Jeffery Deaver - Hard News

Inside, Boggs walked from room to room, shyly inspecting. He'd carefully touch the stuffed animals, the scraps of lace Rune draped over lamps, the rosy and blue magic crystals, her books. He'd laugh occasionally as he tried to figure out something -an eyelash curler or a broken antique apple parer that Rune bought because she thought it was a medieval weapon.

In the kitchen she put the beers away and fixed the food they'd bought – crispy-fried Chee-tos and cans of refried bean dip and little shrimp cocktails in jars with pry-off lids. "I love these things. And you can use the jars for juice glasses later."

"Juice," said Courtney. Rune poured Ocean Spray for the girl then filled a Winnie-the-Pooh dish with bean dip and handed her a spoon.

"This is ugly," the girl said, looking into it. "Yes, it is." But she took the utensil and began to pick up bits of dip and wad it onto the spoon.

"She's showing off for guests," Rune said to Boggs. "Court – you know how," she added sternly.

"Ugly food." She scrunched her nose up but began to eat properly.

"Napkin," Rune reminded her and Courtney picked a paper napkin out of a stack in the center of the table and placed it on her lap. She resumed eating.

Boggs watched them. "You're kinda young to be a mother. Who's the father?" He laughed. "Other than me, I mean."

"Long story." She then said, "What kind of beer you like to start with?"

"Believe I'll start with a Bud. 'Buy American.' When I went Inside, three years ago, that's what everybody was saying. 'Buy American.' But nobody makes beer like Mexicans. I'll save that Corona for dessert."

"Come on over here." Rune led him out to the deck, where they could have some privacy; but she could still watch Courtney.

"I didn't want to say anything in there. In front of her." She told him how Claire had abandoned the girl.

Boggs shook his head. "I don't think I ever met anybody who'd do something like that."

"Claire's totally immature."

"I never had me any kids." He grinned. "Not that I know of, anyway. Not so there was a paternity suit."

Rune said, "Me with a kid." She shook her head. "You don't know me that well but it's definitely role reversal."

"Looks to me like you two get along pretty good, though."

Rune's eyes were dancing. "Oh, she's the best. I always thought kids were, like, completely obnoxious. You know, they go through this phase where they can't talk – they have to screech. And they don't eat; they just barf. But what it is – I've figured this out – they're just like adults. Some days they're in good moods, some days they're in bitchy moods. And can we talk! We walk all over the place and I tell her things. She understands. Our minds kind of work alike." Rune glanced at Courtney. "She's going to be just like me when she grows up."

"I know naturalmothers who don't sound that happy with their kids."

Boggs was tasting the Bud like it was vintage wine. Rune offered him the bag of Chee-tos. He shook his head. He said, "Must be nice having someone to live with. I had me a couple girlfriends, various times, but I was never married. I don't know, it'd be pretty strange for me, I think. Living with somebody when you don't have to. Inside, you don't have any choice, of course."

"Inside?"

"In prison."

"Oh, sure… Well, I usually have roommates. They're sort of a necessary evil in New York, with what rents go for. But I've lived by myself a lot. I've gotten used to it. It's like a skill you work on."

"Don't get lonely, huh?"

"Sure. I remember some nights I'd be sitting there, watchingGilligan's Island reruns on this black-and-white TV – you know, the kind with a coat hanger for an antenna? And I'd be watching this show and I'd hear a piece of paper slide under the door. And I'd start to get up and see what it was but then I wouldn't. Because I knew it was only a menu from a Chinese restaurant a delivery guy was slipping under all the doors in the building. But if Ididn't go see then maybe it'd be a note from someone. Maybe it would say, There's a party, in three-G. Plenty of men. Come in costume.' Or maybe it would be mysterious. 'Meet me on the corner of Avenue A and Ninth Street at midnight on the night of the full moon.'"

Boggs was looking at her, trying to figure this all out.

"But, naw, it was always just a menu. And I'd go back to sitcoms and commercials. But ups and downs – that's what makes life what it is." She thumped her chest. "I'm from Ohio peasant stock."

Boggs said, "There's one thing I'd like to say…"

Rune had been wondering if he'd bring up the sleeping arrangements, which is what this sounded like it was going to be about. But just then Courtney called, "I want juice."

"Say 'please.'"

"I want please."

"Very funny." Rune called, "One minute, honey." To Boggs, she said, "I'm hungry for some real food. I've got a couple leftover Whoppers in the fridge. You interested?"

"Sure. Heat me one up too."

Rune started into the houseboat. Suddenly Boggs stopped. He turned and twisted his head, like a dog hearing an ultrasonic whistle. He lifted his face to the sky. His nostrils flared wide as he inhaled. "How 'bout that?"

"What?"

"The smells," he said.

"Yeah, we aren't exactly talking perfume in New York."

"No, I don't mean that. What I mean is there're a bunch of them. A thousand smells."

She sniffed then shook her head. "I can't make out too many."

Boggs inhaled again. "When you're Inside there are only a couple smells you smell. Disinfectant. Onions or grease from the kitchen. Sweat. Spring air. Summer air… It's like you get used to them. But here – What do I smell?"

"Rotten fish and dog doo and garbage and car exhaust."

"Nope. What I smell is freedom."

One potato, two potato, three potato four…

Jack Nestor, walking slowly along the old docks on the Hudson River, was thinking: In Florida peopleought to be on boats. Especially in south Florida, close to the 'Glades, you realize that even on land there's water everywhere and it's a part of your life. Houses are raised up on stilts and everybody's got a boat of some kind in the yard.

But in New York, it seemed pretty weird to live on a boat.

Five potato, six potato, seven potato, more…

Nestor had parked on Tenth Street not far from the river. He'd rented the car, which he didn't like doing because that left a record. But he knew that after what was about to happen there was a pretty good chance his description would go out citywide, including to the Port Authority police at the airports and bus and train stations. But nobody could ever stop you fromdriving out of New York.

The sun was down by now and the sky was a shade of blue it never was in Florida. It was a gray-blue, metalblue, junkyard blue. Nestor was thirsty but didn't want to look for a deli – that many more people to see him. So he sat on a bench facing the city and waited for more darkness to fall. He stubbed out his cigarette, after taking one long final drag, deciding that the menthol made him less thirsty.

Eight potato, nine potato, no cops anymore…

The blue-and-white that had been parked on the highway near the houseboat, the cops eating sandwiches, drinking coffee, pulled away, made a lazy U-turn, then headed north.

Time to go to work. He pulled out his gun and eased slowly toward the houseboat.

"I learned a lot of law for one thing. They had a mess of law books Inside. Some of the fellows write their own appeals. They do pretty good at it."

Rune nodded. Boggs was working on his Corona -he still wasn't drunk, or even tired, it seemed – and Rune was sipping herbal tea and eating Twinkies. She'd wanted to tape him and ask him more questions about what life was like in prison. But he'd begged off. He was tired. Tomorrow, he said. Shoot me all you want tomorrow.