Phillip Margolin - Fugitive

Sally felt him tense and stepped back. She saw where he was staring.

“That’s Kevin’s. He’s four, and you don’t have to worry. He’s at a sleepover, so we won’t be disturbed.”

“What about your husband? Is he at a sleepover, too?”

Sally closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “Look, Charlie, do you want to fuck or learn my family history?”

“Hey, sorry, none of my business.”

“Let’s get this out of the way, okay? My husband is United States Congressman Arnold Pope Jr. and he’s in Washington, DC, tonight, saving the country from liberals, abortionists, and criminals like you. Now, if that frightens you so much that you can’t get it up, leave. If you’re still interested in a roll in the hay, can the questions.”

“WHO WAS THAT guy you were arguing with, tonight?” Charlie asked. They were lying in the wreckage of Sally’s marital bed, lathered in sweat and resting for round three.

“A nobody, Tony Rose. He’s the tennis pro at the Westmont Country Club. He thinks we’ve been having an affair, but that term is a tad more sophisticated than I’d use to describe what we’ve been doing.”

“Why was he so pissed off?”

“I dumped him and bruised his ego.”

“You gonna dump me?” Charlie asked with a grin.

Sally rolled over so she was facing Charlie, and raised herself up on an elbow.

“Let’s get this straight, Charlie. You’re a good fuck. If you’re game, and the opportunity presents itself, we’ll meet again while you’re in Portland, but that’s it. I love my son and my husband and I’m not going to leave either one.”

Charlie was confused. “If you love Arnie Jr., how come you’re here with me?”

For the first time that evening, Sally Pope looked flustered. “That’s none of your business.”

She got out of bed, walked into the bathroom, and slammed the door. Charlie scrambled after her.

“Hey,” he said through the locked door, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so nosy. Come on out and I won’t ask any more questions, promise.”

The toilet flushed and the door opened. Sally had regained her composure. She touched Charlie’s cheek.

“This has been nice, Charlie, but I’m tired. Do you mind?”

“I’m bushed too,” he said, though she’d excited him enough that he wouldn’t have minded another tussle in the sack. “I’ve got TV, radio, and another book signing in Seattle. We’re driving up in the morning, so I should get my beauty rest.”

Sally took her hand away and smiled, though her eyes were sad.

“You know,” Charlie said, “I’m going to be back here after Seattle and I’ll have a few days before we go to San Francisco.”

Sally looked thoughtful. “How would you like to hold one of your seminars at the most exclusive country club in Oregon?”

“Sounds good.”

“Let me work on it. I’ll get back to you.”

“I’ll be at my hotel again on Thursday for a book signing. You want to drop by?”

“I can’t be seen with you. You understand that?”

“Sure, but I can fix it so you can slip up without anyone seeing you.”

“I assume this is from experience?”

Charlie grinned. “I have a foolproof system. I’m in the penthouse suite and there’s a back elevator. Only one who’ll know is Delmar, and he’s already seen us together.”

“Let me think about it.”

“Great. Do you have a pen? I’ll give you my cell phone number. Call me in Seattle about the seminar and anything else you can think of.”

Charlie phoned Delmar and told him to meet him on a corner a quarter-mile from Sally’s house, so no one would see him outside. While he waited in the warm night air for his limo to arrive, Charlie tried to figure out Sally Pope. He decided that she was a sad and bitter woman. Why else would a congressman’s wife with money and looks drag him, Tony Rose, and-he guessed-a slew of other men into her bed? He felt sorry for her, but that wasn’t going to keep him from enjoying another night in bed with the woman if the opportunity presented itself.

Life was a smooth ride for Charlie until everything went to hell on the day of the seminar at the Westmont. He hit the first bump in the road on a sunny afternoon in a bookstore in Portland. He was sitting at a table piled high with copies of The Light Within You. Delmar Epps stood a few steps behind Charlie, trying-and failing-to be inconspicuous. Seated beside Charlie was Mickey Keys, who was dressed in a tan suit, white shirt, and red tie, and looked as happy as can be. It was unusual for him to accompany a client on a book tour but Keys didn’t think of Charlie as a client; he thought of him as a gold mine and he wanted to keep a close eye on his mother lode.

In front of the table was a line that stretched around the store. It was composed of excited customers eager to purchase Charlie’s book so they could learn how to ignite the light within them and find wealth and inner peace. When a fan reached the head of the line, Charlie would smile and ask to whom he should inscribe the book. Then he would make a cheerful, positive remark while he wrote “Never stop until you’ve turned on your Inner Light. Peace, Gabriel Sun.”

After the first few customers, Charlie went on automatic pilot. That was why it took him a second to recognize the next two men in the line.

“Hey, Charlie, long time no see,” said Gary Hass, the late Freddy Clayton’s most intelligent criminal associate. Gary was so ordinary-looking that witnesses had a hard time identifying him in a lineup. This made him markedly different from the tattooed, pierced, and steroid-inflated Werner Rollins, who stood at Gary’s shoulder and would have been perfectly at home in any barbarian horde. Unfortunately for humanity, Hass’s scarred and deformed psyche was the exact opposite of his bland appearance. A slender, if wiry, five foot seven, Gary wasn’t physically imposing but he was ruthless and he never forgot a slight, no matter how small. Gary also had the gift of patience. Get the better of him today and he would exact revenge by tying you to your bed and burning down your house long after you’d forgotten you’d ever had a run-in with him.

“Great book,” Gary said.

“Glad you liked it.”

“I liked it so much I read it more than once; especially the parts about your exciting experiences in the world of crime. Know why I had to read those parts so many times?”

“Uh, no.”

“I found them confusing, Charlie. Many of your exploits sounded both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. I mean, I seemed to remember some of those events but not exactly the way you remembered them. For me, it was like watching a science-fiction movie where people go into a parallel universe that’s a lot like the Earth we know, but different. Like where the South wins the Civil War. You know it didn’t happen that way but if the writer is very skilled it seems realistic. See what I mean?”

“Not really. Look, it’s good seeing you but there’s a long line. I’m not supposed to talk to any one customer for more than a few minutes.”

“Hey, Werner and I don’t want to be a problem so why don’t we get together for coffee when you’re finished.”

“I don’t know, Gary. I’m awfully busy.”

“I’m cool with that. If you don’t have time for coffee we’ll fly back East and see if an investigative reporter at the New York Times wants to discuss our confusion about the book over a double decaf mocha. To tell the truth though, we’d rather spend our time reminiscing with a pal about the good old days.”

Charlie felt sick. A sheen of sweat formed on his forehead. “Maybe I can spare some time when I’m done.”