Dean Koontz - Surrounded

"What'll we do with the extra ten?" Meyers asked, pointing at the last bill left alone on the center of the bedspread.

"Leave it for the room maid," Tucker said, placing it in the center of the blotter on the desk.

"Now what about the jewels?" Edgar asked, lifting two handfuls of them and letting them trickle out between his fingers. "You're the one who knows the fence. You going to take these back to New York?"

"They'd make for a damned heavy suitcase," Tucker said. "Besides, certain models of airport metal detectors will pick up on diamonds."

"What, then?"

"In the morning," Tucker said, "I'll get three or four one-pound cans of pipe tobacco. I'll empty the tobacco out, fill the tins with the stones, pack the tins in a box, and mail it all to myself."

Meyers frowned. "Is that safe?"

"I might insure it," Tucker said, "for a thousand bucks."

They looked at him, open-mouthed, then caught on and laughed.

"If the post office loses them," Meyers said, "I'll expect my three hundred and thirty-three dollars."

They drank a few more bottles of Coors, talked about other people in the business, and broke up shortly past midnight.

At the door of Tucker's room Meyers said, "You leaving first thing tomorrow?"

"I've got reservations for the two o'clock flight," Tucker said.

"I'll probably stay over a few days. Just through the weekend. I'll be at the same apartment when I come back to New York. At least I will be for a few weeks. When you get yours from the fence, you know where to reach me."

"Okay," Tucker said.

"It's been a pleasure."

Tucker nodded.

"Maybe we'll do it again soon."

"Maybe," Tucker said, though he knew that he would never get involved in another job with Frank Meyers.

Early Friday evening, Tucker walked into his Park Avenue apartment, closed the door, and called for Elise. When he found that she was not home, he opened the front closet, stepped inside, and worked the combination dial of the wall safe. His Tucker wallet full of Tucker papers went into the safe, and his real wallet full of his real papers came out. He unlatched the smallest of the two suitcases, the one he had bought in Los Angeles, and he transferred the seventy thousand dollars to the small vault.

In the kitchen he found the accumulated mail from the last four days laid out for him on the table, and he looked through it. There were several bills, advertisements, a bookclub selection, magazines, nothing really important.

He made himself a cold roast beef sandwich with a slice of cheese, mixed a drink, and went out into the main hall. He stood in front of the Edo shield and spear, eating and drinking as his eyes roved over the familiar lines of the artifacts.

When Elise had not shown up by nine-thirty, he knew that she was either working on a night filming assignment or was out to dinner and a show with friends. She would probably not get back until midnight or after.

In the den he picked up Smith and Wan-go's China: A History in Art, but his mind kept wandering, and his eyes would not focus on the printed words. He put the book aside and switched on the television set.

Watching the screen without actually paying attention to the images moving upon it, he began to think about those two bloody bodies in the mall's business office. He shuddered uncontrollably and felt nauseous. He always tried to set up a job in such a way that no killing was required. He was not quick to point a gun, and he rarely used one. In the past he had found himself incapable of extreme violence except when it was absolutely necessary to save his own life. That had happened only twice. The first time, he had been forced into a corner by a crooked and brutal cop who wanted to cut himself in on a piece of the action-Tucker's piece; and once there had been a partner who had decided to kill Tucker and avoid the unpleasant ritual of splitting the take from a robbery. Both times, Tucker had taken the only option that they had left open to him: he had killed. But the nightmares had haunted him for months afterward, and the guilt was still with him. Although he had not had a hand in the deaths of Keski and the bodyguard at Oceanview Plaza, he knew he would always feel some responsibility for them. There would be new nightmares.

Suddenly the color picture on the television screen came through to him for the first time-and there was Elise spraying perfume on her slender wrists and pretty neck. As the male voice-over sold the product, Elise smiled at the camera, smiled at Tucker… She seemed perfectly real, not an image on a strip of film but a flesh-and-blood woman.

Tucker wanted to reach out and touch her. When he had been sitting at the bottom of the pool in Oceanview Plaza, he had been worried about losing her, and he was plagued by the same anxiety now. He needed her more than he had ever previously admitted to himself. She had nursed him through those nightmares and through so much more. When everyone else was considered, she was his only friend.

The commercial ended. Elise vanished.

Before his thoughts could slip back to the dead men in his past, he went out and mixed himself another drink. He stood by the spear and shield in the main hall. There, he could turn and look at Elise the moment she came through the front door, which could not be too soon.

Brian Coffey is the pen name of a young American writer whose fiction has sold over two million copies throughout the world.

Surrounded is the second (the first was Blood Risk) in a series featuring Mike Tucker, a man with two identities and a Robin Hood attitude to crime.