The headlights made a wide theatrical swash of visibility in the darkness. Twenty feet in front of the car was Franco Montenegro's body and next to him was Candy's.
I went down on my knees beside her, but she was dead, and I knew it even before I felt for a pulse and couldn't find it. She had taken a couple of bullets in the body. There was blood all over her front. Beside her on the ground her purse was open. The .32 was out. Unfired. She'd tried. Like I'd told her to. There was a small neat hole in her forehead from which a small trickle of dark blood traced across her forehead. I glanced at Franco. He had a similar hole. The last two shots I'd heard. The coup de grace, one for each. I sat back on my heels and stared at Candy. Despite the blood and the bullet hole she looked like she had. For something as large as it is, death doesn't look like much at first.
The lightning and the thunder were nearly simultaneous now, and small spatters of rain mixed with the wind. I looked at Franco. Near his right hand was a gun. I moved over and, without touching the gun, lowered myself in a kind of push-up and smelled the muzzle. No smell of gunfire. He lay on his stomach, his face turned to one side. Blood soaked the back of his shirt. With my jaw clamped tight I rolled him over. There was no blood in front. The bullet hadn't gone through. He'd been shot from behind. Candy had been shot from in front. I got up and walked maybe fifteen feet back from Franco's body. On the soft gravel of the parking area were bright brass casings. The shooter had used an automatic, probably a 9-millimeter. I walked back and looked down at Candy. The rain was beginning to fall steadily, slanted by the wind. Already some of the blood was turning pink with dilution.
I looked around the parking area. There was nothing to see. I looked at Candy again. There was nothing more to see there either. Still, I looked at her. The rain was hard now, and dense, washing down on her upturned face. The wind was warm no longer. Candy didn't care. My clothing was soaked, my hair plastered flat against my skull. Rain running off my forehead blurred my vision. Candy's mascara had run, streaking her face. I stared down as the rain washed it away too.
"Some bodyguard," I said.
We were quiet. The band on the roof was playing "Indian Summer." The smell of flowers seemed to have faded. The smell of Candy's perfume was stronger. My mouth was dry.
"Is dancing too systematic for you?" Candy said.
"No."
She got up and reached out toward me, and we began to dance, moving in a small circle on the narrow balcony, with the music drifting down. With her shoes off she was considerably smaller and her head reached only to my shoulder.
"Would you care to marry me?"
She was quiet. The water on the sound was quiet. Easy swells looking green and deep rolled in quietly toward us and broke gently onto the beach.
Susan said, "I don't know."
"I was under a different impression," I said.
"So was I."
"I was under the impression that you wanted to marry me and were angry that I had not yet asked."
"That was the impression I was under too," Susan said.
"Songs unheard are sweeter far," I said.
"No, it's not that, availability makes you no less lovable. It's . . . I don't know. Isn't that amazing. I think I wanted the assurance of your asking, more than I wanted the consummated fact."
I looked at Candy again. There was nothing more to see there either. Still, I looked down at her. The rain was hard now, and dense, washing down on her upturned face. The wind was warm no longer. Candy didn't care. My clothing was soaked, my hair plastered flat against my skull. Rain running off my forehead blurred my vision. Candy's mascara had run, streaking her face. I stared down as the rain washed it away too.
"Some bodyguard," I said.
I left her there in the rain with the headlights shining on her and walked back.
The still waters began to roil slightly. The pellucid silence began to clot. I became distinct from the lake.
"Human voices wake us," I said, "and we drown."
CHAPTER 45
"What's he saying?" Linda said.
"He's still drunk from anesthesia," a nurse said.
"I want to get out of here," I said.
"How long will he babble like that?" Linda said.
"He's had a real jolt," the nurse said. "It will take a while. If you need me, ring that bell."
"How long have I been in here?" I said.
Linda patted my cheek. "Yes, honey, yes."
My right side felt as if it had been scraped raw. I put my left hand out to Linda. She smiled and took it.
"He's awake," she said.
"Alive," I said.
Linda leaned toward me, "What, love?"
"Alive," I said.
"Yes," she said. "Yes. Alive."
"Hot damn."
Linda leaned over and kissed me. "You are going to be fine," she said. "There's a policeman here."
I turned my head carefully. Frank Belson was sitting on the window ledge in his shirt sleeves, his gun butt forward on his belt, a cold cigar in his mouth.
"They won't let me smoke," he said.
"They spoil everything," I said. "How long I been here?"
I held Linda's hand as hard as I could. Which wasn't very hard.
"Three days," Linda said. "You had no pulse when they brought you in."
"They were worrying about brain death," Belson said, "but there was no way to tell."
"You're darling to wake up to, Frank."
"He's been here every day," Linda said. "He and another policeman and a man named Hawk."
"Quirk?" I said. Belson nodded.
"Marty's been curious about the three stiffs plus you." He grinned. "Almost four."
I nodded. The nod was a mistake. It made my whole right side hurt.
"We'll talk about it later," I said.
Belson said, "Sure."
"The girl dead too?"
"Yeah. Somebody broke her neck. Hawk brought you in." Belson chewed the cold cigar butt into a better position in his mouth. "Hawk don't shed a lot of light on things."
Linda's hand was motionless in mine. Her eyes were fixed on my face. This was the part she didn't like. The part Susan knew about and didn't like.
"You okay?" I said to Linda.
She took in a deep breath and let it out and nodded.
"Susan know?" I said.
"Paul was going to call her," Linda said. "Hawk said no. He said you'd decide when you woke up."
I was slipping again. Sleep would feel a lot better than my right side. I let myself sleep and in a little while my side stopped hurting. I could feel Linda's hand in mine a long time after my side stopped hurting, well after I was otherwise asleep.
The next time I woke up Linda was gone and so was Belson. Hawk was there and Paul. As I came out of the sleep I heard Paul's voice, softly.
"No, like this, shuffle, ball, change. You see, shuffle, ball, change." I heard his feet move lightly on the hospital floor. "How can a man with your heritage not be able to tap-dance." I heard Hawk's gliding chuckle. "My ancestors busy eating missionaries, boy. We didn't have no time for no fucking shuffle ball change."
"Well, you wanted me to show you."
"That's before I knew you was going to do it better than me," Hawk said.
"Hey," I said, "Heckle and Jeckle. Don't you realize there's a wounded man in here?"
They appeared at the foot of the bed. Paul said, "How do you feel?"
"Pretty good, I think. Where's Linda?"
"Home, asleep," Hawk said. "She about ready to fall over."
"How long have I been sleeping?" I said.
"Day and a half," Paul said. "You woke up yesterday morning."
"How bad am I?" I said to Hawk.
"This the Easter season for you, babe," Hawk said. "You was dead when we brought you in."
"I know, Belson told me."
"But you gonna make it."
I looked at Paul. He nodded. "You were in surgery for fifteen hours," he said. "You got a drain in your right side."