She was just twenty yards away when Rocky turned and noticed her.
"Rocky, I'm Laura Enders," she said quickly.
"Yeah? Well, whaddaya tryin' to pull?" he exclaimed, "You're supposed to be coming' up that street."
"Is my brother in there?"
"I'm not telling you where he is," Rocky said, unaware that his expression had already answered her question, "until I see the color of your money. Six hundred and fifty, in case you forgot. Now, I'm here to tell you that ol' Rocky didn't. He's got the memory of-"
"Here," Laura said.
She threw the bills on the sand at his feet as she hurried past him to the lean-to and threw back the oilskin flap.
"Oh, God," she gasped, racing inside.
Scott was there, sitting on a small pile of rags, his back propped against the fence. His breathing was shallow and labored, and his complexion dusty. Laura threw her arms around him, but then just as quickly pulled away when there was no reaction.
Rocky appeared in the doorway.
"He don't seem to know much of anything," he said. "Not his name, not where he's from, nothin'. All he keeps talking about is a horse."
"Rocky, do you have any water?"
"Nope. Not here I don't. Jes'wine. They's some at my place, but it's a walk from here."
"That's okay. The wine will do. We've got to get him to a hospital."
"I told him I'd call him an ambulance, but he wouldn't have no part of it. all he wanted to talk about was that damn horse."
"Get me the wine, please."
Laura took her brother's face in her hands.
"Can you hear me okay?".she asked.
"I can hear you." His voice was grainy and his speech dry and thick, but there was still strength there. Laura could feel it.
"Do you know who I am?"
Scott studied her, then shook his head.
"Do you know who you are?"
"I I don't know anything."
Oh, God," Laura murmured. She wined herself not to break down, and then said calmly, "Your name is Scott. Scott Enders. I'm your sister. My name's Laura. Does that help?"
The man with her brother's face as it might be at age sixty shook his head once again.
"Can you stand?" she asked.
"My legs are okay. Got kicked in the chest, though. Ribs are broken."
"well get you help, don't worry."
Rocky entered the lean-to with his wine, and Laura forced a few drops between Scott's lips.::Help, me get him up," she ordered.
Don't… need… help," Scott said, crawling from the hut and then painfully pushing himself upright.
Laura immediately noticed his limp and the clumsy way he used his left hand.
"Tell her about the horse, buddy," Rocky DiNucci urged. "Tell her about that damn horse."
Laura duckwalked out of the lean-to and then looked up at the twin oaks on the crest of the hill.
Lester Wheeler was either well hidden or gone.
"What horse?" Laura asked.
She supported Scott's arm with one hand, although she was encouraged to see that, as he had promised, he could stand quite well on his own.
"Mrs. Gideon's horse," Scott said with no emotion. "I've got to find Mrs. Gideon's horse."
"Our Mrs. Gideon?" Laura asked incredulously.
Marjorie Gideon, a feisty spinster who wore cowboy boots and Wranglers at age seventy-five, had owned the farm nearest to their parents' small spread in Missouri. She was also reputed to be one of the wealthiest people in the county. As far as Laura knew, she had died years before.
"I don't know," Scott said.
"Scott, where did you come here from?"
"I don't know," he answered haltingly. "I was in a town in the desert… I saw the beams and found the way to get beneath them…
Eddie Garcia picked me up and brought me to Cleveland." l.utah!" Uura said. "Scott, you were in Utah, you?" weren't "I… don't… know." He shook his head in frustration, as if trying to clear the mist from his mind.
"I've got to find Mrs. Gideon's horse."
Laura struggled to understand. Marjorie Gideon had owned several horses, and had been happy to let Scott and Laura go riding in exchange for mucking out the stalls. But that had been so many years ago.
"Scott, tell me something," Laura asked suddenly, trying to keep Rocky from hearing, "does the horse have anything to do with a tape-a videotape?"
Scott looked at her impassively.
"Maybe," he said. "Maybe it does."
"Think, Scott. You've got to think what it means." She studied her brother's face but knew he was nowhere near putting his thoughts together. "Don't worry about it right now. I have a car and a man to help. We'll get you to a hospital. Everything's going to be all right."
Laura turned toward the top of the hill. There was still no sign of Lester Wheeler. She raised her hand, just in case, but at that instant she realized the gesture was unnecessary. Wheeler had somehow made his way around and was approaching them along the fence from the Bow Street side.
"Captain Wheeler," she called, "come quickly. It is Scott, but he's hurt. He's hurt badly."
"Well, then," the policeman said, "we'll just have to get him some help."
He was just ten feet away when Laura sensed a change in her brother. The muscles in his arms tightened, and his body seemed to tense. His hollow eyes were riveted on the policeman.
"Scott, are you all right?" she asked.
The moments that followed were a slow-motion nightmare.
With a guttural cry, Scott pulled free of her and lunged at Wheeler, his arm sweeping down 'm an awkward karate stroke aimed at the man's neck.
The attack was too slow and far too weak. Wheeler, who seemed prepared for the onslaught, parried the blow easily with one hand while he pulled his other hand from beneath his jacket. Laura saw the gun and recognized the long silencer attached to it at the same moment Wheeler slashed the barrel across Scott's face, sending him sprawling to the wet ground.
"Don't!" Laura screamed, charging the man.
Wheeler whipped her across the cheek with the back of his gun hand. The tip of the silencer gashed her skin, and she spun down almost on top of Scott.
"Hey, just one minute there," Rocky DiNucci said, bringing his hands up in a semblance of his boxing stance.
Without hesitation the policeman pointed the ugly silencer at the hobo's mid-chest and fired. There was a soft pop and a puff of smoke from the muzzle.
Rocky flew backward as if kicked by a mule, slammed against the lean-to, and collapsed beneath a heap of plywood, scrap metal, and canvas.
Wheeler whirled, and in seconds had handcuffed Laura and Scott together and pulled them to their feet.
"Move!" he growled. "And not a word. Not a fucking word."
Without a glance at the man he had just killed, he shoved his two prisoners down along the chain-link fence to his cruiser.
Heedless of the throbbing wound on her cheek, Laura pressed the sleeve of her jacket against the gash on Scott's face. Their handcuffs still in place, they were in the rear of the unmarked cruiser, heading through the back streets of East Boston toward the harbor.
Scott was awake and responsive, but his breathing was even more labored, and twice he had coughed up small amounts of blood.
"Please," Laura begged through the metal mesh.
"Can't you see he's dying? We've got to get him some help…
Dammit, what kind of monster are you?"
Lester Wheeler did not respond. He eased the cruiser through the narrow streets and onto the road that paralleled the docks.
Laura recognized the area. just a week before, she and Eric had parked in a spot not far from where they were.
"How are you doing?" she whispered.
Scott's bloodied lips pulled back in something of a smile.
"He's one of them," he rasped. "The men in the tape.