Winter's Daughter (23 page)

"Well," Tannis said, "if you can’t trust the Red Cross—"

"Yeah, that’s kind of what I thought. You stayin’?" Binnie looked hopeful. "Maybe they got a bed for you too."

Tannis shook her head. "I’m looking for Clarence. You seen him?"

Binnie shrugged dejectedly. "I tried to get him to come with me, but he wouldn’t. Poor old Clarence." She thought for a moment. "Tried The Alley?"

"The Alley." Tannis suppressed a shudder as she remembered what had happened—or almost happened—the last time she’d ventured into that part of the city. She also had to swallow an ache in her throat when she thought about what had happened after that. "He wouldn’t go there, would he?"

She couldn’t think of Dillon now. She couldn’t. If she thought about Dillon, she’d have to remember the way he’d looked this morning, sleeping, and the way she’d felt, leaving him there. If she did that, the love and the longing would overwhelm her, and she’d forget all her goals and ambitions, all the important things she had to do.

Binnie shrugged once more. "Where else could he go?"

"Yeah," Tannis sighed. She thrust her hands into her coat pockets, hunched her shoulders, and turned away.

"Hey," Binnie said, "you ain’t goin’ lookin’ for him in The Alley. You stay away from there. That’s a dangerous place."

"I’ll be careful. You take care of yourself, now."

Binnie nodded. "They gave me some aspirin for my arthritis. Just wish I had some vitamin C. They don’t give you fresh vegetables in this place."

Tannis promised to bring her some oranges, said good–bye, and left the shelter. It was dusk, and a light rain had begun to fall.

From the windy rooftop Dillon watched the dusk come down and the storm come in as lights winked on in the city below. When the first raindrops hit him, he turned up the collar of his jacket and stuck his hands deep in his pockets, but he didn’t leave the roof.
Not yet.

It was hard, admitting defeat. He’d spent a futile and frustrating afternoon, walking and driving all over the city, checking all the places he knew of where the homeless people might take shelter from the rain and cold. Either Tannis hadn’t been there, or he’d just missed her. He’d swung by the newsstand again, too, hoping Gunner might have news of her, but he’d found the stand closed and padlocked. It gave him some comfort to think that Gunner might have closed up early in order to go out looking for Tannis. He wished him luck, but as for himself, the rooftop had been his last resort. He was fresh out of ideas.

Come on, Dillon, give it up.

He could almost hear Gunner’s voice saying, "You can’t make somebody love you." And Logan’s, chiming in, "Hey, man, you don’t need this. There must be a million women out there!"

He knew they were both right, but it was hard to accept. Hard to accept the fact that wanting something badly might not be enough. Not this time. He’d been lucky so far, he supposed, in that anything he’d ever wanted badly enough to really try for, he’d won. Women included. Especially women. He’d been in love a few times before Cindy, and interested a few times since. And it had always been so easy. It sure hadn’t ever been like this—the hassle, the doubts, worries, fears. The pain.

He didn’t know why he was bothering with it. Well, yes, he did, too. He didn’t have a choice. He loved Tannis. He hadn’t known her long, but he knew he wanted her with him. Now and, as far as he could see, for the rest of his life. But what he wanted wasn’t enough. It was as Gunner had said: You can’t make somebody love you.

Life’s too short
, Dillon told himself angrily. He’d already paid his dues, served his time in hell. He deserved to be loved, trusted, cherished. And if Tannis didn’t have the guts to put her heart on the line for him—

The rain came down harder, striking his face like tiny bits of glass. It was a miserable night, and she was out there in it, somewhere. But it was where she’d chosen to be, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

As he made his way down the slippery fire escape and walked to his car, cold bitter night settled over the city, and over his heart.

The Alley didn’t look so sinister at night. The hard edges of squalor blurred in the purple darkness. Streetlights made rippling golden patterns on wet pavement and turned the raindrops into swirling clouds of diamond dust. The neon lights on the honkytonks and porno parlors lent an illusion of tawdry warmth to the place, a kind of blousy festiveness that reminded Tannis of the gaudy trappings of a cold–hearted floozy.

She kept to the lighted sidewalks, pausing only to peer into doorways and the shadowy places between buildings, calling out, from time to time, "Clarence, is that you?" or asking, when she recognized a familiar face, if anyone had seen him. Eyes followed her—dispirited eyes, empty eyes, furtive and hostile eyes.

At the entrance to The Alley itself she hesitated, staring into the shadows. She wished she had her shopping cart; it had proven an unexpectedly effective weapon as well as both crutch and shield. Without it she felt naked and defenseless. Fear was a constant constriction in her chest and throat.

"Clarence," she called in a ragged whisper, "are you in there?" And then, a little louder: "Clarence?"

There were rustlings and stirrings among the anonymous shapes in the Alley. A match flared, briefly illuminating a scruffy beard and hollow features. Tannis turned away, preparing to move on.

From out of nowhere, an arm, thin and sinewy as rope, snaked around her neck, choking off air. She had no chance to struggle, no chance to cry out. Her one thought, as she felt herself dragged backward, spun around, slammed hard against rough brick, was that the thing she’d been so often warned about was actually happening. Her emtions rejected it—it simply couldn’t be happening.
Not to me!

The arm across her throat loosened a little. A high, desperate voice croaked, "Gimme your money!"

"Money?" Tannis managed to wheeze and shake her head. She felt an absurd impulse to laugh.

"Come on," the voice whined. "I know you got money stashed away someplace—all you bag ladies do." Rank breath blew past her ear. She heard a muffled sniff. "Where is it, huh? In your shoes? Maybe you got it sewed up in this–here coat."

Clawlike hands gripped her and spun her around, and she found herself staring into a dark, desperate face. The man wasn’t much bigger than she was, not much larger than a kid, really, but strong, frlghteningly strong. He held her pinned against the wall with one forearm. The other hand held something in front of her face, something that caught the light.
A knife.

Tannis opened her mouth but couldn’t make any sound come out. She shook her head, staring at the knife, hypnotized by it.

"Look, I don’t want to hurt you," the man said, sniffing again, rubbing his nose with the back of the hand that held the knife. "I just need some money. I need it real bad. You must have money—I know you do. Just gimme what you got and I won’t hurt you."

A junkie, Tannis thought. Who else would be crazy enough or desperate enough to rob a bag lady? And she remembered:
Dillon warned me.

"I have only a few dollars." she said truthfully. She always carried enough for a meal or a ride home in case of a real emergency. "It’s in my purse."

"Get it."

Still unable to take her eyes from the knife. Tannis licked her lips and mumbled, "It’s inside my coat."

The mugger’s arms relaxed slightly. The knife wavered. Tannis’s heart beat sharp and quick, like a jackhammer.

And then, from somewhere behind came a voice, anxiously calling, "Win? Is that you?"

Tannis gasped, "Clarence?" She’d just caught a movement from the corner of her eye as the junkie, with a look of pure panic, whirled and struck out blindly with the knife. Tannis saw the knife flash once, then again; she saw Clarence double over and crumple to the ground. This time his name was a scream: "
Clarence!"

Without stopping to think of consequences, Tannis hurled herself at the junkie and, like a cornered animal, he turned on her. She fought him mindlessly, instinctively throwing up her arms to protect her face and neck, just trying to keep herself between the knife and Clarence’s body. She didn’t feel the knife, didn’t even know when it scored her flesh. She didn’t feel anything at all.

"Tannis!" It was a roar, the sound a lion makes before it springs. There was a whooshing sound, a flurry of movement, flashes of steely light.

The junkie abandoned Tannis to face the new threat, but when he saw the huge barrel–chested man bearing down on him in a wheelchair, waving one massive arm in the air like a club, he gave a panic–stricken cry and ran. The knife went skittering off across the rain–slick sidewalk as his footsteps echoed down the dark alley.

"Hey," Gunner’s soft voice rumbled. "Hey, sugar, you okay?"

"Yes, but I think he killed Clarence," Tannis said, and began to sob.

Gunner wheeled himself over to where Clarence lay on his side on the cracked pavement. He leaned down to touch the wounded man’s neck. "He’s alive. Bleeding bad." He spun back to Tannis. "How ‘bout you? Come here, let me see."

"Take care of Clarence," Tannis mumbled. "I’m okay."

"The hell you are." She felt his strong arms support her, heard him say, "Hang on, sugar."

That was the last thing she remembered.

Dillon was about halfway home when he saw the flashing lights in his rearview mirror. Damn, he thought, annoyed with himself for his carelessness. It was speeding, no doubt. He pulled over and stopped, reaching with resignation for his driver’s license and registration.

A California Highway Patrolman in a yellow slicker tapped on his window, and he rolled it down, squinting against the sting of raindrops and the glare of a flashlight.

"Are you Dillon James?"

That’s odd. Dillon thought, nodding.

The patrolman waved his ID aside. "Sorry for the inconvenience, sir. The Los Padres P.D. asked us to be on the lookout for you."

A few moments later Dillon was on his way again, this time with red lights and siren escort.

The automatic sensors that operated the sliding doors at the emergency entrance to Sisters of Mercy Hospital weren’t fast enough for Dillon. He almost walked through the plate glass.

"Where is she?" he asked tersely, spotting Logan talking to a couple of uniformed officers near the front desk.

Logan came to meet him and put a calming hand on his arm. "It’s okay, buddy. They’re both in surgery. They’ll make it."

"They?"

"Yeah, one of the street people, from the looks of him. All we know is his name’s Clarence."

"Oh, yeah. He’s a friend of hers." Dillon dragged a hand through his hair. Reaction was setting in, and he was beginning to feel light–headed. "Logan, tell me what the hell happened."

"Junkie with a knife," Logan said with a sigh, steering him toward the waiting room. "Looks like he was trying to get enough out of her for a fix, when the other guy tried to interfere. The junkie went after him, and Tannis went after the junkie, according to the guy that found ’em. Looks like this guy saved both of ’em. Can you believe that? The man’s in a wheelchair."

"Wheelchair," Dillon muttered, feeling dazed. "Has her family been notified?"