It complicates things, he thought, and things are complicated enough. You can deal with it later. Now you have five days to make it work. Five days before the shit hits. There’s a lot to do: make arrangements with Dr. Ferguson about the book… get on a plane with Allie… disappear. That would be the hardest of all, because Levine would come after him.
Joe graham sat in chase’s hotel suite, listening to the tirade.
“I didn’t want you to send that kid,” Chase was yelling. “But you all said he was the best! The best what? Fuckup? Head case? Let’s face it, gentlemen, he isn’t coming back and he sure as hell isn’t bringing my daughter with him!”
He was red in the face, Graham noticed, pure power-trip rage.
“I think we had better consider damage control now, gentlemen,” Lombardi said.
I’ll bet you do, Graham thought.
Levine hung tough. “We still have four days before your deadline expires. A lot can happen in four days.”
Let’s hope so, Ed, thought Graham. Let’s hope so.
Lombardi laughed and said, “You haven’t even heard from Carey in weeks, and will you stop doing that?”
“Doing what?” Graham asked.
“Rubbing your artificial hand into your palm. It’s driving me nuts.”
“I do it when I’m worried, and I’m worried about Neal.”
“You’d better worry about him if I ever get my hands on him,” Chase roared.
Fuck you, Graham thought. Fuck you all. Neal had Allie and now he’s missing, and one of you pricks arranged it and I think 1 know who. If my kid is hurt… if my kid is dead…
He rubbed his rubber hand into his palm and stared at Lombardi.
It was after a particularly compelling afternoon at the lake, during which she was certain Neal was finally going to touch her. She could feel him sitting on the rock above her, could feel his glances and was sure that he was just on the verge of sliding down and laying his hands on her shoulders. She could feel herself stroking the backs of his hands, and pulling him tighter, and she knew he was just about to come to her, just about… when he stood up and jumped into the cold water. This time she was pissed off, and she was quiet the whole walk back to the cottage, and they ate their dinner in silence. She went up to bed without a word of good night and watched the doorknob for a long time, willing it to turn.
When it did, Neal stood in the doorway. Just stood in the doorway.
“We’re leaving,” he said. “Tomorrow after breakfast.”
“I don’t want to.” “I’m not asking. It’s time.” “It’s time for a lot of things.”
He stood in the doorway for what seemed like an hour. Then he turned suddenly and shut the door behind him.
The night wind stung Colin’s face but he didn’t let up on the bike’s throttle. The pain felt almost good-it focused his fury. Dickie Huan’s lads had stomped him pretty good. Pretty cute they were with their little hands and feet, but he would meet them again sometime, on his turf and on his time, and then they would find out just how cute they were.
But that was for later. Now he was headed to settle with his old girl Alice and his old buddy Neal. It had taken some talking to convince Dickie to let him go alone. Dickie had wanted to send a fookin’ army, but it was explained to him that Yorkshire villages aren’t used to seeing a horde of Chinese and it might attract negative attention. And besides, the book might be business, but killing Neal was personal. And killing Alice would be a nice hobby. He might even get generous and let Dickie play.
He let his mind imagine Neal and Alice in bed. It helped him forget his cuts and bruises. “Sweet dreams, lovebirds!” he shouted into the wind. “Colin’s on his way!”
33
Neal got up early and collected his few belongings. He put the copy of the Pickle in his briefcase and locked it. He poured himself a cold bath, washed up quickly, then heated water to shave. He heard Allie get up. She came down the stairs and brushed past him in the kitchen without a word. She put up water on the stove for her own bath, staring out the window while it heated.
“Good morning,” Neal said.
She didn’t answer.
“You’re not talking to me?”
“How does it feel?”
Then she carried the bucket outside, poured it into the tub, shucked her clothes, and stepped in. For once, the cold air didn’t seem to bother her, and she took her time bathing.
When she came back in, Neal was sitting at the table, reading some old paperback. Allie went into the kitchen, pulled eggs and bread out of the pantry, and began to make breakfast. When it was ready, she tossed Neal’s plate of eggs and toast in front of him, and said, “So we’re leaving today.”
“That’s right.”
“Don’t I get a say? I thought I was a partner.”
“A junior partner.”
“A fifty-fifty partner.”
He looked up from his plate. “Knock it off.”
You’re not getting off this easy, Neal, she thought. I didn’t trade one Colin for another. You’re not going to treat me like this.
“No, Neal,” she said, “you knock it off! I want to know what’s next. What happens when we get back to the States?”
“You get sixteen thousand dollars.”
“I mean what happens between you and me?”
Oh, Allie, not now, he thought. Just give me a few more days to work things out. Just trust me.
“Let’s just take it slow, okay?”
“Slow? Haven’t we been taking it slow?”
“So let’s keep taking it slow.”
“Maybe I’ll just take my money and split.”
He looked up from his plate and met her eyes. “You can if you want to, Alice. You have to know that.”
She ate a few bites of toast, then got right to the heart of things.
“Why won’t you make love to me?”
“Jesus, Alice” was the best he could manage at the moment.
“Why?”
“I don’t-”
“You don’t think I’m attractive.”
“I think you’re very attractive.”
“Then what is it?”
He took his time. “How do I explain this…”
Then she got the idea, the wrong idea, but she got hold of it and it hurt her. “It’s because of my father, isn’t it? That’s why!”
“Alice, that’s not it!”
“I shouldn’t have told you!”
“No, I’m glad you did.”
Her face contorted in pain. She tried for the mocking laugh she used to have, but it didn’t work, and she screamed at him, “I thought you loved me!”
“I-”
“But you can’t love a junkie whore who fucked her own father!” He started to explain, to try and tell her… But she was already headed out the door.
Let her go, he thought. Let her blow off steam. She can’t go far. Let her be alone for a while.
Colin was lost. All these dirt roads look alike, he thought, and there are no signs. He was consulting Simon’s directions again when he saw a little dog running toward him, barking.
“Jim!”
Colin heard the voice before be saw the old man. The dog stopped in his tracks, sat down, and began to wag his tail.
That’s better, Colin thought.
Until he saw the shotgun.
“Who would you be?” the old man asked him.
“Good morning,” Colin said in his best toff accent, flashing his most charming smile. “I’m afraid I’m lost.”
The old man didn’t smile back. He’s looking at the cuts and bruises on my face, Colin realized.
“Went off the road with the motorbike,” he explained, adding a self-deprecatory chuckle. “Stupid.”
Still no smile from the old coot, and the dog’s tail had stopped wagging.
“I never liked those things,” the old one said, “Now, who would you be?”
I’d be the Aga bloody Khan if I had the money, you ancient hairy bastard. “I’m a friend of Simon’s.”
“You don’t look like a friend of Simon’s.”
Colin knew how to handle the yeoman class.
“Nevertheless,” he intoned, and let the awkward silence do the rest.
“Simon’s out of country,” the shepherd said.