Carol Clark - He Sees You When You're Sleeping

Eddie’s expression soured. “Mama says the clothes we send her stink.”

“That hurts my feelings,” Jewel said, pouting. “If I met her, I’d be able to shop for her better. Every woman has figure problems. I mean it could be her hips, it could be her waist, her behind might have a funny shape-”

“Shut up, Jewel,” Junior thundered. “I don’t want no more anatomy lessons.”

I was enjoying it, Sterling thought.

Obviously offended, Jewel got up. “Please, excuse me,” she said with exaggerated emphasis.

“Where yuh goin’?” Eddie asked.

“To the lala.” She flounced away.

“Is she mad because I said Mama don’t like the clothes she picked out?”

“Forget the clothes,” Junior barked. “Listen, I got a call when you were in the lala.”

“When was I in the lala?”

“You’re always in the lala.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. Every time I go look for you, you’re in the lala. Now listen to me. Our guys can’t track down Nor Kelly and Billy Campbell.”

“They’re a bunch of dopes,” Eddie said.

“It takes one to know one. Keep your mouth shut and listen to me. The whole case against us falls apart if Kelly and Campbell don’t take the stand. We gotta get rid of them.”

“It’s a big country. How do we get rid of them when we can’t find them?”

“We gotta find them. I took the next step. I called a certain hit man.”

Eddie looked at Junior. “Not Igor?”

“Yes, Igor,” Junior said. “He’s very good at what he does. I told him the only lead we have so far is that they’re somewhere out West.”

“Here I am,” Jewel chirped as she slid into the banquette and kissed Junior’s cheek. “I’ve forgiven you both for not appreciating all I do to make Mama Heddy-Anna happy and comfortable, and I have to tell you something. I think you should figure out a way to go visit your mama in person, and you should do it before it’s too late.”

Junior glared at her. “Drop it.”

The waiter appeared with a tray of appetizers.

I’ve learned what I needed to know, Sterling thought. The Badgett brothers are determined to track down Nor and Billy and make sure they don’t live to testify against them.

Sterling decided to take a long walk before he made a request to be transported somewhere else. An hour later, he had made his decision. He closed his eyes and whispered, I’d like it to be midsummer, and may I please get together with Nor and Billy?

Surely they’re not staying here, Sterling thought, dismayed. He was standing on the second-floor balcony of a rundown motel directly off a busy highway. Although it was blazing hot, the area was beautiful. Like Mama Heddy-Anna’s village, the landscape boasted magnificent mountain views.

Of the six vehicles parked outside the motel, four had Colorado plates.

He noticed a heavyset man with dark glasses sitting in an SUV. It seemed to Sterling that the man was staring at his rearview mirror, watching the door directly behind him.

Sterling turned and peeked in the window. Billy was standing inside the shabby room, hands in pockets. He was looking at Nor, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, a phone in her hand.

They looked different. Nor’s blond hair was medium brown, and she wore it in a prim knot at the nape of her neck. Billy had a beard, and his dark hair was cut much shorter.

Maybe this is where they make their calls home, Sterling thought. If they’re in the Witness Protection Program, they can only phone from secured lines. They both look worried sick.

He went inside, and taking off his homburg, put his ear to the receiver. I’m getting good at eavesdropping, he thought. He heard a familiar voice at the other end of the line and realized that Nor was talking to Dennis.

“Nor, I don’t have to tell you that this place is all about you,” Dennis was saying. “Sure, I can do drinks, and the guys are good waiters, and Al is the best chef we’ve ever had, but that’s not good enough. When the customers come in, they want to see you at your table.”

“I know. How big a loss this month?”

“Very big. We’re not a quarter full for dinners, even on Saturdays.”

“Which means, of course, that the waiters’ tips are way down,” Nor said, “Look, Dennis, this can’t last much longer. The minute the trial is over and the Badgetts are in prison, we’ll be able to come home. Figure out how much in tips the guys are losing, and let’s make up half of it to them in their paychecks.”

“Nor, maybe you didn’t hear me. You’re losing money hand over fist as it is.”

“And maybe you didn’t hear me,” Nor flared. “I know the restaurant needs me to be there. But you and Al and the waiters and the kitchen help and the cleanup crew are all part of what make it work. It took me years to put together such a good team, and I’m not going to lose it now.”

“Take it easy, Nor, I’m just trying to help you keep your head above water with this place.”

“I’m sorry, Dennis,” Nor said contritely. “This whole business is grinding me down.”

“How’s Billy?”

“How do you think? He just called Marissa and the recording company. Marissa absolutely refuses to talk to him-or to me either for that matter-and the recording company told him that unless this is over soon, they’ll have to cancel his contract.”

There was silence, then Nor said, “Dennis, you know that impressionist painting near the fireplace in my living room?”

“The pain-by-numbers one?”

It was an old joke between them.

“Yes. You have power of attorney. Go to my safe-deposit box and get the papers on it. Take everything to the Reuben Gallery. I know they’ll make an offer on it. It should be worth at least sixty thousand dollars. That will help.”

“You love that painting, Nor.”

“Not as much as I love my restaurant. Okay, Dennis, I guess that’s all the good news I can handle at one time. I’ll talk to you in about two weeks.”

“Sure, Nor. Hang in there.”

Her next call was to Sean O’Brien to see if there was any word about the trial date. There wasn’t.

They left the motel room in silence, went down the steps to the parking area, and got into the SUV in which the man in dark glasses was sitting. He’s got to be the federal marshal who looks out for them, Sterling decided.

He rode in the backseat with Nor. Not a word was exchanged on the twenty-minute drive. He spotted a road sign that indicated Denver was thirty miles away. I know exactly where we are, he thought. The Air Force Academy is near here.

Billy and Nor were living in a run-of-the-mill bi-level house, the sole virtue of which, at least as far as Sterling could tell, was its location. It was set on a large piece of property, shaded by tall trees that afforded privacy.

When the car stopped, Billy turned to the marshal. “Frank, come inside please. I’ve got to talk to you.”

“Sure.”

The living room furniture looked as if it had been purchased at the auction of a bankrupt motel: Naugahyde sofa and chairs, mismatched Formica coffee and end tables, burnt-orange wall-to-wall carpeting. A groaning air conditioner labored to pump in cool air.

Sterling could pick out Nor’s attempts to make the room livable. Tasteful framed prints drew the eye away from the hideous furnishings. A vase of black-eyed susans and several large green plants helped alleviate the depressing atmosphere.

The living room opened into what was meant to be a dining area. Billy had turned it into a music room, furnishing it with a scarred upright piano piled with sheet music, a CD player, and shelves of CDs. His guitar rested on a club chair near the piano.

“What can I do for you, Billy?” the marshal asked.