The Hell Yo - lanyon Josh - Страница 70
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target’s attention. The afternoon wore on. My patience wore out.
The ring of my cell nearly sent me into cardiac arrest. I found the phone, verified the
caller ID. Lisa. That could wait.
Time for another pit stop. I returned to the gas station convenience store. Resisting the
lure of comic books and Jawbreakers, I gave Guy a call.
“I need your help,” I said. “Feel free to say no.”
He said dryly, “I think you know I’m not going to tell you no.”
“It involves doing something illegal.”
He was silent.
“The thing is,” I said, “if I’m right, then there’s a chance you can clear yourself with the
cops.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
“We could both wind up in jail or dead.”
He said at last, “I take it you’re going ahead with this plan whether I help you or not?”
“If you won’t help, I’ll try to think of another way.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he said. “What is it you need me to do?”
Thirty minutes later the Miata pulled into the convenience store parking lot, and I
climbed in. After I had directed Guy where to drive, he said, “Why don’t we call the police?”
“We will, if I’m right. I want to make sure first.”
“Isn’t that for the police to determine?”
I didn’t want to explain to him that I’d pretty much used all my wild-goose-chase
credits with the cops on Sunday.
I directed Guy to a hill behind the estate. We had a better partial view of the front
courtyard, though trees effectively blocked the back of the house. I could see the glint of a
pool through the greenery.
“I’m not sure what good this is doing,” Guy said. “We can’t see a bloody thing.”
“We can see who comes and goes. When it’s dark we can park back on the street.”
“If they were up to anything illegal, would they have cleaners in?”
“Maybe.” I wondered about that myself. “They’re obviously getting ready for some
event.”
“The whole town is getting ready for some event. It’s called Christmas.” Guy turned on
the radio, and as though to illustrate his point, Bing Crosby babababooed “White Christmas.”
We listened in silence to the music. The cleaning van departed. The blue sedan still sat
in the driveway.
Guy cleared his throat, disturbing my thoughts. “This guy you’re seeing,” he began.
“That’s over.”
I felt his stare. I kept the binoculars trained on the house.
“But are you over it?” he asked finally.
I smiled. I knew I was not fooling anyone. “No.”
A beat.
“Any chance of reconciliation?”
“No.” I could hear the anger in that one tight word and figured Guy caught it too. That
was probably just as well.
He let it go.
Silence fell between us.
“If you want to close your eyes for a bit, I’ll watch,” he said after a time.
“I’m not tired.”
“No?” His tone was derisive, but there was an undertone of gentleness. I studied him
curiously. I wondered what it would be like to be with someone gentle. Civilized. Someone
not afraid to be who he was – even if it was a guy with a fake English accent.
Dusk fell. Behind the tall gates and Sleeping Beauty brambles, Christmas lights winked
on up and down the street – not at the Garibaldi estate, however – not even all red ones.
There was no sign of life at all.
“Let’s drive down.”
Without comment, Guy started the engine. We drove back and parked a few yards
down from the Garibaldi estate. I opened the car door – remembered that I had left my gun
back at the gas station in the glove compartment of the Forester.
“What is it?” Guy asked. “You have a weird look on your face.”
“Huh? Uh…nothing.”
I wasn’t crazy about walking in there unarmed. If I was right, these people had very
little to lose by adding one more body to the count. On the other hand, if I was wrong – and
let’s face it, my batting average was not high these days – and I ended up getting picked up
by the cops with an unregistered gun in my possession, it was going to complicate things.
“I think I should go with you,” Guy said abruptly.
I shook my head. “No. For two reasons. One, you’re the only person who knows I’m in
there. Which means, if I get into trouble…”
“I take it you’ve decided to trust me.”
“And two, you haven’t done anything illegal yet. So, if I do get myself arrested, at this
point, you’re still clean.”
“How long will you be?”
“If I’m not back in forty-five minutes…no, make it an hour…call the police.” I fished
out a card. “Call him.”
“Riordan? That asshole!”
“He is an asshole, but he’ll come, and he won’t waste time getting here.” If simply for
the pleasure of killing me himself.
“You’ve got forty-five minutes,” Guy said. “Too much can happen in an hour.”
I nodded, slipped out of the car, and started walking quickly toward the house. As an
afterthought, I reached into my pocket, turned my cell-phone on vibrate.
The dusk had deepened to indigo as I slipped through the gates, sticking to the fence
line and the blade-shaped shadows of the trees.
There was a long pool, the water as still as black glass in the twilight. A row of cypress
stood like spear points. At the far end was a strange, flat-topped marble slab. An ugly piece of
modern sculpture, I thought. Then I re-thought. I moved from tree to tree till I was close
enough to kneel and examine the slab. It was hard to tell in that light, but it looked like the
milky white stone was flecked and veined in black – as though ink had spilled into the
cracks.
No way, I thought, against the wave of revulsion.
But as I stared at the surrounding wall of trees – and considered the distance to the
nearest house – I realized that it was possible. I closed my eyes for a moment. Shaking off
the sickness, I got up and headed for the back of the house.
Two bulging trash bags sat at the top of the stairs. The door stood ajar. No light was
visible from outside.
I tiptoed up the steps, eased the door open, peeking in. An incongruously cozy light
shone from the stovetop, illuminating a long chef’s kitchen with an embossed tin ceiling.
Stainless steel appliances gleamed dully. The granite-topped center island was big enough to
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