“Okay. Just leave me a can of that powder makes people invisible.”
“C’mon, Lloyd.”
“What you’re asking won’t be easy.”
“Possible, though. And the only way I have to go.”
“You could tell her about this,” Van Meter suggested. “See what she wants to do.”
But Carver knew what Edwina would want. What she’d do. She’d stay in Del Moray. And if she knew she was under surveillance she’d act as if she knew. Might even confront whoever was watching her. She’d lost herself during a disastrous marriage. Became even more lost after her divorce when she’d rebounded into a crippling love affair with a con man. Found herself only after the death of the con man and the help of Carver. Would never run from herself or anything else again. Carver had taught her that and he couldn’t argue now that she should run. She’d stick despite anything he might say; she’d developed the territorial possessiveness of a bull terrier. He thought that was fine-usually.
But he had to protect her from Vincent Butcher. Christ, Butcher with his string of human earlobes.
“Carver?”
“I can’t tell her,” Carver said. “I know her, and that’d only make things worse.”
Van Meter lifted his wide shoulders again. Held them raised for a few seconds and then let them fall. “Like I said, things we wouldn’t ordinarily do. I can put Hans on this. He’s a damn good operative and sneaky as a cat burglar. ’Tween you and me, I think he can make himself invisible.”
“I hope so,” Carver said. “I wouldn’t want to understate the danger.”
“Hans can manage. He has before. But I gotta tell you, there can’t be a guarantee in anything like this. I mean, Edwina might be on melting ice, judging by what you say. And you’re playing in the big leagues of drugs. The worst people on earth. The camera that took those photographs could just as easily have been a gun. If something should happen to her despite Hans …”
“I’ll understand,” Carver said. Will I?
Van Meter picked up a ballpoint pen from the desk. Clicked the spring-loaded mechanism. “Where you gonna be so I can get in touch?”
I better not tell you.”
The scent dispenser hissed again. Cinnamon rode the air. Van Meter set the pen back down and studied Carver. “If you’re about to try something cute with the characters you just described to me, I hope it works.”
“Me too.”
The office door opened and an attractive young blonde with a trim figure, a short leather skirt, and a beauty-pageant smile sashayed in. Said, “Hi, sweetballs.” Stopped cold when she noticed Carver. Blushed and said, “Sorry, Lloyd, I though you were alone.”
“S’okay, babe,” Van Meter said. “This is an old friend. Carver, meet Marge.” He beamed possessively. “My very private secretary.”
Carver stood up, leaned on his cane, and shook Marge’s small hot hand. She was sporting a gold cocktail ring with a pea-size diamond.
Marge said, “Listen, I’ll get outa here and let the two of you talk.”
Carver told her to stay, he was leaving anyway. At the door, he planted the cane and twisted his upper body so he was looking back at Van Meter. “I appreciate this, Lloyd.”
“Ah, we don’t do each other favors, who else is gonna help us? Our profession don’t inspire trust among outsiders. Even our clients usually don’t trust us.”
“Maybe they’re right,” Carver said. “My last client trusted me, and look what happened. Bye, Marge.”
Limping through the outer office, he heard her call, “Nice meetin’ ya!”
The gray-haired duchess behind the receptionist’s desk glanced at Carver and rolled her eyes.
Carver thought, What did she know? Marge seemed happy with Van Meter, and Van Meter deserved his perks. Sometimes the world worked just right.
Chapter 26
It was obvious Jefferson didn’t like being awakened at one A.M. Especially by Carver.
He stood in the doorway of his room at the Sundown Motel, squinting out at Carver, his right arm hung at an angle so the hand rested out of sight behind him. He was wearing only pants; suspenders were still attached to them and draped down around his hips and thighs. Even in the faint and wavering light from the illuminated pool, Carver could see the ridged muscle of Jefferson’s upper body. One time or another, Jefferson must have done considerable work with weights.
The hand came out from behind his back. There was a revolver in it. Jefferson said, “Fuck you want, this time of night?” He stepped back to let Carver inside, keeping the gun low but with his finger still curled around the trigger.
Carver planted his cane and entered the dark motel room. It was too warm in there and smelled of sweat. “You always answer the door with the lights out?”
“Yeah. With a gun, too.” Jefferson reached over and switched on a table lamp. Blinked at the sudden glare. Never stopped looking at Carver, though. “Heard the knocking, thought at first it was a fuckin’ dream. Still have hopes.”
“Not a dream,” Carver said, “me.”
“So I see. Nightmare, more like it; too much pasta coming back to haunt. Now, why would you wake me up at”-he glanced at his watch-“oh, God, one o’friggin’-clock in the morning?”
“I thought it was the safest time to come here without being seen.”
“By your Atlanta friends?”
“Right. You must have been in contact with Courtney Romano.”
“We are frequently,” Jefferson said. He revealed no surprise that Carver knew about Courtney. Used his free hand to scratch lazily beneath his rib cage. “She likes it that way.”
“Don’t blame her, having met Vincent Butcher. You ever had the pleasure?”
“No, but I know a great deal about him. More than you know. None of it’s nice. So maybe I don’t blame you for sneaking over here in the wee hours. But how the hell did you know where to find me?”
“Called the main DEA office in Washington and they told me.”
“I’ll ignore that, but I don’t wanna hear any more smartass remarks.”
“Courtney tell you the arrangement I’m supposed to have with the Wesley people?”
“ ’Course she did. That’s her job. A useful arrangement, you ask me. You’re gonna be a double agent, my man. No, wait a minute, triple agent. Working for us, but they think you’re working for them, only we know about it and you’re working for us. A three-cushion shot.”
Carver remembered Desoto mentioning that.
Jefferson sat down in a small wing chair. He let his powerful arms drop limply to the sides, let the gun dangle. The lamp highlighted his washboard stomach; the kind of guy who could drive himself to do hundreds of sit-ups each and every day. Or who was driven to do them. “No time at all you’ve gone from keyhole-peeker to goddamn triple agent,” he said. “Something, huh?”
“Only in America.”
Jefferson’s eyes, yellowish in the lamplight, got hard. “When we got something we want Wesley to know, we’ll get in touch with you. Tell you what to pass on.”
“And if they find out I’m passing on stacked information, what about me?”
Jefferson barked something somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “You’re the one wanted into this game, Carver. Now you’re in and you got no choice.”
“Maybe. But I want something from you.”
“I gathered that, considering you were knocking at my door at one A.M. and we never got together much socially.”
“The woman I live with, Edwina Talbot; if I get outa line they’ll sic Butcher on her. That’s the string they tied on me.”
Jefferson nodded, staring at Carver. “Courtney told us. So you stay in line, only what you tell Ogden and Butcher is what we want them to know.”
“That’s not staying in line,” Carver said. “It’s dangerous for Edwina.”
“Not to mention the intrepid private eye. You guys tinker around with serious matters, get in our way. Well, this time you poked your pecker in a steel trap. Nothing you can do but play along with Ogden and Butcher. Which means there’s nothing you can do but play along with us.”