Jenks looked up. “W-w-what?” He was freezing.
“Your real name.”
“Harold Jenks.”
“Okay.”
Jenks said, “I know it won’t work, so don’t worry about me. Shit, you should see how the professors look at me. They know something ain’t right. I can’t do it, so don’t worry. I’m not stealing anything.” He sniffed, wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Only class I’m keeping up in is the poetry workshop, and that’s only because I’m as bad as everybody else.”
DelPrego laughed sudden and hard, the tension draining. “Shit. Professor Morgan. What would he say?” More laughter.
Jenks laughed too, wiped his eyes again. When the laughter spent itself, he asked, “You still mad?”
DelPrego said, “Mostly I’m cold.”
“Me too. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“Where?”
Jenks stood, stomped his feet. They felt like lead bricks. “Anyplace indoors.”
DelPrego snapped his fingers. “I know, follow me. The back of the campus is only about a mile this way.” He headed off into the underbrush.
Jenks followed, shoving his way through the branches. He was so cold he could barely move. They made their way slowly.
“Wayne?”
“Yeah?”
“Where’s the gym bag?” Jenks hesitated to raise this question, but he had to know.
“I stashed it. Someplace safe.”
“Where?”
“Someplace safe.”
They found an open window and climbed in. Jenks was so happy to be in the relative warmth of the classroom he didn’t bother asking DelPrego why they’d broken into Albatross Hall. At least it was unlikely Red Zach would find them there.
“Come on.” DelPrego led him out of the classroom and down the hall to the stairwell.
They climbed.
The fifth floor looked deserted. Dark.
“What are we doing here?” Jenks asked.
“Quiet.” DelPrego froze, listened. “You hear that?”
Jenks listened too. “Music.”
“Yeah.”
“What is it?”
“Wagner,” DelPrego said.
DelPrego walked faster, Jenks right behind him. They took a few turns and ended at a door. The music came from the other side. DelPrego twisted the knob, pushed the door open slowly.
DelPrego looked in. “Professor Valentine?”
The old man jerked his head around. “Wayne. Hello. A bit late to be out and about isn’t it?”
Valentine was reading an enormous leather-bound Bible. He was stark naked except for a black beret with the words SEA WORLD, ORLANDO, stitched in yellow.
“I thought you were still away,” DelPrego said.
“A long story.” Valentine’s eyes shifted from DelPrego to Jenks. “Who’s your friend?”
DelPrego hesitated. “Sherman Ellis.”
Jenks wondered about DelPrego. He hadn’t told his real name. DelPrego wasn’t going to rat him out. Not yet anyway.
Valentine leapt up, setting the Bible aside. He walked to Jenks, hand outstretched, his old-man genitalia swinging between his legs like a Ziploc bag of shriveled fruit.
“Good to meet you, Ellis.”
Jenks shook his hand. Not eagerly. “You’re naked.”
“Yes.”
“Could you not be, please?”
Valentine chuckled, crossed the room, grabbed a robe, put it on.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” DelPrego said. “We were sort of looking for a place to hide out.”
“How long do you want to stay?”
“Until the heat’s off,” DelPrego said.
“On the lam, eh? I understand,” Valentine said. “But mum’s the word. Nobody knows I’m here.”
And that suited them just fine.
Part 3
twenty-five
Deke Stubbs knocked on Timothy Lancaster’s door. He smelled like a six-pack of Busch. He swallowed a belch.
Lancaster opened the door a crack, eyed the detective. Lancaster looked a little annoyed and also worried. A nervous bookworm type, custom-made to cave under pressure. Stubbs liked it when they were worried. He could lean on them good and stiff and get them to talk. He hadn’t had to do that with Annie Walsh’s mousy roommate, but he wouldn’t mind with this guy.
They stared at each other a long second.
Finally Lancaster said, “Yes?” The word slipped meekly through the crack in the door like an apology.
“Lancaster?”
Another long pause from the kid. “Yes.”
“Can I ask you some questions?”
The pause was really long this time. “About what?”
“About Annie Walsh,” Stubbs said. “And about drugs.” Stubbs threw the part in about drugs at the last second. Sure. Shake the kid up. He looked nervous already, so why not push the envelope?
The kid paled. “Are you the police?”
“Drug Enforcement Administration.” Stubbs flipped his wallet open and closed again at light-speed before shoving it back into his jacket. “I think you better let me in.”
Lancaster stepped back, eyes steady on Stubbs.
Stubbs closed the door behind him, looked around the apartment. The kid had about a thousand books stacked along the walls. He read the title of one at eye level, “
Lancaster didn’t say anything.
“We had a Spanish tragedy ourselves a few months ago. Buncha wetbacks coming across near Juarez, and we knew some of them were mules, carting a wad of smack across the river. So we figured what the heck, shoot ’em all and let God sort ’em out.” Stubbs mimed sighting a rifle. “We picked ’em off as they hit the American side. That’s how we handle drug dealers in the DEA.”
