Thursday's Child (19 page)

“Are you scared? Not of me like you said before, that's just dumb, but of …” He gestured helplessly. “Of everything.”

A fat woman in pink polyester bumped into Robert and he gave her a dirty look. She started to say something, then, after looking into his face for a moment, kept quiet and moved on. “Bitch,” Robert muttered. Beau stood where he was, waiting for an answer. “For whatever it means, sometimes I'm scared, yeah,” Robert finally said.

“Me, too.”

“That's life, I guess.”

They finally had a fancy dinner in the Blue Bayou Restaurant in New Orleans Square. Beau devoured the last bite of cake and leaned back with a deep sigh.

Robert quit studying the check. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing. I'm just feeling lucky we met when we did. Otherwise, I'd probably still be out on the street.”

Robert wanted to tell him that, in the long run, he'd probably be better off out there. At least on the street the dangers were visible and familiar. But he didn't say that. Instead, he just tossed his platinum card down onto the table for the waiter. “Hey, Tonto, you like champagne, do you?”

Beau shrugged. “Never had it.”

“We'll stop on the way home and get a bottle. Just to wrap up this damned celebration.”

“Terrific.”

They ended up with two bottles of the ridiculously expensive Bollinger Tradition R.D. It cost more than he'd ever paid for booze before, but by this time he figured what the hell. Instead of staying home to drink it, he just parked the car and they walked down to the beach. There was no one else in sight as they stretched out on the sand and drank champagne straight from the bottles.

Beau watched the waves for a time. “You know,” he said then, “I can hardly remember what my parents looked like. If I close my eyes and concentrate real hard, I can get sort of a fuzzy picture, but that's all.”

“I know what you mean,” Robert agreed. “Andy's hardly been dead any time at all and I can hardly get a picture in my mind. Funny thing is, I can remember what he looked like when he was sixteen like you, but not when he was older.”

“That is funny.” Beau gulped the Bollinger as if it were water. “My folks, we had a party every August sixteenth. The anniversary of Woodstock, you know? It was neat. Music and stuff. They were at the real Woodstock.”

“It sounds like they were okay people,” Robert said, although, to be honest, he thought Rachel and Jonathan must have been a little strange. A couple of overage hippies. Which explained a lot about why Beau was the way he was. Sort of spacey and innocent-like. He was like the youngest survivor of the freaking Age of Aquarius.

“Yeah, they were fine. Only, they were so close to each other that sometimes I felt like an intruder. Does that sound dumb?”

“If that's how you felt, then it's not dumb.”

“Oh, well, I guess it doesn't matter so much now anyway, does it?”

“I guess not. But, Beau, what about living with your grandfather? Was it really so bad?”

“I didn't like it.” Beau's words were slurred. “He wasn't seeing me, anyway. Just Jonathan. It was like this was another chance for him, you see?” Beau lay back and gazed up at the stars, real ones this time, not the Walt Disney make-believe kind.

“I see.” Robert had an uncomfortable feeling that maybe he was sort of doing the same damned thing. Looking at Beau and seeing Andy. But that was a shot of self-knowledge that Robert wasn't ready to accept. So he pushed it aside.

“You're not gonna make me go back there, are you?”

“No,” Robert said. “That's not my fucking job.”

Beau giggled, then got quiet and tilted the bottle again. It was empty. “I fucked a girl once,” he said.

Robert knew that he was far from sober himself. “Oh, yeah?” he said. “Well, good for you.”

“It wasn't so great.”

Robert shrugged. “Yeah, well, that happens.”

Beau rolled over and looked at him. “She did it as a joke, see? So she could get into some damned club at school. She had to make it with the Paynor Academy freak. How's that?”

“Well, it sucks,” Robert said. “She sounds like a real cunt to me.”

“Yeah,” Beau agreed. “A real cunt.”

Robert leaned close and whispered, “Want me to kill her?”

They both laughed.

When they were quiet again, Beau said, “Do you think I'm a freak, Robbie?”

Nobody had called him that for a very long time. Robert blinked back a sudden hot dampness in his eyes. Christ, he thought, I'm drunker than I thought. “No,” he said. “I think you're fine.”

“How come nobody likes me, then?”

“I like you.”

“Really?”

“Sure.”

Beau smiled with little-boy sweetness. “Thanks. I like you, too.”

“Good.”

“And you can trust me, Robbie. I won't ever tell anybody about … about anything.”

“I know you won't.” Robert reached out a hand and lightly ruffled Beau's hair. “I mean, I'm trusting you with my life. Would I do that if I didn't like you a lot?”

“I guess not.”

Robert left his hand where it was for a moment, lost in thought. Then, realizing again just how drunk he was and that drunk people sometimes did or said crazy, stupid things, he yanked his hand away. “We better go home,” he said.

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

They struggled to their feet.

“Shit,” Beau said with another giggle. “I feel sort of funny.”

“You won't feel funny in the morning,” Robert warned him. “And neither will I.”

“Race you home,” Beau said suddenly.

“You're kidding, right?”

Beau's only response was to take off, laughing, across the sand. Robert left the empty champagne bottles where they were and set off after him. It was pretty much of a tie as they hit the front porch and banged into the house. As one, they collapsed onto the couch, both panting.

By the time Robert was able to speak, he realized that Beau had fallen asleep. Or passed out, which was more likely. Robert pushed himself up and managed to turn the dead weight of Beau's form lengthwise on the couch. He removed his shoes and socks, stuck a pillow under his head, and tossed a blanket down.

Then he went to bed.

2

Beau woke with a start and realized that he'd been sleeping in his clothes. His feet were bare, but otherwise he was completely dressed. The second thing he realized was that his head hurt. This, he decided, was his first real hangover.

He sat up slowly and then had his third realization of the day: he was going to throw up.

Immediately. He made a quick dash for the bathroom and got there just in time.

Amazingly, he felt better almost instantly after puking. He brushed his teeth, then stripped off the rumpled, sandy clothes, and got into the shower. By the time he'd finished and wrapped a blue towel around himself, he felt quite normal. Whistling cheerfully, he went into the kitchen.

Robert was sitting at the table, holding on to a cup of black coffee with both hands. “If you don't stop that fucking noise,” he said mildly, “I'm going to cut your lips off.”

Beau stopped. “Morning,” he said, studying Robert critically. “You look a little sick.”

“Yeah? Well, I feel worse than that. How're you?”

He shrugged. “Fine. I threw up and that made me feel better.”

Robert made a face. “Must be nice to be young.”

Beau poured himself a glass of juice and gulped it down a little desperately, which made Robert smirk slightly. “Thanks for yesterday,” he said.

“Yeah, sure.” Robert looked at him with bloodshot eyes. “You better put some clothes on. We have a lot to do today.”

Beau knew what that meant and the thought made him feel a little sick again. He wished that Robert didn't have to keep killing people. Sure, he was trying to understand
why
, and all that, but it was scary. What if one of them had a gun, too, and shot Robert first? Beau didn't know what he would do if that happened.

He dressed quickly, putting the new fringed vest on over his T-shirt. Everything that had happened yesterday was already fading into memory. All he had left were the vest and a sort of good feeling inside. He could only hope that it wouldn't fade away, too.

Back in the kitchen, he made himself some toast. Robert refused his offer to make him some, too, and just stuck with the coffee. Beau sat at the table to eat the toast and jam. Halfway through the second slice, he looked up. “Robbie, is it business we have to do today?”

As Robert met his gaze, something Beau couldn't quite read flickered through the man's eyes. “No,” he said after a moment. “This is personal.”

Beau sighed. “Looking for Danny Boyd, you mean.”

Robert set his cup down carefully. “Looking for Boyd, yes,” he said. “I'm going to keep looking until I find him.”

Beau didn't say anything.

“You don't have to hang around here, if that bothers you,” Robert said. “I trust you. Take off anytime you want.”

Beau couldn't decide if that was a suggestion or an order. He licked at the strawberry jam above his lip. “Do I have to?”

“What?”

“Do you want me to leave?”

Robert closed his eyes and carefully massaged his forehead. “I don't give a damn, Beau. Do what you want.”

“Okay,” Beau said. He picked up the rest of the toast.

The day was actually pretty boring.

After spending some time on the phone, speaking in a low voice that Beau, watching TV, couldn't quite hear, they left the house and drove over to Melrose Avenue. Robert parked across the street from a place called Hunt's Fine Antiques and they just sat and watched the customers come and go.

A couple of times during the afternoon, Beau left the car and ran up the block to a small croissant place for sandwiches and cold drinks. Robert smoked a lot of cigarettes and Beau read the newspaper.

Finally, when Beau was just about to decide that boredom could be fatal, businesses started closing along Melrose, including the antique store.

“You're whistling that fucking song again,” Robert said.

Beau glanced at him sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Never mind. I'm just feeling a little edgy. Maybe I'll find out where Boyd is from this guy. This means a lot to me.”

“Yeah, I know.” Beau folded the newspaper and tossed it into the back seat. “Who is this man anyway?” he asked after a minute.

“Camden Hunt? Oh, he's a terrific guy. He likes to pretend to be a legit antique dealer. But what he really is is a fence. A heavy-duty, high-class fence, but still just a fence. Boyd is an old friend of his. If Danny Boy is trying to hustle up some bucks, this would be the guy he'd come to see.”

Beau rubbed newsprint ink from his fingers onto his jeans. “You're just going to talk to him, right?”

“That's my plan, Tonto, that's my plan.”

It was already getting dark when Camden Hunt came out of the store. He was tall and thin, with long blond hair. He locked the door of his shop and got into a new green Jag.

Beau looked at Robert, but didn't say anything, because Robert was already intent on his prey. They followed the car for several blocks before it turned into a dark parking lot. They watched Hunt pause a moment to comb his hair before going into the building. Robert drove in a moment later, going past the other car to the far corner of the lot.

“Gay bar,” Robert said, mostly to himself. “So what I heard about him is true.”

Beau didn't say anything.

Robert tapped the steering wheel, thinking out loud. “If he comes out with somebody, I can't make a move. And I can't afford to wait much longer. This whole thing is dragging on too long. It's dangerous for me. And Boyd is liable to split town or fuck up and end up back inside before I can get to him.” After another moment, he turned and looked at Beau thoughtfully. “You want to help me out, Tonto?”

“Me? How?”

“Go in there and see if you can't get him to come out here with you.”

Beau swallowed hard. He didn't want to do that. He wasn't even sure exactly what it was that Robert expected him to do. “I don't think I can.”

“Sure, you can,” Robert said, studying him with eyes that were suddenly cold. “You sure as hell don't look legal, I know, but this joint doesn't look all that particular. And maybe Hunt likes them young.”

“Robbie, please, I don't want to.”

“I'm asking you to do me a favor, that's all.”

Beau couldn't stand the look of betrayal he thought was on Robert's face. “Okay,” he said in a whisper. “What do I have to do?”

“Simple. Just go inside and try to get friendly with Hunt. Get him to leave with you, so I can talk to him.”

Beau's mouth was dry. “He won't try anything, will he? You know what I mean?” He swallowed hard.

Robert shook his head. “Hell, would I let you walk into something like that? You know I wouldn't, Tonto. Just get him out here. I'll be waiting.” He punched Beau lightly on the arm. “Go to it.”

Beau got out of the car and walked slowly across the lot. At the door he stopped, glanced back toward the car, and straightened his shoulders. He walked into the bar.

The music was loud and the air thick with cigarette smoke. Beau coughed once and then started looking for Hunt. A couple of men around the bar spoke to him, but he ignored them. Finally he saw Hunt sitting alone at a table. Beau walked over that way, but he still didn't have any idea what to say, so he just stood there, staring at Hunt until the man looked up.

“Yes?”

“Can I sit here?” Beau asked.

“Sure. But aren't you a little young to be in this place?”

“My birthday was yesterday,” Beau said truthfully as he pulled out a chair and sat.

“Many happy returns,” Hunt said. “You can sit, but all you're getting to drink is a Coke.”