Sandra Brown - Low Pressure

“According to Rupe, this Van Durbin’s column tomorrow is about Low Pressure and the true story it’s based on. He’s going to bring into question whether or not the guy who got the time did the crime. This has got Rupe’s tighty-whities in a wad. He called the columnist pond scum, which is funny, coming from someone as slippery as Rupe.”

Dale failed to see the humor in any of this. In fact, if he was a lesser man, he’d break down and bawl.

“Anyhow,” Haymaker continued, “he’s all hot and bothered to talk to you before this writer from New York gets to you.”

“Gets to me ?”

“I haven’t told you that part yet. Rupe says Van Durbin was asking about you. Asked if Rupe knew where you were, how to get in touch with you. He’s got research people checking every avenue they can think of.”

“Shit.”

“Suddenly you’re a real popular guy, Dale. Seemed to me that Rupe was more interested in keeping you from talking to this Van Durbin than he was in talking to you his own self.”

Rupe’s worst nightmare would be him talking to any media about the Susan Lyston case and Allen Strickland’s trial.

“Hay, did you tell him—”

“Not a damn thing. I wouldn’t.” After a slight hesitation, he added, “Only thing is… See, Dale…”

“What?”

The former policeman made a sound of disgust. “Rupe’s carrying the note on a used car I bought from him last year. The wife wanted the mother-lovin’ thing. I hate it, but she had to have it. The bank wouldn’t loan us enough to buy it, but Rupe made it easy for us to drive it straight off the lot with no money down. Interest rate out the wazoo, but the wife… You know how it is. Then two months after we became the proud owners of the car, she got laid off out at the quarry. I can’t sell—”

“You’re behind on the payments, and Rupe is using that as leverage for you to give me up.”

Haymaker’s silence was as good as a confirmation. Dale uncapped the bottle of Jack Daniel’s on his TV tray and took a swig straight from it. “How much time did he give you?”

“Till eight o’clock in the a.m.”

“Jesus. Rupe must be real scared of this Van Durbin character.”

“Right down to the shine on his Luccheses. He’s afraid that guy will tree you before he can.”

“How much do you owe him?”

“Look, Dale, don’t worry about that. I wouldn’t sell out a cop buddy to that asshole. I only told you so you’d know how jumpy Rupe is to find you. I won’t tell him squat, but you gotta believe that I’m not his only resource.

“I’m figuring he’ll call in every favor and marker he’s holding on personnel inside the Austin PD and city hall. Some of our former colleagues didn’t think as kindly of you as I did. Do . So consider this a heads-up.

“And, Dale, Rupe may not stop at arm-twisting, either. While he was in the DA’s office, he cut a lot of deals with felonious types. I know of one who works for him now as a repo man. Guy carries a chain saw as his persuader, and I kid you not.”

Dale took Haymaker’s implied warning to heart. He would put nothing past the former prosecutor. “I appreciate you telling me, Hay.”

“You covered my back more than once, and I don’t forget stuff like that.”

“Are you gonna be okay?”

“You mean about the car? No sweat. My son will give me the money.”

“You sure?”

“The little prick is always happy to oblige. Gives him an opportunity to remind me of what a lousy provider I am and always have been.”

Before they hung up, Haymaker promised to call him with updates as they happened. Dale tossed his cell phone onto the metal TV tray, lit a cigarette, and drew hard on it as he stared thoughtfully into the half-empty bottle of whiskey.

Rupe Collier was afraid his life was about to be derailed. Well, good. It was about time the son of a bitch realized the consequences of the deal he’d made with the devil. Dale had been living with them for eighteen years.

The loaded pistol was a lure he could barely resist.

But for one more night, he did.

“Come again?”

“Atlanta.”

“Texas or GA?”

“Georgia.”

Dent might just as well have told Gall he’d gone to Timbuktu. He was sitting on the edge of the hotel room bed, his elbows on his thighs, staring down at the toes of his boots. Realizing it was the posture of a child preparing for a parental lecture, he straightened up. “We thought—”

“We? Who’s the second party? Or don’t I already know?”

“Are you going to keep interrupting? Because if you are, I’m going to hang up.”

Dent could imagine his mentor clamping down hard on his cigar and scowling.

“Thank you,” Dent said politely, then with emphasis, “ Bellamy and I are trying to reconstruct that Memorial Day. Who did what, and when.”

“What brought this on?”

Dent told him about Van Durbin’s accosting them and what the subject of tomorrow’s column was going to be. “It doesn’t matter whether or not there’s any substance to the question. Just posing it implies that something ran afoul. He’s a weasel. Has this nasty little grin that suggests he’s seen your mother nekkid. I could break him in half. You could break him in half. But his column is famous nationwide, and, with just a little finessing of the facts, he can do a body either a lot of good or a lot of harm.”

“This situation just gets better and better.”

“Tell me.” Dent sighed.

“So why did you sign on for more crap? Get away from her.”

“I told you, we’re trying—”

“Yeah, yeah, but didn’t she cover the details of that day in her book?”

“There’s a problem with that.”

Gall harrumphed. “I can hardly wait. Lay it on me.”

“There are gaps in her memory of that day. She’s lost segments of time.” He gave Gall an abridged version of everything Bellamy had told him.

When he finished Gall said, “So what she thinks she remembers, and what she believes , aren’t necessarily what actually happened .”

“Right.”

“And what she disremembers—”

“Is apparently a threat to somebody who’s kept a secret for eighteen years and doesn’t want it revealed now. Which places Bellamy in danger.”

Gall released a long stream of air, running out of breath before he ran out of expletives. “Which once again puts you up to your neck in the Lystons’ shit.”

“It’s my shit, too, Gall.”

The old man didn’t refute it. How could he? The Lyston case had factored significantly into how the airline regarded Dent following the accident.

“Okay, so why Atlanta?”

Dent explained why they were there. “Bellamy wanted to call and give Steven advance notice of our visit, but I thought a surprise attack would ensure a more honest reaction from him. I didn’t want to give him time to think about it.”

“Well, that makes one smart thing you’ve said since we started this conversation. When is this ambush going to take place?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Uh-huh. And what will the two of you be doing to pass the time between now and then?”

“None of your goddamn business.”

Gall snorted. “That’s what I figured.”

“You figured wrong.”

“Separate beds?”

“Separate rooms. Happy now?” Gall made a sound that could have been interpreted any number of ways. Since Dent didn’t want that topic explored, he left it alone. “What about my airplane?”

“I wondered when you’d get around to remembering that you’ve got a real problem of your own.”

With a few more minutes of give-and-take in a similar vein, Dent had been given a complete assessment of the damage and an estimate on the time it would take to repair it.