"What the hell is going on here?" Savich said, his hand tightly around her wrist.
"Nothing makes any sense, nothing." They walked out of the station. She remained silent for three blocks, then stopped and said, "He was playing with me, Dillon. The minute I said Belinda's name, he began his game. You heard all those questions I asked. I was just trying to learn the truth, but now things are muddier than ever."
"That's why Big John let you go on and on with Marlin with just a bit of his famous bluster. He wanted to muddy the waters."
"He succeeded. Do you think Marlin was intimate with Belinda?"
Savich frowned at her, then shook his head.
That evening, on Newbury Street, coming out of Fien Nang Mandarin Restaurant with its red paper lanterns swinging in the evening breeze, Savich was speaking to Sherlock, his hand raised to flag down a taxi. He never saw the car that came around the corner, skidding loudly on two tires, heading right toward them, until it was too late.
He threw her to the sidewalk just before the car struck him, flinging him onto the hood of an old Buick Riviera.
"No doctor, Sherlock. No hospital, no paramedics. Forget it. We can't afford the time. No, it's just not the time. Just imagine the police reports, the investigation, the questions, it would take too long. No doctor."
He was right, but she worried. He was holding his arm, limping slightly. She knew every step hurt him. The elevator door opened onto their floor. He leaned on her heavily. "No, don't say anything. I'm all right. I've had enough injuries over my thirty-four years to know when it's serious and when I'm just banged up. You promise me you're okay? I threw you pretty hard."
"I'm just a little bruised on my left side, nothing more."
She unlocked the hotel room door. "If I'd been the one struck by the car, what would you have done?"
He stopped in the middle of the room. He had the audacity to grin at her. "You'd be strapped to a gurney on your way to the Emergency Room."
She shut the door very quietly and locked it. She slid the chain home.
"I see. But you, the big he-man, can take anything anybody dishes out."
"Yep, that's about the size of it. Now, I need to make a phone call."
She got ice and wrapped it in a towel. He was on the phone when she handed it to him. He lifted his shirt and pressed it against his ribs. So, it was his ribs, not his arm.
"Quinlan? I need your help. Yeah, some ugly-ass trouble here in Boston. Can Sherlock and I visit your parents' cabin on Louise Lynn Lake for a couple of days? No, I'm just not at my best at the moment. A car got me, but I just need a few days to get myself together again. No, nothing to Maitland. He's not expecting anything in any case. That gives me a little leeway. Yeah, all right."
He hung up the phone and lay back, closing his eyes. "That feels good. Thank you."
"Take the aspirin." She handed him three pills and a glass of water. He took the pills. "What's this cabin on Louise Lynn Lake?"
"It's a nice lake in Maryland where Quinlan's parents have a small home. You and I are driving there tomorrow. Rent us a nice big comfortable car, Sherlock. I'd like to get out of here early tomorrow morning."
"The wounded animal going to his lair?"
"That's about it. Quinlan's lair. I need to get one for myself. Damn, that hurts, but it's not serious." He opened his eyes and looked at her standing beside the bed, her legs spread, her hands on her hips. She didn't look happy.
"You look pretty bad. I saw you limping. You sprain your ankle?"
He tried to grin at her, but it hurt. "Just a minor sprain. No big deal. Hey, I didn't hurt my pretty face, did I?"
"Yes, a bit. Just lie there and I'll clean you up. Are all your teeth still in there?"
"Teeth are fine." He watched her walk to the bathroom. She was stiff, holding on to her control. He was grateful for that. He'd already had a strip taken off him. He didn't need her to take off another one. He heard the water running. She would bring him a cold compress for his aching head. The ice sure felt good over his ribs.
She was taking this well. He sighed with relief and closed his eyes again. After she cleaned off his face and wrapped ice in a towel around his ankle, she just stood there, looking down at him. "I hope you know what you're doing. If you don't, I'm going to hurt you."
He gave her a big smile. He slept until two o'clock in the morning. She was there with three more aspirin.
At six o'clock A.M. they'd checked out of the hotel and were on the road fifteen minutes later in a good-sized Ford. Savich's seat was tilted back as far as it would go. His eyes were closed. He looked bruised, wrung out. Lacey gave him a long look before turning off onto 1-95 South. It would take them a good six to eight hours to get to Maryland. At least they had a full bottle of aspirin and blankets.
Louise Lynn Lake was in southern Maryland. It took them nine hours to get there. Lacey was so wired from all the coffee she'd drunk, she couldn't keep still. She was tapping her foot on the accelerator, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. She was too nervous to listen to music or talk radio. "You're feeling all right, Dillon? You promise?"
"Yes. Stop worrying. You want me to drive?"
She gave him a look. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat. Thirty minutes later, he was tapping his own fingers and looking for landmarks. He said, "Turn here. Yes, this is it. Just around this bend. We're here. You did really well, Sherlock. Nice place, huh?"
"There's someone already here," she said. "Damn, we'll just have to keep going. I don't want to take any chances, not with you in such bad shape. If there's more than two of them, I might not be able to protect you."
He arched a black eyebrow at that. "I could maybe take on one, Sherlock, if he was a little guy."
"No, we'll keep going. I'll drop you off at a motel and then come back and check things out."
"No, wait, Sherlock, it's Quinlan."
She watched James Quinlan come loping toward the car. She rolled down the window, giving him a big smile.
"Thank God it's you. We've had enough bad guys for a while."
"Nope, I'm a hero, just ask my wife. Hey, Savich looks like he lost the fight, Sherlock. Did he get fresh with you? Did you have to pound him?"
"No, he was hit by a car. I'll smash him when he's feeling better. No doctors. He's a fool. Help me get him inside."
Sally Quinlan met them at the door. Behind her was a black
man dressed all in Calvin Klein. He was huge, ugly as sin, and had a Marine haircut.
"Oh, this is Marvin, the bouncer from Ms. Lily's Bonhomie Club. He didn't think James could take care of all the possible trouble and insisted on coming. Marvin, this is Lacey Sherlock."
"She a nice chicky?"
"I think so."
"She's got a weird name."
"Lacey isn't at all weird." Where had the attempt at humor come from?
"Hey, maybe you're not a bad chicky after all. Oh my God. You're looking beyond ripe, Savich. Ms. Lily wondered if you and Quinlan were tough enough to do this stuff." Marvin was out the door in that moment, racing down the porch steps. Lacey saw him, a giant of a man, help Dillon into the weathered porched house.
"You do look like dirt-shit, boy," Marvin told Savich as he laid him down on the long sofa. "Don't you move now. Let Marvin check out those ribs of yours. Good thing I had nine brothers. I've bandaged some ribs in my day. But you know, I don't bandage anymore. I've stayed up with medical strides. Nope, don't do anything now except to tell you to take it easy. They're not broken, Savich, but you sure got some cracks in there. My third brother, Tomalas, now that boy had broken ribs. We used to tell him jokes just to see him laugh and groan at the same time."
Savich's eyes were closed. He didn't say a word, just listened quietly to Marvin's rich, low voice drawling out his words until you thought the sentence would never end. He suffered Marvin, who appeared to be surprisingly gentle, his big black hands moving slowly and expertly over Savich's chest.