1990 - Mine v4 (38 page)

Both roads were treacherous. Both roads glistened with blood, under a darkening sky. The question was: which road might lead to the saving of that infant's life?

Didi stared at the clay face of the man she had once adored, in her youth, and grown to hate in her ancient days. She decided on the road to take. "I… think Jack Gardiner is in California. That's where Mary and Edward'll be going after they leave here." The snake within her crunched itself into a tight coil, and expired with a final shudder in the embers. Didi almost cried, but she did not; yesterday was gone, and no tears could revive its clock of hours. "That's it," Didi said. "What now? Are you going to call the police?"

"No. I'm going to meet Mary when she gets here."

Mark's jaw would have dropped to the floor had it not been jointed to his face. "Uh-uh!" he said. "No way!"

"I'm not going to just let her breeze through here!" Laura snapped. "I don't want the police in this. If Mary Terror sees the police, my baby is as good as dead. So what choice do I have?"

"She'll kill you," Didi said. "She's packing at least two pistols, and maybe something else I haven't seen. She won't hesitate for a second before she blows you away."

"I'll have to take that chance."

"You won't
get
a chance. Don't you understand? You can't take her on!"

"
You
don't understand," Laura said firmly. "There's no other way."

Didi was about to protest again, but what could she say? The woman was right. She would be killed in a face-to-face encounter with Mary Terror, of that Didi had no doubt. But what other chance would she have? "You're crazy," Didi said.

"Yes, I am," Laura answered. "I wouldn't be standing here if I weren't. If I have to be as crazy as Mary Terror, then so be it."

"Sure." Mark grunted. "The only difference is, you've never killed anybody."

Laura ignored him, and kept her attention on Bedelia Morse. There was no retreating now, no calling for Doug to help her or the police to bring their eager snipers. Her mouth was dry at the prospect of impending violence, and the thought that the violence could easily catch David in its storm. "I've got to ask you for one more thing. That you'll let me know when Mary gets here."

"I don't want your blood on my walls."

"How about my child's blood on your hands? Do you want that?"

Didi drew a long breath and let it out. "No. I don't."

"Then you'll let me know?"

"I won't be able to stop her from killing you," Didi said.

"Okay. You won't have to cry at my funeral. Will you let me know?"

Didi hesitated. She had murdered people who didn't want to die. Now she was going to be helping murder someone who was begging for death. But once Mary left for California, any chance — however slim — of getting the baby back alive would be gone. Didi kept her gaze downcast, but she could feel the hot intensity of Laura's eyes on her. "They're supposed to call me when they get to Ann Arbor," she said at last. "I told Mary I'd give her directions to the house. God help me… but I'll call you when I hear from them."

"We're at the Days Inn. I'm in Room 119 and Mark's in Room 112. I'll be waiting by the phone."

"You mean waiting by your gravestone, don't you?"

"Maybe. But don't shovel the dirt on me yet."

Didi lifted her gaze and looked at Laura. She knew faces, and faces intrigued her. This woman's features said she'd lived a soft, pampered life, a life of comparative wealth and ease. But the pain she'd endured was showing, in the dark hollows under her eyes, the lines on her forehead, and at the comers of her grim-lipped mouth. There was something else in her face, too, something that was newly bom: it might be called hope. Didi recognized Laura as a fighter, a survivor who wasn't afraid of overwhelming odds. That was how Didi herself used to be, a long time ago before the Storm Front had twisted and shaped her into a vessel of agony. Didi said, "I'll let you know." Four words: how easily a death warrant was signed.

They walked around the cottage to Laura's car, and Didi saw the
Go home
carved into the windshield's glass. She was going to take the binoculars back to Mr. Brewer, and get a full description of the man who'd been asking for her. That was the kind of thing that five years ago would have made her instantly pack a suitcase and hit the road. Now, though, she knew the truth: there was nowhere to hide forever, and old debts always came due.

Mark, muttering his discontent, got into the car. Before Laura did, she fixed Didi with a hard stare. "My son's name is David," she said. "Not Drummer." And then she got into the BMW, started the engine, and drove away, leaving Bedelia Morse standing alone in the lengthening shadows.

Roadchart Through Hades

THE TELEPHONE BEGAN TO RING AT THREE THIRTY-NINE ON Tuesday morning. A cold fist squeezed Didi's heart. She stood up from her chair, where she'd been sitting under a lamp reading a book on advanced pottery techniques, and she went to the phone. She picked it up on the third ring. "Hello?"

"We made it," Mary Terror said.

They'd probably left New York the morning before and had been driving all day and night, Didi figured. Mary was wasting no time in getting nearer to Jack. "Edward's with you?"

"Yeah. He's right here."

"Where are you?"

"A pay phone at a Shell station on —" Mary paused, and Didi heard Edward say "Huron Parkway" in the background. The sound of a baby crying came through the receiver. Mary said, "Rub behind his left ear, he likes that," instructions to Edward. Then she spoke into the phone again. "Huron Parkway."

Didi began to give Mary directions to her cottage. She could hear the nervousness in her voice, and she tried to speak slowly but it didn't help. "You all right?" Mary interrupted suddenly.
She knows
, Didi thought. But of course that couldn't be. "You woke me up," Didi said. "I had a bad dream."

The baby continued to cry, and Mary snapped, "Here, damn it! Give him to me and you take the phone!" When Edward was on the line, sounding exhausted, Didi repeated the directions. "Okay," he said through a yawn. "Turn right at the second light?"

"No. Right at the third light. Then right again at the second light and the road will veer to the left."

"Got it. I think. You ever try to drive a van with a kid screaming in your ear? And every time I tried to push it up past sixty-five Mary jumped my case. Jesus, I'm beat!"

"You can rest here," Didi told him.

"Let's go, let's go!" Mary said in the background. The child had stopped crying.

"Stone house on the right," Edward said. "See you soon."

"See you," Didi replied, and she hung up.

The silence shrieked.

Didi had given them the long route. They would be here in fifteen to twenty minutes if Edward didn't get them lost in his stuporous condition. Didi's hand hung over the telephone. The seconds were ticking past. The snake of loyalty had lifted its head from the ashes, and hissed a warning at her. This was the point of decision, and beyond it there was no turning back.

She sensed the ghosts gathering behind her. Sharpening their teeth on their wristbones, eager to gnaw into her skull. She had given her word. In a world of deceits, wasn't that the only true thing left?

Didi picked up the phone. She dialed the number she'd already looked up in the Yellow Pages, and she asked the clerk for Room 119.

Two rings. Then Laura's voice, instantly alert: "I'm ready."

Laura was still wearing her jeans and cable-knit sweater, and she'd slept for a few periods of about fifteen minutes each before the imagined sound of the phone had jarred her awake. She listened to what Didi had to tell her, then she hung up and went to the closet. From the top shelf she took the.32 Charter Arms automatic Doug had bought. She pushed a clip of seven bullets into its magazine and smacked it shut with her palm. It hurt her hand. She worked the safety back and forth, getting a feel for the loaded weapon. The gun was still oily-smelling, still evil in appearance; but now she needed its weight and power, and whether she had to use it or not, it was a worthy talisman. She slid it down into her purse. Then she put on her overcoat and buttoned it up against the cold. Nausea suddenly pulsed in her stomach. She rushed into the bathroom and waited, but nothing came up. Her face was hot, sparkles of sweat on her cheeks. Now would not be the time to faint. When she was reasonably certain she was neither going to throw up or pass out, she went back to the closet and put an additional clip of bullets into her purse, adding to the talisman's strength.

She was, as Stephen Stills had told the crowd at Woodstock, scared shitless.

Laura left her room, her purse over her shoulder. The chill air hit her, a welcoming blow. She walked to Mark's room, and she balled up her fist to knock on the door.

She stood there, fist balled up, and she thought of Rose Treggs and the two children. The wind moved around her; in it she imagined she heard the noise of chimes, calling Mark home. She had paid him his three thousand dollars. He had brought her to Bedelia Morse. Their agreement had been kept, and she would not take Mark any further into what lay ahead. She lowered her fist and opened it.

The world needed more writers who didn't give a damn about best seller lists, and who wrote with their heart's blood.

Laura silently wished him well. And then she turned away from Mark's door and walked to her car.

She drove away from the Days Inn and turned in the direction of Didi's house, her hands clenched hard on the wheel and the mice of fear scuttling in her belly.

Four miles west of Ann Arbor, Didi sat in her chair in the front room, the lamp's light glinting on the gray hairs amid the red. She was waiting for whom fate would bring first to her door. Her mind was resting, the Rubik's Cube finished. She had chosen her road, and the snake was dead.

She saw headlights through the trees.

Didi stood up on weightless legs. Her pulse had begun to knock, like Death's fist on a bolted door. The headlights came up the driveway, and behind their white cones was a battered olive-green van. It stopped near the front door with a little
skreek
of worn brakes. Didi felt her teeth digging into her lower lip. She went outside in her faded denims and her comfortable gray sweater with brown leather patches on the elbows. It was her working outfit; her jeans were blotched with paint, and flecks of clay clung to her sweater. She watched Mary get out of the van's passenger side, carrying the baby in a bassinet. Edward, a weary man, pulled himself from behind the wheel. "Found it!" Edward said. "I didn't do so badly, huh?"

"Come in," Didi offered, and she stepped back to let them enter. As Mary passed her, Didi smelled her unwashed, animalish odor. Edward staggered in, stripped off his down parka, and flopped onto the couch. "Man!" he said, his falsely blue eyes dazed. "My ass is
dead
!"

"I'll make some coffee," Didi said, and she walked back to the reassembled kitchen, where newspaper was taped up over the door's missing pane.

"Gotta change Drummer," Mary told her. She put the baby on the floor and lifted out the Magnum pistol from her shoulder bag, then retrieved a Handi Wipe and a Pampers diaper. The baby was restless, arms and legs in motion, face squalling up for a cry but no cry forthcoming.

"Cute little rug rat, isn't he?" Edward leaned back on the couch, kicked his shiny loafers off, and put his feet up. "I can say that now that he's not yelling in my ear."

"He's a good baby. Mama's good baby, yes he is."

Edward watched Mary change Drummer's diaper as Didi poured water into the Mr. Coffee machine. It was clear to him that Mary was nuts about the baby. When she'd called him yesterday morning at seven o'clock and told him they were driving to Ann Arbor, he'd said she had a screw loose. He wasn't planning on driving to Michigan in the company of a woman who had an FBI target painted on her back, no matter if she was a sister or not. But then she'd told him about Jack Gardiner, and that had put a new slant on his thinking. If it was true that Jack
was
in California, and Didi could lead them to him, his book on the Storm Front could have no better selling point than an interview with Lord Jack himself. Of course, he didn't know how Jack would feel about it, but Mary seemed to think it was a good idea. She'd said she was wrong in jumping him about the book, that she'd let her first emotions get away from her. It would be good, she'd told him, to let the world know that the Storm Front still lived on. Edward was thinking more of
People
magazine coverage than making a political statement, but Mary had even promised to help him talk Jack into an interview.
If
Didi was right, and
if
Jack was in California. Two big ifs. But it was worth taking a few sick days off at Sea King to find out.

Mary took the soiled diaper into the kitchen, searching for a garbage can, and there she found Didi staring out a window toward the road. "What're you looking at?"

Didi kept herself from jumping by sheer willpower. "Nothing," she said. "I'm waiting for the coffee." She'd seen a car go slowly past and out of sight.

"Forget the coffee. I want to know about Jack." Mary stood beside Didi and glanced out the window. Nothing but dark. Still, Didi was nervous. It was in her voice, and Didi wasn't making eye contact. Mary's radar went up. "Show me," she said.

Didi left the coffee to brew, and she got the photo album from the bedroom. When she returned to the front room, Mary was sitting in a chair with the baby in her arms and Edward was still stretched out on the couch. The shoulder bag was beside Mary, the compact Magnum on top of the melange of formula, Pampers, Handi Wipes, and baby toys. "Here it is." Didi showed the article and picture to Mary, and Edward struggled up from the couch to take a look.

"Right there." Didi touched the image of the man's face.

Mary studied the picture. "That's not Jack," Edward decided after a minute or two. "That guy's nose is too big."

"People's noses get larger as they age," Didi told him.