Curtin was embarrassed. He disengaged himself and stood up.
'Time to get you home, buddy, before you start crying on the good linen.'
The friends walked outside to the parking lot. It had rained during dinner and the cold air sobered Kerrigan a little. Curtin asked again if he was sure he could drive and offered Tim a lift home, but Kerrigan waved him off. Then he sat in his car and watched his friend drive away. The truth was that he wasn't okay and he did not want to go home. He wanted something else.
Megan was probably asleep by now and thinking of her almost stopped him, but not quite. Kerrigan walked back inside the hotel and found a pay phone. Then he took the slip of paper with Ally Bennett's number out of his wallet and smoothed it out so he could read it. He felt sick as he dialed, but he could not stop himself. The phone rang twice.
'Hello?'
It was a woman and she sounded sleepy.
'Is . . . is this Jasmine?' Kerrigan asked, his heart beating in his throat.
'Yes?'
The voice was suddenly husky and seductive now that he'd used her working name.
'I heard about you from a friend,' Kerrigan said. 'I'd like to meet you.'
Kerrigan's chest was tight. He closed his eyes while Bennett spoke.
'It's late. I hadn't planned on seeing anyone tonight.'
Her answer let him know that he could change her mind.
'I'm sorry. I . . . I wasn't sure . . . I should have called earlier.'
He was rambling and he forced himself to stop.
'That's okay, honey. You sound . . . nice. You might be able to charm me out of bed, but it will be expensive.' There was a pause. Kerrigan heard her breathing on the other end of the phone. 'Expensive, but worth every penny.'
Kerrigan grew hard, and a pulse pounded in his temple.
'What . . . how much would it cost?'
'What's your name?'
'Why do you need to know that?'
'I like to know who I'm talking to. You have a name, don't you?'
'I'm Frank. Frank Kramer,' Kerrigan said, giving her the name on a set of false identification he'd had made for this type of occasion.
'Who's your friend, Frank?'
She was being cautious. Kerrigan guessed it was because she knew that Dupre was under investigation. Kerrigan had read Bennett's file. It contained a list of johns with their phone numbers and addresses. There had been a guy from Pennsylvania in town for a convention six months ago.
'Randy Chung. He's from Pittsburgh. He spoke very highly of you.'
'Did he? He had fun? He enjoyed himself?'
'Very much.'
There was dead air.
'It wouldn't be all night or anything like that,' Kerrigan said. 'Just an hour or so. I know it's late.'
'Okay, but I'll want five hundred dollars.'
'Five. I . . .'
'It's your decision.'
Kerrigan knew a motel where the night clerks asked no questions and were used to clients who paid for the night but stayed for an hour. Ally knew the motel too. They hung up. Kerrigan was light-headed. He thought that he might throw up. He tried to slow his breathing as he went back to his car. What was he doing? He should call back and call it off. He should just go home. But the car was already rolling.
Traffic was light. His mind wandered. He was going to use a false name, but what if Ally discovered his identity? Was that part of the thrill? Did he want to be ruined?
It was that run--that ninety-yard run. How he wished that a Michigan player had stopped him anywhere on that field short of the goal line. What he'd said to Hugh was true. No Michigan player had been close to him during those three Rose Bowl runs. His blockers wouldn't let them. But he got the credit. And then everything had snowballed out of control.
A car signaled into his lane, and Kerrigan dragged his thoughts back to the road. He tried to keep them there, but images of Ally Bennett intruded. Ally in court, what he imagined she'd look like naked. She was incredible, heart-stopping, and he would be with her in less than an hour. A driver honked, and Kerrigan's grip tightened on the wheel. That had been close. He forced himself to concentrate on his driving. Even so, he didn't notice the black car that had been following him since he left the hotel.
Kerrigan parked in the shadows of the motel lot. The rain started to fall again, pinging on the car roof. The sound startled him into flashing on the night a week and a half before the Rose Bowl, when he'd sat in another car in the rain. Tim shook his head to clear the vision. His heart was beating too fast. He needed to calm down. Once he'd pulled himself together, he dashed across the lot to the motel office.
