Zole rebounded. “Me too.”
Dog? Gun? Magda’s expenses made more sense than any of mine.
“You got your list of places, Lovejoy. Maybe we try shaking them down?”
“No, Magda. I wrote them to Gina, places, dates, names, everything. If she’s the one who marked me down…”
“You aren’t thinking of California, Lovejoy?”
“We know where the Game is, love. We know when, who’ll be there. Fancy running for the rest of our lives?”
Running’s dumb, man, from Zole.
“Zole’s right, love.”
“Hey, Lovejoy! You’m learnin’!”
We went to join the party, Magda sitting close to me as we spent our last on drinks and food. The old saying is, your last bite lasts longest. It transpired that we were heading upriver on an all-night paddler party, destination Baton Rouge.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
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THE night was idyllic. What better way to spend a balmy warm night, than sit on the deck of a pleasure steamer on this great river of midnight velvet, watching lights go dreamily by?
At least, it would have been, if I wasn’t the quarry of hunters. If the little lad asleep on one of the boat’s benches with his dog hadn’t shot and possibly killed a man. If the prostitute who was his… what? Pal? Mother? I’d not asked… if she wasn’t probably sick of the sight of me. I mean, before I’d hove into view her life was plain and ordinary, right? Well, not quite those, but certainly ordered. She’d hook a client, charge him the going rate, repeat the process, while Zole stole. Together, a living.
Then me. And Tye Dee, who makes her a spy. Next, they’re running like hell because of me.
On the same deck, a sleepy trio of conventioneers were talking about fishing. Music wafted from the big saloon. Women laughed. Occasional shouts. The wheels shooshed and thumped. The warm night felt like heaven. Sweat trickled down my neck, but for once I didn’t mind. Even Sherman looked content, having extracted maximum sympathy for his nose scratch from a hundred cooing women, crafty canine. He’d fed like a lord. And he snored.
The shore lights glided past. A couple of late boats strung with fairy lights heading downriver passed close enough for us to hear their music, see the dancers waving. Our drinkers and dancers crowded the rails calling good wishes. You can’t help thinking how wrong preconceptions are, can you? I’d thought America was all plastic food, angry motorists, no history. Okay, I thought ruefully, people sometimes hunt you, but that was partly my fault—I should have run the instant Rose Hawkins spotted my lust for antiques.
The boat went junketing musically on under stars through American velvet. No wonder the world and his wife wants to come. That notion finally set me thinking about the plight I was in, the road out. The California Game. Because if I wasn’t dead from Hirschman’s goons and Gina’s betrayal, I was still in.
By the time dawn shimmered into the eastern sky I’d got a plan of sorts. I’d need luck, a little money to start with. Plus a hell of a lot of other people’s money to finish with.
BREAKFAST found me the money to start with, in the form of Magda. She looked surprisingly fresh and level of eye. The main cabin had magically become a dining room — musical still, the Dixieland players pleased as Punch with a capitive audience. Zole stoked his boiler faster than me, almost.
“Lovejoy.” Magda passed me a bulky serviette. “Don’t unwrap it here.”
“How much d’you get, Magda?” Zole demanded through a mouthful. “These dudes’re good for plenty —”
Money. Magda had earned money. During the long exquisite night while I’d thought mystical thoughts, Magda had been… I cleared my throat.
“What’s this, love?
“We need money. We got none. I got some.”
“He’s but dumb.” Zole fed Sherman a load of ham.
My headaches always try to tell me something. I’m too slow to realize things until afterwards. I’d stopped eating which, in a woman’s presence, always bodes ill for me.
Magda picked at her food, the way they do. She was deadly serious. “They that serious, they’ll know we’re headed for Baton Rouge. They’ll be waiting, see?”
Jesus. I’d not thought of that. I’d assumed it was just a matter of booking a flight.
“We separate, Magda.” At least half of me was thinking. Without Magda, Zole and a Scotch terrier I’d travel faster, maybe stand more of a chance. This was no time to feel guilt.
“Split up, Lovejoy? You on your own?” I don’t think she’d ever smiled a wintry smile in her life. Every smile was warm with understanding. I’m not sure I liked it. “Without us you’d not be here.”
They make you sound helpless, women. I was narked. “Look, Magda. I’m the one that matters. Let me tell you that a divvy’s the rarest frigging creature on earth. Without me…” I tried again. “Without me, the whole…”
Hang on. Without me
