‘What did you tell them?’
‘Nothing. What could I tell them? They wanted to search the house. I told them to see a judge and get a search warrant. Until then, I couldn’t help them. I know how these things work. The police can’t just barge in here any time they want.’
Foerster shook his head. ‘They’re not the police.’
‘What?’
‘They’re not the police, Ma. They can’t search the house. They can’t get a search warrant because they’re not cops. They’re private goons.’
‘Well, they left anyway.’
‘OK. Good, Ma. You did the right thing. That was good. Now I need you to do something for me. Upstairs, on the bedside table, I left a business card. It’s the business card I showed you. It’s from a friend of mine, like I told you. He wants me to do some work for him, and I need his phone number.’
‘Davey, I don’t have that card anymore.’
‘What? What do you mean?’ Foerster felt his heart do a jerky little dance in his chest. If she had given those clowns Gant’s card… No. His mind rebelled against going down that road.
‘I didn’t want those men to see the card. So when they chased you I went upstairs, tore up the card, and flushed the pieces down the toilet.’
Foerster rubbed his head with his free hand. His fingers moved along the railroad line of scar tissue and stitches. OK, he’d live through the night without calling Gant. He’d make it down to Charleston tomorrow, the same way he’d made it this far. He’d have to find some kind of sleeping arrangement, maybe on the beach, maybe in an alley, but that was OK. Hell, maybe he’d find a chick to take him home, right? Stranger things had happened in this world. It was better she had destroyed the card than it had fallen into the hands of those bounty hunters. And it showed him something, too. Maybe, just maybe, she was on his side for a change.
‘You did the right thing, Ma. Thank you.’
‘Davey, are you OK? You sound like you’re on drugs. Where are you? This is your mother talking.’
Foerster rolled his eyes. ‘I’m fine. I’m on my way to Charleston, like I said.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
Jesus. He wished someone else could listen in sometimes, just so people would know what a psycho bitch his mother was. ‘Ma, I’m in Myrtle Beach right now, about a hundred miles from Charleston, calling you from a payphone. That’s where I am. I hitchhiked all this way. I’m gonna go down to Charleston in the morning and see that guy about the job. I was thinking I’d give him a try tonight if you still had the card, but it’s not a problem. I’ll meet up with him tomorrow.’
Her tone said she still didn’t buy it. ‘OK, Davey. If you say so. I’m glad you’re all right.’
‘Thanks. I’m glad you’re all right, too. I’m glad they didn’t… do anything to you. Listen Ma, I’m almost out of money. I’m tired and I need a place to stay. Maybe some food. Is there any chance you could Western Union me some more money down here tomorrow morning? If I know the money’s coming I can probably convince somebody to give me a room for the night.’
His mother hesitated. Foerster already knew what was coming. ‘Davey, I’d feel funny about it. I just gave you money this morning. After everything that happened with those men, I’d just feel funny about it, that’s all.’
‘OK,’ he said. ‘I understand.’
‘Davey?’ came his mother’s voice, but Foerster hung up the phone. He glanced around. The nearest bar was a place across the street called Bottoms Up, with a blinking neon sign of a cowgirl in a short skirt, bending over. A buzz of music and raised voices came from the place. Foerster stepped into the street and headed toward the front door. He took the money from his pocket and looked at it – a ten, a five, and four ones.
It was going to be a hell of a night.