—gun smoke. His nostrils flared. The bitter smell of gunpowder crawled into his brain. A car passed by on the street. The exhaust backfired, a mortar round exploded. A bat after an insect strafed his head—
hand grenade
!

“Run, men, run! Take cover!”

“No, LT!” Charlie screamed. “Stay low until we know where the ambush is coming from.”

But they didn’t listen. They broke and ran. The LT fell. The sergeant fell. Roger, Gabe….

Gabe?

Charlie blinked and looked around. When his nostrils and mind cleared, he was back on Main Street in Whistle Pass. He looked across the street. There stood the hotel, the restaurant, and the door to Gabe’s building. He shifted his gaze upward to the two windows—the windows to Gabe’s apartment.

He held out his hands. They didn’t tremble. Not so much as a twitch.

Wrapping himself in his arms, he listened to his steady, controlled breaths. Gabe Kasper had pulled him back from his insanity. He inhaled the imagined scent of Gabe’s Aqua Velva. An image of Gabe’s handsome face went straight to Charlie’s heart, which pumped the warm vision through his body. He looked back up at the pair of windows. Emptiness gnawed in his chest.

He missed the man’s company.

Charlie shoved his hands in his pockets and walked home to room 412 and a long, lonely night of dreaming about Gabe.

F
ROM
the security of his bed, Gabe stared at the ceiling.

He hissed a forlorn breath through clenched teeth. In less than twenty-four hours, he would betray Charlie Harris with a kiss.

He groaned and rolled onto his side, away from the windows. This was going to be the longest night of his life.

Chapter 17

F
ROM
the audible ends of the channel, two unseen craft performed a whistle pass.

The fog, thick as smoke, clung to Gabe like his sullen mood. He tugged down the brim of the fedora and used it to break a path through the dampness to the restaurant.

Upon Gabe’s opening the door, a very cheery Cathy threw her arms around him and planted a wet one on his cheek.

“Morning, handsome. What are you doing up so early? You don’t have to be at work for another two hours.”

She pulled a napkin from her apron, and Gabe scrubbed off the lipstick. He scowled at the pink stain.

“Here, grumpy”—she took the napkin from him, spit on it, and rubbed his skin—“let me do it.”

He studied the glow of her face and the crystalline liveliness of her eyes. He hadn’t seen her this happy and satisfied since she couldn’t wait to tell him about her first orgasm.
Shit!

“Oh, don’t tell me. You served Lester breakfast too?” Gabe was no prude, but certain things just shouldn’t be done. Clearly, a line had been crossed, and he took no pleasure in having played an instrumental role. “With Richie in the house?”

Her nose touched his—her brows and eyes crossed.

“Richie asked if Lester could spend the night.” She leaned back. TNT couldn’t have chipped the smile. “What was I to do?” A giggle erupted, and she playfully slapped Gabe’s chest. “We played Uncle Wiggily and slept on the floor in a tent Lester and Richie made from quilts.”

Gabe watched her mouth scrunch in… disappointment?

“Richie slept between us.”

Cathy studied Gabe’s face. The intensity of her gaze shoved his aside.

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

“No.” He walked over to an empty table along the wall and sat. “Can I just get some coffee?”

Cathy scurried to the counter and returned with a mug of coffee and an orange, which she promptly peeled with a paring knife, then ticked out the seeds with the tip of the blade. The sweet tart perfume of the peelings wet his mouth.

“No arguments. You need your vitamins.” She stuck a wedge between his lips, then swept the orange husks and seeds into her hands and strode off.

He sucked the juice from the slice and mashed the pulp with his back teeth. The chair across from him slid out as he swallowed, and he had to wage war against the urge to hurl. Charlie sat down, his face shaded under a thickening layer of facial fur.

An erotic desire to shave the man from his ears to his thighs pulsed through Gabe.

“We need to talk, but not here.” Charlie plucked a wedge of orange from the table. “You mind?”

Fearing what might come out of his mouth, Gabe merely shook his head.

Charlie slid the orange between those thin, sexy lips and chewed. Gabe watched every movement of his jaw and cheeks, and then his throat when Charlie swallowed.

Compose, Gabriel. Compose.
He might not be who you want him to be.

The thought snapped Gabe back to the reality of the day and the tasks before him. His hands trembled. He dragged them off the table onto his lap. Gabe focused on the coffee’s steam.

“Talking isn’t a good idea right now.” He didn’t want to talk to Charlie, but he couldn’t rebuke the man either. His left hand played finger tag with the right. “I—I….” He nervously filled his lungs. He needed to have faith in Betty. She’d saved him when his folks died. She’d save him now. He just needed to trust her. The words rushed out in his exhaled breath. “I have a really busy day. How about we get together in the park by the river tonight. Eight okay?”