a punk, like he was afraid to let the kid warn Baddalach.
Woodrow’s head was really pounding now. Full boogie disco throb. The little runt had manipulated him. Woodrow knew it and the kid knew it, but no way Woodrow was going to let the kid know that he knew.
So Woodrow worked up his best tougher-than-Rahway voice and said, “You tell Jack Baddalach that he is a dead man.”
Then he whirled, full of purpose now. Slammed out the door, even though the noise was pure murder. Got in his Saturn and hit the road, and he didn’t give a damn if sometimes he saw one road and sometimes he saw two, just so long as both of those roads led to Pipeline Beach, Arizona.
SEVEN
Her combat boots were desert camouflage. Her bikini was black. And her skin was white.
Jack used his room key to unlock the gate to the pool area, but the woman didn’t bother to look his way. At least he thought she didn’t-though she faced him, he couldn’t see her eyes behind the same pair of shades she’d been wearing at the Pipeline Beach Five-and-Dime.
He glanced at the combat boots under the chaise longue as he approached her. The boots were pretty scuffed up- probably more than a fashion statement. The black DEATH FROM ABOVE T-shirt was balled up on one side of the boots. A couple of magazines lay half-covered by the shirt-
Jack pulled up a chaise of his own and sat down. “So,” he said, “what’s the deal with this Komoko character?”
A bemused little grin. “What is this, twenty questions?”
“Sure, we can do that.”
“Okay.” She stayed with the grin. “Anytime you’re ready, champ.”
“For starters, what’s your name?”
“Kate Benteen. But
She turned his way, sitting up and leaning forward, like she couldn’t wait to hear his next question. She was a long way from being an Amazon a la Wyetta Earp, but she had long legs and Jack couldn’t help wondering-
“C’mon, champ. I know you’ve been in prison and all, but you were only locked up for five or six hours.”
“Sorry.” Jesus, he felt like a teenager, like he was about to blush.
Either she didn’t notice or she pretended not to notice. “So, give me another question, champ. And make it a good one. You know, devastate me with your wit. Like James Bond does it in the movies.”
“Okay.” He cleared his throat. “What’s with the boots? Fashion statement? A retro Nancy Sinatra kind of thing? Or are you one of those all-American terrorists?”
She shot a little gob of sunblock on those long legs of hers and the bottle made a little farting sound. For a second Jack thought maybe that was going to be her answer, but then she started rubbing and talking. “Yeah, well I guess these boots
‘The Saudi?”
“Operation Desert Storm. That glorious little one-hundred-hour war. You probably sat on your butt watching it on CNN. I sat on my butt right in the middle of it, only it lasted a hell of a lot longer than four days for me.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
She smiled, the main event this time, and it was some smile, her lips drawing back but not quite showing teeth. “Oh, I don’t think we have time to get into that one right now, champ. But if you really want an answer, make your way down to the Pipeline Beach Public Library and look up BENTEEN, KATE, in the
Jack gave her a little nod, the one that came complete with a wrinkled brow to show how impressed he was. “So, are you on leave or something? Is Pipeline Beach your idea of a vacation spot. Major?”
“No and no. I’m retired. Well, that’s not quite right. I was dishonorably discharged. The top brass didn’t much like it when their little darlin’ shipped stateside and turned up in
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” She shrugged. ‘The ‘Girls of Desert Storm’ issue.”
“I must have missed that one.”
“You’re the only guy in America who did. The crazy part was that I didn’t even pose for the feature. I was the interview that month. But I have to admit I kind of got wrapped up in the whole fifteen-minute celebrity thing. I mean. I’d had a little taste of it before-I won a silver medal at the ’88 Olympics in Seoul-”
“Wait a minute. You were in the Olympics? Doing what?”
“Platform diving.” She didn’t miss a beat. “That was a while ago. I don’t miss it-chlorine is real hard on a girl’s hair. And I don’t really miss the military, either-it wasn’t like those good ol’ boys were ever going to invite me to be guest speaker at Tailhook.”
“So, what’s on the resume since then?”
“I rode out my fifteen minutes of fame. Even did a movie for Roger Corman. But Hollywood isn’t my style, and-”
Jack cut her down with a burst of sharp laughter. “Behind those shades, I bet your eyes are brown.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I never met anyone who was so full of shit in my whole life.” He leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially. “C’mon now. I’ll admit that you really had me going, and maybe I deserved it. But let’s drop the tall tales and get to it, okay? About this Komoko-”
“Uh-uh. I think you’ve used up all your questions, champ. Now it’s my turn.”
“Jesus. Listen, Kate. . your name
“You can call me Major Benteen.”
“Jesus.”
She leaned back, stretching out, turning her face toward the sun. “So, what kind of a lunch box did you have when you were a little kid?”
“Huh?”
“You know-those little metal boxes your mommy filled with bologna sandwiches and potato chips and Hostess Twinkles. Most of them featured really bad paintings of characters from TV shows.”
“Oh, yeah.” Jack tried to remember. “Mine had the guys from
“Ah. . James West-the cowboy James Bond.”
“And Artemus Gordon, his loyal sidekick.”
Her lips formed a circle that was both appreciative and acquisitive. ‘That earns you some points, champ. You didn’t happen to save it, did you?”
“What?”
“The lunch box. Do you still have it?”
“No. .
“Too bad. I’ve been meaning to get a new purse.”
Jack blew it off. “C’mon now, this is fun and all, but let’s cut to the chase-”
“Hold your horses, champ. Only nineteen questions to go, remember?”
