“You made it up?” demanded Sherry, an enraged hornet immobilizing an astounded Drinker with her appalled anger. “How could you be so goddamn stupid?”
“For Chrissake, Sherry, I wanted them to have some time alone, okay?” He made placating movements of hands and face. “You know Dunc. I just thought that when they get back he’ll get all caught up in his cases again, and—”
“You’re lying,” she said abruptly. “You didn’t make up that phone call you got in Reno.” Fury, fear, sorrow, fought in her face. “It was from her, wasn’t it? That woman. April-fucking-Wham. You told her where you’d be, and she called, so you made up your lies and came running down here to—”
He snatched up the ringing phone, snapped “Drinker Cope” into it, glad for the interruption. Listening, he sank down into Sherry’s chair like an old man not sure of his balance.
“Yeah,” he said tiredly. “Where is... I see. Yeah. Okay. I’ll be there tomorrow midday for sure.”
He hung up the phone. Stared up at her.
“Christ, Sherry, they were in the mountains, they went off the road a few miles this side of Echo Summit”
All color had left her face. “How... how bad is—”
“Penny’s dead. They called her family, the mother’s prostrated, the sister wants her body shipped back to Dubuque, pronto. They’re talking as if they blamed Dunc for—”
“Dunc!” she cried. Her voice was fearful. “Is he...”
“He’s still alive but he’s in a coma. They... don’t know i£ he’ll make it.”
“Oh, Drinker!” she wailed, crushing his big graying head to her bosom and crying like her heart would break.
Chapter Forty-nine
Dunc jerked and opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling’s white foot-square tiles with rows of little holes in them. He licked his lips. Bad dream. Whew. “Penny?” he said cautiously.
“He’s awake,” a voice said. Penny leaned over the bed to look anxiously down into his face. He tried to smile. “Could you tell me your name, sir?”
Not Penny. Some of it rushed back, all in an instant.
She wailed in utter misery...
“Jesus Christ,” he said softly. It was not a curse.
“Try again,” said the woman in white bending over the bed.
“Pierce Duncan,” he said impatiently.
“And do you know where you are, Mr. Duncan?”
He sat up in the bed. Or at least that’s what his brain said he did, but he still just lay there looking at the ceiling.
“Hospital.” He thought he pointed at her. “Nurse.”
There was a log or anyway something long and cylindrical with a couple of blankets laid over it. Oh dear God.
“Where is Penny? How is she? Please, let me see her...”
The eyes looking down at him suddenly filled with tears. He curled into a tight ball of anguish and howled like a wolf. Except he just lay there, unmoving. He shut his eyes again.
Pepe hung up and threw the chair across the room. Still alive. Still alive. How could that be? He regretted missing his chance in Vegas and in L.A.
Who was the guy, fucking Lazarus?
In a coma, maybe he’d just die like the nice guy Pepe had figured him for. Or wake up with mush for brains. Put a collar on him and lead him around like a pet chimp. Send the hitter in with a pillow? No. Not yet. The accident scenario could still work.
Drinker’s voice said, “I know how you feel, Dunc, but...”
Dunc didn’t move. Didn’t open his eyes. Thought, no, you don’t know how I feel, Drinker. I murdered my wife and baby.
“You said he was awake,” complained Drinker.
“He was. His vital signs are normal. We’ve told him his wife is dead and maybe he just can’t handle it.” Her voice was fading; they were leaving. “He’ll come out of it eventually...”
You don’t understand, Dunc thought. Maybe, by blaming her, he’d robbed Penny of hope, left her only despair. Maybe she had deliberately driven off the road.
Not to be borne. Not to be thought about. He felt his bandage. Surprisingly small, neat, tidy. That navy watch cap in his roommate’s closet would cover it nicely. His own clothes were in his open closet. Wait in feigned coma until dark...
And then start running away. Forever.
Out in the hallway bulky, red-faced Drinker Cope abruptly thrust the flowers m one hand and the candy in the other at the petite black-haired nurse. “You take ’em, he don’t need ’em. Tell him I was here. And if there’s any change—”
“We will surely let you know, Mr. Cope.”
Drinker went away down the corridor. Goddamn, what a mess! Dunc in there, him here, Sherry trying to run the office. Harry Wham to deal with, April too. Craven to check on...
Standing under the wind-danced streetlight, Peter Collinson watched the Buick’s disappearing taillights. Son of Nobody. He blew into his bare hands; the chill had already crept through the garage attendant’s shoes a man named Dunc had always worn. After midnight. Six hours to get 250 miles east of Reno. This time of year, only local traffic would be moving until about 6:00 A.M.
A bulky man in a brown sheep-lined coat came by, overshoes squeaking on the hard-packed snow, his fur cap’s earmuffs giving him the head of a bear. Dunc asked, “Where’s the bus depot?”
“Two blocks back, see the red sign says Casino?” He was pointing. “Go through the gaming room, the depot’s out back.”
Inside the plate-glass door, a blast of welcome heat greeted him. A few tired tourists and even more tired shift workers sipped coffee and dunked doughnuts at the all-night café. Through the open door at the far end he could see a man in tan work clothes vacuuming the maroon wall-to-wall carpet.
In the casino a bartender polished glasses and yawned. Roulette, craps, wheel of fortune, everything covered with white canvas dust-cloths except one blackjack table. The cardman was dealing to a black-haired woman in a slit black sheath dress that emphasized her hips and haunches. She was dwarfed by a balding man in a loud size 50 suit who seemed to be backing her play.
Dunc crossed to an archway that led to a spacious hotel lobby with potted palms and deep red leather chairs. Behind the check-in desk a stringy-haired man dozed with his chin braced on one hand. His knuckles had pushed his mouth open so a gold tooth caught the light. He could have used more chin and a shave.
“When’s the next bus?” Dunc asked him.
He came awake with a start. “Bus to Reno arrives at three-fifty-two A.M. Twenty-minute rest stop, then—”
“East.”
“Five-oh-four A.M.”
Dunc started, “I’ll take...” but his hand had brought out only a five and two crumpled ones from his pocket. “Forget it.”
He flopped down in a red leather chair. What was he doing, where did he think he was going? Mexico? The South Seas?
“No sleeping in the lobby unless you’re waiting for a bus.”
“So I’m waiting for a bus.”
“Company don’t pay the hotel good money so any bum stumbles in here off the street can use it as a flophouse.”
The man had a point. With the knit wool cap pulled down over his ears he looked the part. He stuck it in his pocket.
He almost dreaded watching the woman play blackjack. He stood behind Penny as she played, aware of her body heat the way you were aware of the heat from the fire on a cold night. But he had at least five hours before there was enough through traffic to give him a decent chance of thumbing a ride before he froze to death.