Last October, after the bloodbath at the Monkeewrench loft office, they’d moved the company to temporary quarters on Harley’s third floor while they worked on FLEE. Up until the day Annie had taken off for Arizona last week, he’d had Grace, Annie, and Roadrunner in his house all day every day for almost six months, and now he was pushing to make the arrangement permanent. Even after everyone left in the evening, the scents and sounds of all of them seemed to linger in the big old house, making it feel as though a family lived there, and Harley liked the feeling.
Tonight he and Roadrunner were in the carriage house – a two-story marvel with a cobblestone floor and tongue-and-groove oak paneling that ran up the walls into the arches of the cathedral ceiling. There were crystal chandeliers in here, too, which Roadrunner found ridiculously excessive. Besides, he missed the horse stalls and second-floor grooms’ apartments that had been in here when Harley bought the place.
Right now the enormous space that had once housed carriages, cutters, and the animals to pull them, was home to a very different kind of horsepower. The RV had been delivered today, custom work finally completed. It was a silver-skinned, tinted-glass behemoth, and it just looked wrong in this place.
‘It looks like a bus.’ Roadrunner was standing in front of the vehicle, spider arms akimbo, his eyes almost level with the vast expanse of the windshield, which was six and a half feet off the ground. He’d ridden his old ten-speed over from Minneapolis, just for the extra workout, and was wearing one of the Lycra biking suits he wore every single day – a black one tonight, because he was anticipating dirty work.
‘It is not a bus. Do not call it a bus. Technically, it is a luxury motor coach, and her name is Chariot.’
Roadrunner rolled his eyes. ‘Why do you have to name inanimate objects all the time? I hate that. Everything from your house to your dick.’
‘My dick is not inanimate.’
‘Sez you. If you’re going to spend all your free time thinking up names, think up a new one for the company, why don’t you.’
‘I’ve been racking my brain over that one for six months. How do you rename Monkeewrench? It’s like… sacrilege, or something.’
‘Yeah, I know. Like renaming a ten-year-old kid.’
‘Exactly.’
‘But we have to do it.’
‘I guess.’
None of them were happy about changing the company name. They’d been Monkeewrench for over ten years now, and the moniker had become part of their identities.
‘Gecko,’ Roadrunner said abruptly.
‘Was that a sneeze?’
‘Gecko. We should call it Gecko, Incorporated.’
Harley’s mouth made a circle of disbelief in the black frame of his beard. ‘Are you out of your friggin’ mind? It’s a goddamned lizard.’
Roadrunner shrugged. ‘It continues the animal theme. I think it’s good.’
Harley opened the big hydraulic door and stomped up the steps in disgust. ‘Yeah, well if that’s the direction you’re going, then I think we should just name it after you and call it Dipshit.’
Roadrunner pouted up the stairs after him, but quickly forgot about his wounded pride the minute he stepped inside the plush interior and took a look around. Thick, buttery soft carpets covered the floor, overstuffed down sofas huddled around a gleaming wooden table like silk-covered marshmallows, the spacious kitchen had granite countertops and sparkling chrome fixtures, and there was polished teak everywhere.
Harley folded his arms across his massive chest, a size extra-large smile plastered across his face. ‘So what do you think, little buddy? Looks more like Buckingham Palace than something with wheels, huh?’
Roadrunner’s eyes were as wide as a kid’s on Christmas morning. ‘Wow, this is awesome. I really like all the wood.’
Harley shrugged modestly. ‘I was sort of going for a yacht look without all the nautical crap. Come on, I’ll show you the rest. We haven’t gotten to the best part.’
Roadrunner followed him down the length of the RV, stopping briefly to marvel at a large bathroom complete with a full-sized shower and tub. At the far end of the rig was what Harley called the pièce de résistance – an enormous bedroom that had been stripped out and converted into an office. There were four computer workstations, a wall of equipment racks, and a mini-kitchen outfitted with a wine cooler and cigar humidor for Harley; a top-of-the-line, pro-model coffee/espresso maker for Roadrunner.
‘This is where our mobile command center is going, my friend. We are going to kick some ass and bust some balls from right here. Bad guys all across the country are quaking in fear as we speak.’
Roadrunner finally managed to tear himself away from the coffeemaker. ‘Man, Grace and Annie are going to freak when they see this thing. Where is Grace, anyhow? I thought for sure she’d be over here to check it out.’
‘Couldn’t make it tonight. She’s at her love palace with the Italian Stallion.’
‘You mean Magozzi?’ Roadrunner asked skeptically.
‘Yeah, who else?’
He thought about that for a minute. ‘You think they’re in love?’
Harley gaped at him in disbelief. ‘You just get a news flash, genius? Where the hell have you been for the past six months? Of course they’re in love.’
Roadrunner’s lower lip curled down in that tragic, wounded expression he always got when he thought he’d been left out of something. ‘I’ve never even seen them hold hands. I thought they were just friends.’
Harley rolled his eyes. ‘Jesus Christ, this isn’t think-tank material, Roadrunner. It doesn’t take more than a heartbeat and one functioning brain cell to know there’s something up the minute you see them together, getting all dopey and sloe-eyed on each other.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake. That’s why you think they’re in love? Honestly, Harley, you’re such a hopeless romantic. You only see what you want to see. Magozzi gets all dopey and sloe-eyed. Grace always holds back, and if you had two functioning brain cells you would have seen that. I know Magozzi’s in love with Grace, and I really feel sorry for the man, but Grace just isn’t ready to let herself go down that road. Maybe she never will be.’
Harley glowered at him. He didn’t like what Roadrunner had said, so he decided not to believe him.
‘Do not ever quash anyone’s dreams of romance. Love is a mysterious and unpredictable force, and stranger things than Grace and Magozzi getting together have happened. Hell, who knows? One day a human female might actually find you attractive. The world is just full of surprises.’
9
‘Puff! Here kitty, kitty, kitty!’ There was a tremor in Rose’s voice, and for good reason. It was dreadfully late and that useless beast was still sauntering around the yard, pretending to be deaf.
She’d always hated the dark, even as a little girl, and the fear had only grown worse with age. Now, some seventy-odd years later, it had morphed into an irrational, debilitating phobia that made no sense at all. She wasn’t afraid of the mundane dangers that might befall an elderly woman living alone, things like burglars or murderers or rapists; or even of falling down and breaking her hip, all concerns her daughter voiced at every opportunity. It was the dark itself.
She took another tentative step out onto the back porch and caught a brief glimpse of white in the farthest corner of the tulip bed. Puff obviously assumed that all the hard work Rose had put into the gardens today were for his benefit – the world’s largest litter box.
‘Puff, come here!’
He responded with an irritated twitch of his tail, letting her know he’d come in when he was good and ready and not a minute before. His tiny kitty brain just didn’t understand that once darkness swallowed the backyard, it wouldn’t matter if he were being eaten alive by the neighborhood dogs before her very eyes – she still wouldn’t be able to go out to save him.