T. Bunn - Drummer in the Dark

“You won’t find me in that crowd. Twenty horse kicker, nothing more.” He showed a little real interest. “You windsurf?”

“Intracoastal Waterway, mostly. Some wave jumping off the coast. I live for storms like this.”

“My home is on Merritt Island.”

“Then I’ve probably passed your place a hundred times.” Wondering which of the waterside mansions was his.

The bus bounced and sighed and connected with the concourse. People surged forward. Wynn asked, “Buy you a coffee?”

Jackie reminded herself and him both, “You’re supposed to be the enemy.”

He hefted his leather satchel. “That’s Esther talking. Isn’t it time you made up your own mind?”

Wynn took her down to the first-class lounge. These days, business-class lounges were merely leather-trimmed corrals. For a taste of the old style, the way air travel had been back before deregulation, there were only two choices-private jet or a first-class lounge. He found the day’s first meager pleasure watching her take in the suede walls and inlaid furniture, the quietly hustling waiters, the soft hush of money at work. He waited until she had finished a slow sweep of the room to observe, “You’re not a regular traveler.”

“I’ve hardly been anywhere.”

On an impulse so strange he did not bother to justify it even to himself, he said, “Let me have your ticket.”

“What for?”

“I just want to check on your seat assignment.”

“Oh. All right.” But as she was about to hand it over, she said, “Could you lend me your credit card?”

The flat way she spoke matched the look in her eyes, leaving him certain this woman had crashed and burned her way out of life with the wrong man. He knew she was expecting either an argument or a lot of questions, so he simply reached for his wallet and slid out the plastic.

The simple gesture unnerved her. “I’ve just bought a new laptop computer. I need to set up an on-line account that’s not under my own name. Someone suggested it as a way to check things without being watched.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He went to the front desk, handed over Jackie’s ticket as well as his own, and swiftly explained what he wanted. Then he moved to one corner and used his cellphone to call Valerie’s office.

Valerie came instantly on the line. Her voice revealed a tougher lady than the one he had dined with the previous evening. “Are you somewhere I can reach you in an hour?”

“I’m getting ready to board a flight for Rome.”

“Just a minute.” The silence was only momentary. “Sorry, I was in a conference. Did you say Rome?”

“That call I got last night. My sister has left her husband.”

“Oh, Wynn.”

“I found out she’s taken off for Rome. I’m going over to see if I can help out. Probably futile, but she’s all the family I have.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“And I had such plans for the upcoming recess. Friends have offered me the use of their yacht, it’s berthed in the Annapolis harbor.” She spoke with the crisp gaiety of someone wanting to be intimate in a public place. “I was hoping you’d come along and crew.”

“Maybe another time.”

“Of course. I haven’t been to Rome in ages.”

He shook his head to the wall opposite. “This isn’t a pleasure trip.”

“Certainly not. Where will you be staying?”

He pulled out his own documents. “The Willard’s concierge booked me into someplace called the Hassler.”

“You’ve never been before?”

“First time.”

“Some of the Hassler’s guests have more money than sense, but the view is the best in Rome.” Softening further. “Have as good a journey as you can, Wynn. I shall miss what we can’t share.”

Just as Wynn had predicted, within the hour the storm had passed. The departing wind rumbled soft as a muffled bass drum against the concourse window, raising nervous glances from less experienced travelers. Jackie was not the least bit bothered. The wind was her very dearest friend. Perhaps that was why it had come now, in an hour that occasionally threatened to lift her from her seat and send her zinging around the first-class chamber. She needed something familiar and comforting just now.

Jackie was in the process of signing herself in as Wynn Bryant, new account holder with AOL, when he returned and dropped her ticket onto the keyboard. “I’ve had them upgrade you to first class.”

“I can’t possibly-”

“If we’re going to be played like other people’s puppets, we might as well do it with champagne.” When she did not respond, he quietly added, “Please.”

“All right.” This was a come-on, no question. But one glance at Wynn’s face was enough to know this guy would never press his case overhard. “Thank you.”

Jackie watched him move to the next set of seats, plop down, pick up a magazine, and blindly leaf through the pages. As her computer continued the signing-in procedure, she found herself wondering about this strange lonely man who fed on other people’s joy while feeling so little of his own.

Once on-line, she went straight to the internet address given her by the young man who was hopeless upon stormy waters. The website was a blank white screen with a heading that read simply Trastevere. Beneath the heading was only one large boldfaced word. Go. She slid her cursor over to rest on the word, and when she clicked, a message box appeared. She wrote out a brief note addressed to the Boatman. After a second, the message departed, and the single word reappeared. Go.

“Jackie, did you hear? They just called our flight.”

“Coming.” She tried to cut the connection, only to find the service frozen in download mode. “Hang on, I’m getting new upgrades. It’ll just take a minute.”

Wynn waited with weary resignation. As soon as the download was complete, Jackie slammed the computer shut, stowed it away, hefted her bags, and scampered.

She let herself be guided to the front of the cabin, where she took in the smiling flight attendant, the deference, the overwide seat, the silver tray of drinks, the space. Wynn sat there beside her, a tired smile on his face, saying nothing. He observed her with the glassy-eyed stare of a starving man watching another dine. The smile only touched his eyes once, when just after takeoff the plane did a serious dive-and-swoop, and Jackie could not help but laugh like a kid on a roller-coaster. Once they were through the turbulence, Wynn sank back inside himself, put the seat on full tilt, closed his eyes, and said, “Enjoy.” End of tale.

Except for the fact that she was flying first-class across the ocean. Dining on roast tenderloin in a truffle sauce, fresh asparagus tips, chocolate mousse, all the silverware and linen she could hope for. Seventeen television channels, a stewardess there for whatever she might want, and up ahead lay Rome.

Tuesday

For Wynn, the drive from the airport into Rome passed in a golden blur. Normally he was more than willing to go along with Sybel on her do-good journeys, watch her back, feed the poor, let his remorse pour out with the heat. He could not say he had ever looked forward to these trips, but they did him good. He always returned with a sense of having cleaned out a multitude of wounds, albeit temporarily. Yet this voyage was different, of that he was certain. And the difference did not lie in the fact that Sybel had left Grant. His only hope was to rush in, do whatever was needed, and depart. Before he was hooked and dragged into whatever soul-wrenching maelstrom loomed just beyond the next turning.