Or maybe more.' He smiled.
'She's kicked her habits. I guess creative people do creative things to their mind.'
'I never lose the sharpness. It doesn't affect my work.'
Then Clarence rattled off the names of several mul tibillion-dollar companies. He took a business card from a pile on his desk and handed it to me. It had his name, address, e-mail and Web site URL. The tagline read
Your dream can be a reality. 'I have a portfolio of all my clients. You check out their Web sites, that's all me.
Half a dozen Fortune 500 companies.'
'Not bad at all.'
The joint had burned out. Clarence didn't seem to notice.
'That all you need, Parker?' Clarence asked. 'I ap preciate thinking about the good times and all, but my day is wasting.'
'One more thing,' I said. 'The note your father wrote on the floor. The Fury. Do you remember your father ever talking about anyone who went by that name?'
'Nah,' Clarence said, waving his hand. 'My dad never brought his work home with him.'
'He was killed because of his work,' I said. 'I'd say that's taking it home with you.'
Clarence didn't take to that comment very kindly, and stood up. 'He never mentioned anyone by that name.
But I know what you're getting at. I've read the books.
I know what some people think. But a hustle's a hustle.
There's no greater power. No Keyser Soze sitting up in a tower somewhere twisting the wills of men. It's a big racket, is all it is. People play to make money. The cards are shuffled every so often, and my dad was one of those cards. Sucks for him and for me, but that's the way it goes. So don't go spreading any rumors, 'cause they ain't true.'
I wanted to tell Clarence that for untrue rumors, he was quite adamant about making sure I knew he thought nothing of them.
'Thanks for giving me some of your time,' I said.
'And I'm sorry for your loss.'
'About twenty years too late, but I appreciate the sentiment.'
Clarence led me to the door. The joint was a sad, for gotten nub in the ashtray. I turned around to shake his hand, when something caught my eye.
There was a futon resting in the far corner. Red cushion. Lots of stains from cigarettes, liquor, or both.
Something underneath the sofa was twinkling, shining in the low light.
I stepped around Clarence to get a closer look.
'What're you doing?' he asked.
I felt a tightness in my chest as I walked to the futon.
Dropping down to one knee, I peered underneath to see. Something told me I already knew what it was.
I felt a strong hand, Clarence's hand, grip my shoulder and squeeze. Pain coursed through the joint as he found the bone and dug in.
'Listen, man, you've had your fun. Leave or I'm gonna call the cops.'
Ignoring him, I reached under the futon and grabbed the item. Standing back up, his hand still like a vise, I opened it to see what lay in my palm.
I felt the grip loosen as we both stared. My heart was hammering. I couldn't believe it.
Turning to face Clarence Willingham, I held out a small diamond earring in my hand. The companion to the earring I found up at Blue Mountain Lake by BethAnn Downing's body.
'Where is Helen Gaines?' I asked.
29
'I don't know what you're talking about,' Clarence said, but the tremor in his voice belied that statement. I looked around. This apartment was too small. There was nowhere for her to hide. She had to be somewhere else.
But if Helen Gaines was hiding, if she'd left Blue
Mountain Lake because somebody was trying to kill her, she wasn't out and about in New York City, sight seeing and having her caricature drawn in Times
Square. If she'd come to Butch Willingham's son for help, chances are he knew where she was at this moment. She had to be somewhere close. In his office, perhaps. Or somewhere nobody would expect. The office might be out. Where…
I could hear Clarence screaming at me, trying to push me out of his apartment. My body didn't respond.
She couldn't be at his office. She'd be somewhere nobody would know about. Somewhere…
Then I remembered my bag. Bernita. Clarence's words.
Anytime you have something you need stored safely,
Bernita's your woman.
I bolted out of Clarence's apartment, the diamond earring still in my hand. The footsteps behind me said that Clarence was right on my heels. And I didn't think he was going to argue with me anymore.
The stairs disappeared under me two at a time, and
I used the railing on each landing to swing onto the next set, trying desperately to keep ahead of Clarence. I didn't know how we'd fare in a fight, but I was sure that if we made enough noise one of the tenants surely would call the cops. And I didn't have time for that. I needed to know. Needed to see.
Safely stored.
As I hit the first-floor landing, I felt Clarence's fist grab a chunk of my shirt. I pulled away, but not before it ripped a sizable hole in the collar. I turned around, saw
Clarence behind me and shoved him as hard as I could.
It wasn't meant to hurt him, merely to buy me some time, and to that extent it worked. Clarence fell back about eight feet, tripping over the foot of the stairwell and falling to the ground. Cursing like a maniac, I was sprinting down the corridor before he could get himself up.
I found Bernita's door. Knocked twice fast. I said,
'Bernita, it's Henry. You have my bag.'
I saw Clarence on his feet, running toward me. I only had seconds.
Then the door opened in front of me, and Bernita was there in her pink bathrobe, the cigarette still in her mouth. She was holding my bag in one hand, out stretched, expecting me to take it then leave. When she saw the rip in my shirt and Clarence barreling down the hall, her eyes grew wide. She immediately tried to slam the door shut. Instead, I wriggled past her into the apart ment, the door slamming shut where I'd just been standing.
'Get the fuck out of my house!' she screamed, slapping at me with both her hands, the cigarette still miraculously dangling from her lip.
Then I heard a small, frightened voice from the farthest room down the corridor.
'Bernita, is everything okay?'
I stared at Bernita for a second, then sprinted down the hall. It was the last door on the right. Without hesi tating, I barged in, the door swinging open and smacking against the wall where it hit a doorstop and swung back at me. I stopped it with my foot, then stood there.
I heard two people breathing behind me. Bernita and
Clarence. But I didn't care about them; all I cared about was the woman sitting on the bed mere feet from me.
Her hands were on her knees. Back ramrod straight.
Her eyes were wide, terrified, as though she'd been ex pecting this moment for a long time and knew she could only avoid it for so long. Then that terrified look turned to anger, then confusion.
