Blood and Bone (17 page)

“You loco, Paco?” Ray asked. “What's the rush?”

Hannibal looked around the room for anything that might be his. “I guess my mind's been running while I was asleep. But I'm surer than ever that this Angela is a fake. And if Doctor Lippincott stops looking for a donor because of her, it only cuts Kyle's chances. Where the hell are my clothes?”

“What can you do about it?” Cindy asked, pulling Hannibal's sweat clothes out of the room's locker.

“Well, that depends,” Hannibal said. He took his sweatpants from Cindy and squirmed into them under the covers. “Am I still on the payroll at Nieswand and Balor?”

“Yes, until Mister Nieswand specifically says you're not. I expect that will be soon, but not until he's sure Mister Mortimer is satisfied.”

Hannibal disappeared for a second, then his head popped through the neck of his sweat shirt. “Then I
don't have much time. Ray, are you willing to be on my payroll again?”

“Sure,” Ray said, rubbing the back of his neck, “long as I don't end up looking like you, Paco.”

Leaning forward to pull on socks set off the pressure charges in Hannibal's head again. He opened his mouth and screwed his eyes shut until this latest blast of pain subsided. “Okay, first I need you to get me to my car. Then we'll drop you at the airport. I need you to do a little research for me and your language skills might come in handy.”

“Somewhere out of town?” Ray asked, handing Hannibal his Nikes. “I'm no detective, you know. Why you not doing it yourself?”

Hannibal pulled his shoes on and fumbled with the laces. He tried not to show it was taking all his concentration to form the simple knot. “Cindy and I will be back in Baltimore. If I'm right, we can do a little digging of our own.”

This time, when Hannibal knocked on the door, Ginger Lerner opened it herself. She wore different clothes, but the basics were the same. Her wary eyes went from Hannibal to Cindy and back. Her face asked who the woman was, but her mouth simply said, “Wally's not here.”

“I know,” Hannibal said.

“I don't know where he is,” Ginger offered, flipping her golden hair, as if that might end this awkward conversation.

“That's okay,” Hannibal said. “You're the one I want to talk to anyway.”

Ginger stuck the tip of her tongue through her lips as her eyes cast down. Hannibal took this to be her look of deep thought.

“Please,” Hannibal said. “We've been on the road almost seven hours.” Then, knowing he had taken it as far as he could, Hannibal shut up. Ginger's eyes went back to Cindy, who smiled as reassuringly as she could. Eventually, in the face of their silence, Ginger opened the door and waved them in.

Hannibal walked in toward the table with Cindy close behind him. He seated Cindy, then pulled a chair out for Ginger, but she walked past the table. She paced back and forth nervously, but Hannibal did not think he was the cause of her edginess.

“So, what do you want?” Ginger asked, picking up a pack of cigarettes and fumbling one out of the pack.

“Just to chat about some things,” Hannibal said. “Like about your old friend Ike Paton.”

Ginger lit her cigarette with a long shaky drag and released a plume of smoke. “Don't know him.”

“Maybe you do,” Hannibal said, sitting opposite Cindy. He hoped he was less threatening this way. “Maybe you know him as Pat Louis.”

“Oh, that bum.” Ginger patrolled the perimeter of the apartment's main room, which allowed her to check the door's peephole, the little window over the sink and the bedroom window on each circuit. “Yeah, I know him. Actually, Wally does. Actually, he's one of Slo's friends. One of those creeps that's always getting my Wally in trouble. Even stayed with us a few years ago, before he got that job in Atlantic City. What about him?”

“He's dead,” Hannibal said. Ginger stopped her pacing, her eyes widening briefly. “And that might be why Wally's on the run.”

“No, no, no.” Ginger swung her head back and forth, turning her hair into a reddish fan around her face. “Not my Wally. He wants to be a tough guy, but he's not. Not really. He couldn't kill anybody, not even that lowlife.”

Watching her inhale fear and nicotine, he could hardly believe this was the same woman who made a pass at him a couple of days ago. The relaxed confidence he saw then had deserted her. He thought he knew why, but knowing did not mean he understood.

“He's left you behind, hasn't he?”

Hannibal's words hit her like a slap, but she recovered quickly, almost stilling her quivering lower
lip. “He's gone. Out of the country. He said he'd send for me, but I know he's afraid the police would follow me. Why do I need him so?”

Hannibal could not guess. “You know, I don't think Wally hurt anyone. I thought Slo might have killed Pat Louis, but if they were friends…”

“That louse ain't loyal to anybody but Zack King,” Ginger said, dragging on her cigarette until the glowing embers almost touched the filter. “If Zack said kill Pat, he'd kill Pat. Not like his brother. Wally's been taking care of that retard all his life.”

“Louis stayed with you because he was Slo's friend,” Hannibal said.

“Right. And Wally's gone now because of his stupid brother. They're on the run together. They're on the run and I'm…” she hesitated to state such a simple truth, “I'm here.”

“Are you all right here?” Hannibal asked before he realized he was talking.

“Oh, sure,” Ginger said, smashing her cigarette into an ashtray as if it was someone's face. “I'll be fine. Maybe I'll just go back to what I was doing before I met him. After all, I've stayed in shape. Any man would be happy to…” Tears washed her last few words away. Wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand, Ginger smeared her pancake, lipstick and eye makeup together into a collage on the side of her face. Then she stood in the middle of the floor, fists clenched, racked by silent sobs until Cindy went to her, put her arms around this stranger and held her while she cried.

An hour later, Hannibal eased his Volvo up the gentle grade into Harlan Mortimer's driveway. The day had become bright and sunny somewhere in Pennsylvania, and stayed that way into the afternoon.
As he opened the car door he heard distant laughter from the deep porch on the left side of the stately, two story house. Standing beside his car, he relaxed for a moment, watching the Potomac River roll past behind Mortimer's house. Cindy stretched when she stood up, filling her lungs with the sweet smelling air surrounding the house. Hannibal wished the roses and hyacinths could lift his spirits as easily as they clearly buoyed hers.

“Smile, you old grump,” she told him as they headed for the door. “It's almost over.”

“Not until I hear from your father.”

Hannibal had not imagined Mortimer a party animal, but there was quite a gala going on. Soft jazz sounds embraced the house, dodging in and out between the laughter. As they approached the house the scent of flowers gave way to the aroma of burning barbecue sauce. Then one form broke from the group on the porch. A figure which even ran with perfect posture. Camille Mortimer was careening toward Hannibal, arms outstretched. On impact, her arms wrapped around Hannibal and squeezed him hard. From the corner of his eye he saw Cindy's face harden.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Camille said. “Thank you for finding her. Now at least my Kyle has a fighting chance.”

“Slow down,” Hannibal said, gently prying her arms loose. “I can't take credit for this. I ran into this girl who claims to be your husband's daughter, but I can't guarantee…”

“I know nothing's certain,” Camille said, “But at least now my Kyle's got a fighting chance. Doctor Lippincott says the test results could take more than a week after they get a blood sample from her, but even
today she's had an effect. Kyle has more hope than ever.” Then her voice dropped, and she changed gears into a less comfortable subject. “And thank you also for doing the job Daddy H hired you for. Jake's remains have been positively identified. I can't tell you what it means to bring that story to closure. After all the years of wondering where he was, what he was doing.” One second later life flowed back into her voice and she took Hannibal's arm. “Daddy H is cooking out on the deck. Come on out so he can thank you personally.”

But Hannibal and Cindy did not reach the deck at the back of the house. Kyle, Angela and Malcolm Lippincott were inside the French doors leading to it. At sight of Hannibal, Kyle turned his chair and wheeled toward the newcomers. Within inches of Hannibal, Kyle locked his brakes. His smile was as broad as ever, but emotion clogged his throat.

“I won't forget this,” Kyle said. “I may not have a dad, but thanks to you I've got a sister. And she's terrific. Doctor Lippincott's not as optimistic as I am, but even he admits she might turn out to be the perfect donor for me.”

Hannibal knelt and looked into Kyle's innocent eyes. His face was gaunt from weight loss, and as pale and dry as desert sand. His skeletal arms, bared by the tee shirt he wore, displayed bruises which were signs of the disease eating his body up. Did it make sense to impair his optimism?

“Son, things aren't always the way they look,” he said, “but a lot of people are working to make sure it all comes out right for you.”

“You're too modest.” Malcolm Lippincott moved in, slapped Hannibal on the back and held out a hand. “I owe you an apology and I'm glad you came back to
get it. When you first came here, I thought you were just going to stir up a lot of trouble.”

“It's not too late,” Hannibal said, accepting the shorter man's hand but returning only half his smile.

“I guess I have to thank you too,” Angela said, taking Hannibal's hand. After Malcolm's grip, her hand felt cold, bloodless. “If not for you, I might never have found my family.”

“Yes,” Hannibal said, his mouth now a tense line, “I'll have to take responsibility for that, won't I?” Despite Hannibal's Oakleys, something passed between their eyes and even he was not sure what. But he was sure more than gratitude lurked behind the girl's smile. She smoothed her wavy, shoulder length hair and backed away a step. Then Malcolm put an arm around Angela, and Camille guided Hannibal through the doors to the deck. Hannibal looked around to make sure Cindy was with him. She looked at him the way women do when they are trying to send a message to their man, but he did not know what she was trying to point out to him.

Bright sunshine bathed him, and Hannibal was suddenly part of a milling throng. He did not know decks came this big, or held this many. At one end, two big electric grills poured thick smoke into the sky, smoke carrying the mouth watering smell of mesquite. The other end of the deck held two kegs, which guests were emptying as quickly as they could. He spotted Gabriel Nieswand nursing a beer in one corner and started toward him, but Camille used his elbow to turn him.

“All right,” Harlan Mortimer bellowed from in front of one of the grills. “I was wondering if you'd get by here today.” He wore a chef's hat, and a “kiss the cook” apron was wrapped around his barrel of a body.
Pulling thick pot holders off his hands, Harlan headed toward Hannibal. Guests parted like the Red Sea before his oncoming bulk. Hannibal smiled and held out a hand, but Harlan brushed it aside and wrapped an arm around Hannibal's shoulders.

“You're a remarkable young man behind those cheaters,” Harlan said, his rumbling voice vibrating Hannibal's body. “I want you to know you've lightened an old man's soul. I've thought all these years my son was out there somewhere avoiding us.”

“Yeah, well, you never really looked for him, did you?”

“And this treasure you've brought us,” Harlan went on, as if Hannibal had not spoken at all. “She's beautiful, and the spitting image of my boy Jacob. After we get the tests run, I'm betting she can save Kyle's life with a bone marrow transplant. I know that's not a guarantee but, even if it fails, I've still got a granddaughter I never knew about. One last remnant of Jacob. And I owe it all to you for being so good at your job.”

Harlan's crinkled eyes and broad smile should have made Hannibal happy and proud, but instead he was chilled. “Look, Mister Mortimer, about finding this girl,”

“Yes,” Harlan said, shaking Hannibal's frame, “I haven't forgotten the business end of this deal. Here comes Gabe now. He'll take care of you.” Then the French doors opened out and Angela stepped onto the deck. The crowd of well wishers swarmed around as if she were the victim saved from some rare disease. Hannibal and Cindy were pushed out to the perimeter of the action. She smiled helplessly at him. While they stared, amazed at the family's reaction,
Nieswand managed to reach them. He pressed something into Hannibal's hand while shaking it.

“Mister Mortimer is very happy with your results,” Nieswand said. “This will enhance your reputation at our office, I assure you.” He turned to Cindy with a fatherly smile. “Yours too, my dear. Your star is definitely rising at Nieswand and Balor. I think it's time to talk partnership.”

Hannibal looked at the piece of paper in his hand and blinked in surprise. “Hold up. This is almost twice what it should be,” Hannibal said. “And don't you want a report of my actions and expenses?”

“Sure, when you get around to it,” Nieswand said. “Meantime, enjoy. This little cookout's as much for you as anyone. And as for the payment, Harlan decided the amount. That's what he thinks you're worth, and I for one agree with him.”

Hannibal nodded his thanks and pulled away to a bench near the steps leading down to well-kept gardens. Cindy snuggled close to him, holding his arm. Her smile was so pure, so open, it almost made him forget the crosscut currents of meaning and intentions he suspected of everyone he had spoken to since arriving at Mortimer's place.