P Deutermann - Spider mountain

“Might not be a bad idea.”

“You want to be the one who tells her that, Big Luke?”

“Um.”

“Un-hunh. Because I don’t. I might start getting hurt, you know what I’m saying?”

He started laughing. It sounded like a bear with a digestive problem.

“Look,” I said. “I could have bailed, all the way back to beautiful downtown Triboro, where my terribly satisfying paper chase awaits. Instead, I stuck around.”

He laughed some more. Now I wanted to whack him, but it would be embarrassing to whack somebody in the thigh.

“They’re wrappin’ up here,” he said. “King says he has to ‘frame’ the sheriff shootout problem with the media. See if they can convince the feds to go chase Grinny and whatever troops she took with her just based on that incident.”

“Tell King to remember that Grinny has a plan to unload all the merchandise, and if she can’t do that, the merchandise is going to end up in someplace called the glass hole.”

“What in the hell is the glass hole?”

“Something bad, according to a little girl we met, and I’m NFI beyond that. But the truth is, Grinny’s capable of slitting all their throats if finding her with kids poses a threat, and of course it does.”

“Mr. King’s been up all night,” he said. “He’s a little testy right now. I might have to wait on suggestions from you for a bit.”

“Just so somebody reminds him. We’re in that same motel, but I plan to take Carrie out of here and back to civilization, assuming I can talk her into letting go for a day.”

“You know what they say about assumptions, Lieutenant.”

“You should hear me on that subject,” I said, and then I had an idea. “Any chance Carrie and I could get into Grinny’s cabin once the crowd subsides?” I asked.

“I’m pretty sure they’ll seal it and put a deputy on it. Keep it pristine for our federal betters, assuming they’re coming in.”

“There you go assuming,” I said. “Any particular deputy?”

He caught on right away. “I’ll give y’all a ring if it works out that way,” he promised.

Carrie apparently heard me trying to sneak in and sat up in the bed. She used both hands to do it and instantly regretted doing that. I’d brought a second cup of coffee back with me and offered to share. She shook her head and flopped back down. Her bandaged hand made it look like she was wearing a white oven mitt, and her face made it evident that using it was still out of the question.

“Anything I can do for that?” I asked her.

“Always wanting to play doctor,” she said, closing her eyes.

I bent her head forward and examined the rifle wound, which looked scaly and horrible. That probably meant it was healing. “And some people call me a shit magnet,” I said.

“You’ve just learned to duck faster,” she said.

I took her other hand, and she opened her eyes again. “You found out what you wanted to know,” I said. “We’ve failed every time we’ve tried to get our hands around the Grinny Creigh problem. Both sheriffs involved are headed for the cold, cold ground. Is it maybe time to let the big boys do their thing?”

“They’ll cap it off,” she said. “There’s no way in hell they’re going to find Grinny and her crew in those mountains. And the Bureau will not want a reprise of their Rudolph debacle. They’ll ride in, take over the case, announce they broke up a ring of child peddlers and the two principals are dead. Victory.”

“But we’ve both told them there are six kids in her clutches.”

“We’ve told them lots of things,” she said. “And they’ve done squat.”

“I want to go back out there when all the cops are gone,” I said. “We’re missing something.”

She sighed and closed her eyes again. “My hand feels like a bus ran over it,” she said drowsily. “Let’s sleep on it instead.”

I hadn’t let go of her hand and she hadn’t let go of mine, so I lay down beside her. I gathered her in and she snuggled willingly, warm and sweet.

“You are beginning to affect my better judgment,” I said to the back of her neck.

“Like you have any choice in the matter,” she murmured.

I laughed. Even with all the coffee onboard, we both went out like that proverbial light.

We slept in until almost six o’clock, and both of us awoke feeling logy. The cell phones had been silent all afternoon, but neither one of us could quite wake up. I was suddenly conscious of this warm female in my arms.

“Hey, girl,” I said. “Wanna fool around?”

“I have to go potty,” she said.

I started laughing. So did I. Reality intruding.

“How’s the mitt?”

“Aches, but it’s better. Those medics were generous with their drugs.”

“I can almost get my eyes open,” I said.

“I think I saw a swimming pool,” she said, a few minutes later.

It being the end of the summer season, the motel wasn’t full, and, as the sun set, most of the guests were downtown going to dinner. We took turns changing in the bathroom. Carrie came out in a reasonably modest two-piece, while I wore my khaki running shorts, having failed to pack a real bathing suit. I wouldn’t have done that on a beach, but the pool was situated behind the motel and out of view of any windows or walkways. There was a six-seater hot tub in one corner of the pool enclosure with its own privacy fence to deter demon spawn from playing in it.

The pool’s water was downright cold, but we both started to wake up after a few minutes of pretending that the pool’s temperature was “refreshing.” I decided to see if that hot tub was working. It was, and the water was still warm from the last occupants. I fired up the jets and submerged my aching body in the swirling waters, trying not to breathe in too much chlorine.

Carrie came over and sat down on the side of the hot tub. She’d taken off the bandage. Her hand was swollen and reddish. Her black hair was wet and hung down in a sleek, sculptured mat, nicely framing her pretty face. She extended her legs out over the water and looked them over. So did I. She caught me looking and gave me a teasing smile.

“You a leg man, there, Mr. ex-lieutenant Richter?”

“Actually, I’m a whole-foods kind of guy,” I replied, wondering how far she might take this. Naturally, I was hoping for the best.

She raised one leg and then the other like a dancer, still appraising. Then she glanced down at her front. As slender as she was, she had a small if pleasing superstructure. She clicked her lips as if disappointed in what she was looking at.

“Don’t tell me,” I said.

“Tell you what?”

“That you have small breasts.”

“Afraid so,” she said, putting on a sad face.

“Well, that does it,” I said. “I mean-small breasts? That’s a total disqualification. You can hardly be a woman in America if you have small breasts. Everyone knows that. My goodness, what a total disaster.”

She propped her feet close together on the edge of the tub and eyed me over her knees, which she began to bump gently together. Since I was directly in front of her in the water, the motion did interesting things to those slick wheels of hers.

“Everyone knows?” she said. “Really?” Bump. Bump.

“Totally,” I said, wanting to clear my throat.

“What a shame,” she said. “And just when I was thinking I needed-something.”

“Something?”

“Don’t squeak like that.”

“Um.”

“I had it a moment ago,” she said with a dramatic sigh.

Bump.

“I know I did. Right there on the tips of my toes.” Lift. Look. Down. “But that disqualification business-well, I didn’t know that. But I do appreciate your telling me.”