cemetery and waited a half-block from the hillside where they'd bury Hart.
The wait was a short one: Hart's funeral moved like clockwork. The funeral cortege came in from the other side of the graveyard, but Davenport and the New York woman came in from his side. They all gathered on the hillside and prayed, and Shadow Love watched, slipping back to the warm moment when he slashed Hart, feeling the power of the knife… The knife was in his pocket, and he touched it, tingling. No gun had ever affected him the same way, nor had the knife, before the Hart killing.
Blood made the stone holy…
When the funeral ended, Davenport and the New York cop walked away from the crowd with another man, down the hill toward his mother's grave. When they stopped, Shadow Love's forehead wrinkled: They were at his mother's grave. What for? What did they want?
Then they split up. The other man wandered away, and Davenport and the woman continued on until they crossed through the wrought-iron fence onto the sidewalk. The woman tilted her head back, smiling, the sunlight playing across her face. Davenport caught her arm as they got to the car and bumped his hip against hers. Lovers.
He would have trouble staying with the Porsche, Shadow Love thought, if Davenport stayed on city streets. He couldn't get too close. But Davenport went straight to I-35W and headed north. Shadow stayed several cars back as Davenport drove into the Loop, made one left and dropped the woman in front of her hotel.
As Shadow Love waited at the curb, Davenport pulled out of the hotel's circular driveway, crossed two lanes of traffic and headed straight back toward him. Shadow Love turned in his seat and looked out the passenger window until Davenport was past. Following him would be impossible. Davenport would see the U-turn close behind him, and the tomato-red Volvo was not inconspicuous. The woman, on the other hand…
Lily.
Shadow Love touched the stone knife, felt it yearning for drink…
Shadow Love had worked intermittently as a cab driver, and he knew the Minneapolis hotels. This was a tough one: it was small, mostly suites, and played to a wealthy clientele. Security would be good.
Shadow Love left the car at the curb, walked to the hotel entrance, and carefully stepped into the lobby and looked around. No sign of the woman. She had already gone up. Three bellhops were leaning on the registration desk, talking to the woman behind it. If he went farther inside, he'd be noticed…
A flower shop caught his eye. It had an exterior entrance, but it also had a doorway that led directly into the hotel lobby. He thought for a moment, then checked his billfold. Forty-eight dollars and change. He went back outside and walked to the flower shop.
'One red rose? How romantic,' the woman said, her eyebrows arching, a skeptical note in her voice. The hotel was expensive. Shadow Love was not the kind of man who would have a lover inside.
'Not my romance,' Shadow grunted, picking up her skepticism. 'I just dropped her off in the cab. Her old man give me ten extra bucks for the rose.'
'Ah.' The woman's face broke into a smile. Everything was right in the world. 'For ten dollars you could buy two roses…'
'He said one and keep the change,' Shadow Love said grumpily. He had forty-eight dollars between himself and the street, and this flower shop was selling roses at five dollars a pop. 'Her name is Rothenburg. I don't know how you spell it. Her old man said you could get the room.'
'Sure.' The woman wrapped a single red rose in green tissue paper and said, 'Is the card to be signed?'
'Yeah. 'Love, Lucas.' '
'That's nice.' The woman picked up the phone, rapped in four numbers and said, 'This is Helen. You got a Rothenburg? Don't know the spelling. Yeah… Four-oh-eight? Thanks.'
'We'll send it right up,' the woman said as she gave Shadow Love his change.
Room 408. 'Thanks,' he said.
He left the shop and went outside. It was late afternoon, getting cooler. He looked both ways, then walked away from the car toward Loring Park and took a long turn around the pond, thinking. The woman was good with a gun. He couldn't fuck up. If he waited awhile, then went straight in to the elevators, as though he belonged there, he might get up. Then again, maybe not-but if they stopped him, they wouldn't do more than throw him out. He dug in a pocket, took out a Slim Jim sausage and chewed on it.
If he got up, what then? If he knocked on her door and she opened it, bang. But what if the chain was on? He had no faith in the idea of shooting through the door. The pistol was a.380, good enough for close work, but it wouldn't punch through a steel fire-liner. Not for sure. She'd recognize him. And she was a killer. If he missed, she'd be all over him. It'd be hell just getting out of the hotel…
Have to think.
He was still working it out when he got back to the car. A Federal Express truck stopped across the street and the driver hopped out. Shadow Love, his mind far away, automatically tracked him as he went into the lobby of an office building and began emptying the local package box. A moment later, when the driver came out with his load of packages, Shadow Love skipped out of the car and walked into the lobby.
The Federal Express box had an open rack of packaging envelopes and address slips, with ballpoint pens on chains.
Lily Rothenburg, Police Officer, he wrote. Room 408…
He still didn't know how he'd get in her door. Sometimes you had to pray for luck. When he got back on the sidewalk, it was dark…
The rose was totally unexpected: the last thing she would have expected, but it thrilled her. David sent flowers; Davenport did not. That he should…
Lily put it in a water glass and set it on top of the television set, looked at it, adjusted it and sat down with Ander-son's computer printouts. In two minutes, she knew she couldn't read.
Davenport, God damn it. What's this rose shit? She took a turn around the room, caught her image in a mirror. That's the silliest smile I've seen on you since you were a teenager.
She couldn't work. She glanced at a copy of People, put it aside and walked around the room again, stopping to sniff at the rose.
She was in a feeling mood, she decided. A hot bath…
Shadow Love went straight through the lobby with the Federal Express package in his hand, slightly in front of his body, so the bellhops could see the colors. He stopped at the elevators, poked 4 and resolutely did not look at the desk and the bellhops. The elevator chimed, the doors opened… he was in, and alone.
He gripped the knife, feeling its holy weight, then touched his belly, feeling the gun there. But the knife was the thing.
The doors opened on the fourth floor and he stepped out, still holding the package in front of him. Room 408. He turned right and heard a vacuum cleaner behind him. He stopped. Luck.
He turned back, went around the corner and found a maid with a vacuum cleaner. There was nobody else in the hallway.
'Got a package,' he grunted. 'Where's four-oh-eight?'
'Down there,' the maid said, flipping a thumb down the hall behind her. She was a short woman, slender, early twenties; already worn out.
'Okay,' Shadow said. He slipped a hand under his jacket, looked around once to make sure they were alone, pulled the gun and pointed it at the woman's head.
'Oh, no…' she said, backing away, her hands out toward him.
'Down to the room. And get your keys out…' The woman continued backing away, Shadow matching her pace for pace, the muzzle of the gun never leaving her face. 'The keys,' he said.
She groped in her apron pocket and produced a ring with a dozen keys.
'Open four-oh-eight… but let me knock first.' He thrust the package at her, his voice rising, an edge of madness to it. 'If she answers, tell her you've got a package. Let her see it. If you try to warn her, if you do anything to spook her, bitch cunt, I'll blow your motherfuckin' brains out…'
The thought that the maid might betray him gripped Shadow Love's stomach, and the black spot popped into his line of vision, obscuring her face. He forced it down, down, concentrating: Not this one; not yet.
The maid was terrified. She clutched at the package, holding it to her chest.
'Here,' she squeaked.
