Rivera finally sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. "Fifteen thou and change."
"I told you that when we walked in," she said, climbing down from her chair. "That's better than your highest hopes, right? Admit it."
"It's good."
"It's great. And four thousand of it's mine." She crossed the room with her hand out.
"Cute," Rivera said, but he was smiling. He already had the agreed-upon $3,000 in a separate pile, which he handed her.
She riffled through it happily, making a sound like a card against a bicycle wheel's spokes. "So I pass muster?"
"You did fine," Rivera conceded.
"Manuel give me good grades?"
He nodded. "He said you handled yourself okay. What about your boyfriend? What was that?"
"He's an asshole and he was never my boyfriend. I got what I needed out of him, which was a bunch of contacts. I hope he got his butt shot off."
"You were lucky," Rivera said, watching her.
"I was smart," she countered, jerking her thumb at Manuel. "Ask him. I knew damn well the bouncer wasn't acting on his own. That's not how it works. You smell a rat, you do something about it. I did."
"And you abandoned your friend. That might make me nervous."
"I cut out some dead weight you never liked in the first place. You unhappy we're rid of Dancer?"
"No," he admitted.
She put the money back onto the table and leaned toward him. "Then let's keep going. You got problems in Rutland, I'm a problem solver. You want to keep baby-sitting me with a partner? Fine. Manuel and I got along pretty good, but give me whoever floats your boat and let me have a shot at it." She got even closer, bending at the waist, fixing his eyes with hers. "I can make us a fortune up there, you know I can. To hell with the boy-girl, Latino-white shit. You broke the mold when you went independent and took turf away from Torres. Keep showing how smart you are by putting me to work."
She tapped the pile of money he'd given her with her fingertip. "I'll even invest in the business. Take two thousand back and buy some more product with it. I'll trust you to keep honest books."
He smiled and reached out to stroke her cheek. "You're quite the little firecracker, aren't you?"
But she straightened and pulled away. "Maybe, and maybe you'll get to find that out. But not now. This is business. We make a bundle, we can talk again." She smiled to cushion the rejection. "By then I might be up for a little R and R-on a sandy beach with no bulletproof windows." She stuck out her hand. "Deal?"
He glanced at Manuel, if not for approval, then simple confirmation. Manuel stayed as he was, smoking his cigarette.
Rivera shook her hand. "Deal."
* * *
Not expecting more success than he'd had the last few times he'd tried, Joe dialed Gail's cell phone number.
"Hello?" Her voice sounded almost eager.
"Hi, it's me. I've been trying to find you-see if you were all right."
"I'm fine."
He was disappointed the eagerness had clearly not been for him. "I was just worried, given all you've been through. How's Laurie doing?"
"The same."
"Your sister come up yet to be with her?"
Gail's tone turned bitter. "Yeah. She carved out some time from her schedule. She'll be arriving this afternoon. God knows how long that'll last."
"She staying with you?"
"That's the plan. I don't know if it'll work out, given our past history."
"You can stay at my place if you want."
Her response came almost too quickly. "No, that's okay. You're sweet, but I ought to tough it out. Maybe if things fall apart."
There was an awkward pause, which Joe filled with, "Are you sure you're okay? You don't sound like yourself."
Her reaction surprised him with its hard edge. "Well, I wouldn't, would I? At least I hope not. It's not every day you have your niece lying in a coma because of your own inattention."
He was surprised she was still stuck there. And worried. "Gail, you know that's not the way it is."
She almost cut him off. "I know, I know-that's the same crap I tell people, too. Look, Joe, I appreciate the call, but I gotta go. I'll talk to you later, okay?"
The phone went dead before he could respond.
He and Gail had shared some rough roads and not just when she'd been the one in a jam. But he was starting to wonder about this one. He couldn't get his hands around it-it lacked a cause-and-effect lineage he could track, her concern with Laurie's condition notwithstanding. He sensed there was more at work here, perhaps an accumulation of past ghosts: the rape, the alienation between her and her sister, his and her peculiar relationship, at once solid but noncommittal. Even her restless pursuit of a variety of professions and causes through the years. Laurie Davis's influence on Gail's state of mind was real and profound, but he didn't think it told even half the story.
But he didn't know how to read the rest if Gail wouldn't share it with him. And he was saddened by her unwillingness to do so.
Gail snapped her cell phone closed and stared at it, aware of the hurt she'd just meted out. It was a truism that you routinely wound the ones you love-they are, after all, usually close enough to get caught in the crossfire. But there was also something about Joe specifically-much as she genuinely loved him, as she never had any other-that occasionally put her on edge. His stolid, dependable, trustworthy style, while great in a crisis, hardly made him the brightest star in the galaxy. Which wasn't a fault, of course. And most of the time, their contrasting styles were a perfect fit-she the type A careerist, ambitious and tough-minded; he no weaker of character, but less aggressive, a man more interested in being in the world than leading it. But there were times she felt like screaming at him to do more, be more, and to live up to his real potential. He had the brains, the ability, and the people skills to be the commissioner of Public Safety, for example, if he'd set his mind to it. But the thought never occurred to him.
She got up and started pacing, pulling away from the phone conversation and toward the real source of her frustration. With Debbie Holton's lack of response to her ministrations, Gail had begun questioning what she'd been hoping to achieve with the girl in the first place.
The phone rang again.
"Gail?" It was Debbie-tearful, weak, sounding very far away.
Gail instinctively bent over the phone, pressing it tighter to her ear to hear better. "Yes. What's wrong? Where are you?"
"Home. I messed up."
"Do you need an ambulance? Should I call for one?"
"No, no. I'm okay that way. I just. . Can you come over?"
"I'll be right there."
All self-doubt gone, her energy back where she found it most comfortable, Gail grabbed her keys and headed for the garage.
* * *
Gail found Debbie curled up in a ball on the bare mattress, wadded into a tangle of blankets, smelling of body odor and vomit, her hair a knotted clot. Her eyes were red, her nose runny, and she looked up like a beaten child as Gail entered the room.
"Help me."
Gail went to her knees beside her, cradling her head as the young girl began crying more openly. "It's okay, it's okay. I'll take care of you. We'll get you better."
She looked around them at the stained walls and bare floor, the single grimy window filtering a dim shaft of daylight, and added, "For one thing, we're getting you out of here."
Debbie pulled her face from Gail's stomach and peered up at her, confused. "What do you mean?"
"You're coming to live with me for a while, kiddo."
Chapter 13
Susan and Lester Spinney were still up waiting for their son when he quietly slipped into the house through the kitchen door. They heard him lock the door behind him and open the fridge before walking into the darkened living room, where they sat side by side on the couch, having killed the TV when they'd heard him drive up.