Т Паркер - The Room of White Fire

“What proof can you give me that he’ll show?”

“His greed and eagerness to wash his hands.”

A long pause. “Imagine when he sees himself on video torturing Aaban while his son watches.”

“It’s dramatic stuff, Clay. It’s true. Your hard truth.”

“I never hated Dr. Spencer. Or even disrespected him.”

“The best part of telling your story will be sharing your secret with other people. The world can help you carry it.”

“You sound like Dr. Hulet.”

Neither of us spoke. I searched for something to say that might prepare him to accept the offer I would make to him two days from now, an offer very different from what he was expecting. I tried to imagine his surprise and shock. “I have a favorable impression of Dr. Hulet from our correspondence. I know she’s very concerned for you. She and Nell are somewhat alike, I think.”

That was as good as I could do without giving anything away. Maybe his mother and father could convince him to come home. Maybe his doctor could. Maybe Sequoia. Maybe he was just flat worn-out and ready.

“When will the story be shown on TV?”

“We don’t know yet.”

“I want it to be before Dr. Spencer’s book.”

“Nell’s show will make his book sell even more,” I said.

“That’s okay. This is about truth, not sales. What if you’re one of Bodart’s guys? Or Spencer’s? Or the PI that Dr. Spencer hired and you’re leading me into a trap?”

“Well, sure, lots of what-ifs. But I’m not.”

“What proof can you give me?” he asked.

“None. Do you want Nell to tell your story or not?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Noon Friday. Where?”

I gave him the address and directions off both north and south interstates.

“Why there?”

“Nell likes the peaceful setting. Clay? No gun.”

“No, sir.”

“You’ll be searched.”

“You already said that.”

“Do you plan to bring the young lady?” I asked.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Is she all right?”

“Why wouldn’t she be? We love and take care of each other.”

“What’s her name?”

“I can’t tell you until then,” he said.

“Where are you going to go when this is over, Clay?”

“I can’t tell you that, either. Why do you care?”

“I’ve gained a lot of respect for you since we met. I want the best for you. And the girl. After you two got away from the motel in Oceanside, I had to stay behind and talk to Bodart and watch his guys search the room. I saw what a threat you are to them. I weighed them against what you had been through at White Fire. And I found myself on your side. I want you safe and I want your story told.”

“Make it happen.”

He hung up.

Good Friday morning, gray and still. Showers in the forecast. The kind of April day that can change quickly. Clay had been on the run for eleven days now and I was ready to bring him in.

Dick and I got into my truck. Liz was waiting for us in the backseat. I held up my Bodart-monitored smartphone to both of them, set it in the center console. Then I lifted out the DeMaris-planted transmitter and turned it on. The little black unit disappeared into the console’s depths and the blue light vanished when I shut the lid. I explained to Dick and Liz how the bugs worked. “Looks like the pricks have you covered,” Dick said.

“Roland knows what he’s doing,” said Liz. “Although the back of your truck is very small. Lucky I brought the pillow for staying low.”

Dick turned to look at his wife. “Then why don’t you use it and get low?”

Liz wriggled down onto the seat, stretched out as best she could, worked her head into the pillow. “Like camping when I was little. I always hated tents.”

I guided the truck down the gravel drive and past the pond, toward the paved road. “This little trick won’t fool them for long,” I told them once again. “Remember, after you drop me off at Mercy Road, go south to the Eight, then east toward Yuma. Once they suspect you’re not me, they might pull you over. If they do, call me immediately. Tell them you borrowed my truck to go see friends. Be as dumb as you can be. If you make it as far as Yuma before hearing from me, get a motel room and wait for my call.”

“Don’t worry,” said Liz. “And, I’ll need a room of my own if we make Yuma.”

“You can have the whole motel,” said Dick. “Good luck, Rollie.”

“That’s what this is for.” I tipped Justine’s lucky shantung fedora.

Half an hour later I pulled off Interstate 15 at Mercy Road. Sped down the ramp and gunned it into the gas station. Parked nose-out by the air and water area. Dick came around to take the driver’s seat and Liz upgraded to the front passenger seat. I set my lucky hat on Grandpa Dick’s head. He angled the brim to his satisfaction, using the rearview mirror.

I said, “If they make you, call me. If you think they’ve made you, call me.”

“Got it.”

“You look cute in that hat,” said Liz.

“Keep your wits and stay calm,” I said. “Chances are, when they see it’s you and not me, they’ll fall back.”

I stepped away from the truck and Grandpa Dick gunned it away from the station toward the on-ramp. Liz waved. One thing I didn’t have to worry about was Dick driving too slow. He’d always been a lead foot, like his son, like me.

I climbed into Lindsey Rakes’s spotless black Mustang with the child seat strapped in back. She was dressed cowgirl chic again. “Hello, hotcakes,” I said.

“Hello, handsome. Where y’all headed?”

When Lindsey pulled to a stop outside her casita, Burt Short pulled open her door and bowed. He was dressed from head to toe in black nylon-heavy “tactical” clothing of some kind. It was sized to show off his muscles, which looked comically dangerous on such a short man. His duty boots were old but well polished.

The three of us walked toward the palapa. “Don’t worry about anything,” Burt said. “After the pat-down, I’ll be around, just in case Clay gets froggy. I am unarmed, as you ordered. Though I’d prefer a reliable sidearm.”

“Keep an eye on Sequoia, too,” I said. “She’s under Clay’s spell.”

“I’ll go with the flow, Roland,” said Burt. “This is their show. And yours.”

“Don’t worry,” said Lindsey.

“Why does everybody think I’m worried?” I rubbed the Y-shaped scar on my forehead, scratching the itch. Which led me to remind myself that neither I nor the beloved people around me were invincible.

“It’s just pre-operation jitters,” she said.

“We called it pucker time,” said Burt.

“‘We’?” demanded Lindsey. “Who was we ? And when? When did you do all this stuff you refer to?”

“Before your time.”

Wesley sat at a picnic table under the palapa, threading his video camera onto its tripod. Sunglasses on, a bottle of water on the table beside him. He glanced up at us, then went back to his task. He wore cargo pants and athletic shoes, a UCSB hoodie over a T-shirt, and an MTV ball cap. “If we set up in the shade here, I can get enough natural light for Clay’s face,” said Wesley. “But no glare off his monitor.”

I asked Lindsey how much time she would need to edit Clay’s old video into Wesley’s new video, and upload the best ten minutes of it to YouTube.

“Hour and a half, minimum.”

My mind was jumping thought to thought. “I’ve got you an hour,” I said. “Maybe.”

She looked at me but said nothing.

I watched through the binoculars as Paige Hulet came up the drive in a sensible white Toyota. Hair up, black suit, white blouse buttoned to the top. Dressing the doctor part for Clay. I thought of her that night in her penthouse, dancing in the swaying black dress, but couldn’t hold the thought long. I waved her into the barnyard shade and took her hand as she climbed out of the car. She kissed me on the cheek, slung her satchel over one shoulder. A smile. Black running shoes instead of the usual black dress shoes. “I can’t wait to lay eyes on him,” she said. “I haven’t not seen him twelve days in a row since he came to Arcadia.”