an unhealthy excitement that looked to Broker like the moral pollution of some big city. Down South, judging from her surface tan and her clothing. She paused on the sidewalk and plunked down her suitcase. Twenty feet away and she radiated the energy of Excalibur plunged into the cement.
Earl, impressed, removed his hat.
Broker blurted, “You heard of the telephone?”
“Aw, Broker, if I would have called you would have split on me, just like last time.” Slang didn’t ride well on her clear, chiseled diction. Broker stared: deceptive tiger-kitty freckles, ascetic slightly sunken cheeks that bespoke hours of sweat hitting varnished gym floors, gray eyes, and a straight tidy nose. Full lips, but set in a straight, austere line. Way too clean for present company.
And he cringed further because she was trying to slip into a raunchy vernacular that didn’t fit her erect posture. Nina knew what Broker did for a living, but she got her ideas about it from books and movies.
As if to allay his fears, she lifted a pint of whiskey from her purse, held it up like a prop, unscrewed the cap, and took a long drink. The tendons of her throat struggled with the gulp, but she got it down and her smile brightened. Maybe she figured she’d come off less obvious when drunk. The problem was, she didn’t drink. The quicksand was about to his knees.
She came up the steps and Earl gallantly went to help her with the suitcase. And her miniskirt and sandals were a million raunchy miles off from Minnesota in May and she was a lot exhausted and she smelled of cognac and a night of insomnia and nicotine and a musk of travel that needed a wash and she was definitely in the wrong place at the wrong time and the edge in her gray eyes took in Broker and the scene he had going and it was clear she couldn’t care less.
“You can’t be here…
“Got no place else to go.” She shot a glance over her shoulder. “And there’s some creep following me.”
Broker backed up a step and dry-swallowed.
“Guess you guys scared him off.” She shrugged and started for the door. Earl and Tabor scanned the street defensively. Andy moved to block her, big hands out, warding.
Nina cocked her head and took a stance that really annoyed Broker because, right now, he didn’t need any utter fearlessness of youth bullshit. She read the sentiment on Andy’s gross belly. “You married, Sport?”
“Yeah, so,” said Andy.
“If I was your wife and I caught you wearing that I’d wait till you were asleep and lump you good with a castiron frying pan.”
Andy looked past Nina. “Earl?”
“Who’s following you?” asked Earl.
“This New Orleans cop,” said Nina. “Don’t worry, he’s a dirty New Orleans cop. Off the force.”
“Why’s he after you?” asked Earl.
“I stole something from his boss, okay? Jesus, what is this-a Boy Scout meeting?”
“Let her go,” said Earl. He turned and peered into Broker’s eyes. Broker’s shock was real, it couldn’t be faked. He removed his cap, scratched his sweaty hair, and glanced up and down the street, finishing with his arms out, palms up.
They went in. Broker grimaced when Nina sang out from the living room, “Holy shit, Broker. You’re not selling grass to college kids anymore.”
“Ah, Earl,” said Andy with a touch of gruff alarm in his voice.
Nina had kicked off her sandals and stood barefoot on the stained hardwood floor holding one of the fierce- looking weapons up and inspecting it. There was no other way to say it, even though it was not correct in circles Nina wouldn’t be caught dead in. She didn’t hold a gun like a girl.
Earl, Andy, and Tabor noticed this instinctively.
“Nina, what are you doing?” demanded Broker.
She smiled. “Haven’t handled one of these in a while.”
“Where?” asked Earl, quietly fascinated.
“Where what?” Nina placed the rifle back in its place on the couch.
“Did you handle one of those?” finished Earl.
Nina shrugged. “In the Gulf.”
“You were in Desert Storm?” asked Earl.
Nina drew her fingers through her sunstreaked hair and cocked her head and her hips and purred in a honkytonk drawl. “Honey, I
Broker clamped his eyes shut and grimaced. When he opened them he saw Earl studying her with a queer reverence, like she was alien royalty or a deadly new virus. Earl wasn’t sure. He shrugged and looked intrigued. “It’s possible. There were women over there.” He squinted. “You look kinda familiar.”
“You get up to Michigan much?” asked Nina.
“I been to Flint.”
“Ann Arbor,” said Nina. She flopped into the easy chair and picked up the pint bottle of Hennessy cognac from where she’d left it on the floor.
Broker’s wince deepened.
“Nina, you never could drink,” stated Broker. “No drinking. Go clean up.”
“Let her be,” puffed Earl. “If her New Orleans cop shows up it’s his tough luck. Hell, she alone’s worth the trip up here.” He turned to Andy. “Check ’em out,” nodding at the military hardware. Then Earl swung the briefcase up on the marble slab.
“Aw right,” breathed Broker.
“First why don’t we look in the lady’s purse and suitcase, just to keep the game friendly,” said Earl. “Jules, check it out.”
While Tabor went into Nina’s things, Earl paced the room. He stopped at the bookcases and scanned the titles.
“You read a lot for a guy who fixes washing machines,” he said flatly.
“The dude I bought this place from left them.”
“Uh-huh, he liked history.”
Tabor wheezed and stood up. He tossed items from the purse on top of the briefcase. “Airline ticket. Northwest flight from New Orleans landed not over an hour ago. Two thousand, three hundred, and change in cash. Another two thousand in travelers checks. College ID from the University of Michigan. Driver’s license issued to Nina Pryce, Ann Arbor, Michigan. Picture matches.”
Earl raised his eyebrows. Nina swigged on her pint and shrugged. She lit a cigarette like she’d watched too many French movies and almost coughed when she inhaled. “The suitcase,” said Earl.
“Clothes, travel things, toothpaste, makeup, and
Broker’s sternum vibrated like a wishbone being cranked back for a big wish. He stared at Nina hard. She held his eyes with an unshakable conviction that was out of place in this room, at this moment, with these people.
Earl riffled the pages in the top folder and squinted at Nina. “Very interesting,” he breathed. “Xeroxed copies of some kind of classified military inquiry. Fort Benning, July 1975. Just gets curiouser and curiouser, don’t it?”
He paged through the folders and studied the contents of a slender one. He held up a photostat for Jules and Andy to see. “Copy of a police report on a Cyrus LaPorte. For misdemeanor assault in a federal prison.”
Broker groaned out loud.
Earl squinted and his lumpy jaw muscles rippled, mulling as he rolled open the map. “This what you stole?”
“Yep,” said Nina.
“Isn’t LaPorte the retired general, the one with the boat?”
Nina smiled and crossed her legs. They were the kind of legs that laughed at nylons, and they sliced the air like scissors.
Broker, not known for attacks of nerves, felt a mild panic corkscrew up his spine. He had to take control of the situation. “We’re through with the preliminaries. Nina’s going to walk down to the corner for a pack of cigarettes-” he said.
