couldn’t even shoot at him—there wasn’t time.”
“Shoot him? What on earth do you mean?”
Another man’s voice came out of the darkness. “Hey, Cheney, can’t I leave you alone for a single minute? Where’s June? I thought she only came out for a cigarette. I thought you came out to fetch her. What’s going on here? Who is this?”
The man sprinted over, squatted beside the two of them, and stared down at her, his expression appalled. “What happened here? Did she try to commit suicide?”
He’d asked the man who’d rescued her, the one called Cheney, but she was alive, thank you very much, and so she answered, “No, a man punched me, but he ran out of time before he could finish me off, so he threw me over the railing. It happened so fast I didn’t have time to react at all. He—Cheney—stopped him. He saved me.” She paused, giving him a crooked grin. “That’s a strange name but I’m used to strange names. Mine’s not strange, it’s sort of boring, really.”
“What is your name?”
“I’m Julia.”
Cheney smiled, kept rubbing her back. “It’s not all that boring.”
The other man stared at her like she was nuts, but she really didn’t care. She felt wonderfully tired and slumped back against Cheney’s hands. “My jaw feels like someone exploded a bomb inside my face.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Cheney said. “No, no, don’t you let go now. Straighten up, you can do it.” Cheney lifted her back to a sitting position, pounded her back a couple more times. Thank the good Lord there was nothing left to come up. “That’s it, no more water in you. Now get yourself together, Julia. You’re going to be all right.” He grabbed her arms and shook her. “Time to get a grip here. Come on now!”
She opened her eyes and yelled, “Stop it, you baboon! My head’s going to break off my neck.”
He stopped shaking her. “Okay, but don’t try to fade out again or I’ll whack you some more.”
She heard a woman’s voice. “Cheney? Manny? What’s going on here? I finished my cigarette, but neither of you were at the table when I went back inside. Linda said Manny had come to look for you, Cheney. Come on back inside, they just brought our dinner. Hey, what’s this?”
Cheney slowly got to his feet, pulling Julia up with him, anchoring her against his side so she wouldn’t fall on her face. No, that wasn’t going to work. He picked her up in his arms. “Sorry, June. I guess you could say I’m back on duty. You and Manny go back on in and enjoy the cioppino, it’s supposed to be the Crab House specialty, the best in San Francisco. This is work, so I’ve got to attend to it. I’ll call you later.”
“I’m not work. I’m Julia.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“What time is it?”
“Nearly eight o’clock.”
“Oh dear. I don’t think I’m going to be able to make dinner with Wallace.”
June said, “What does she mean, she’s Julia? You’re sopping wet, Cheney. Who is this woman, what—”
Manny said, “Cheney, you want me to call 911?”
“Nah, you go back in and entertain everyone. I’ll do it. Sorry, June. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Cheney hoped the now quiescent woman in his arms wasn’t going to freeze to death on him, particularly not after all his hard work, not after he’d bundled her in his wool sports coat.
Manny said, “We’ve just seen our tax dollars at work. Come on, June. Cheney, thanks for the excitement. Call me tomorrow, let me know what happens.”
Cheney nodded to Manny as he pulled out his cell phone and punched in 911. “I need an ambulance at Pier 39 —”
His words made sudden sense to her. With all her remaining strength, Julia grabbed his wet collar. “Please, please, not the hospital, please not the paramedics, no doctors, oh God, please, Cheney—”
“Look, Julia, you’re—”
“I’ll die if you take me to a hospital.”
It was the utter certainty in her voice that stopped him cold. He flipped off his cell. “All right, no hospital. What, then? Where do you live?”
He realized she was afraid to tell him. He saw some tourists standing a few feet away, looking toward them, speaking among themselves. “This is just great. I save your butt and you’re scared to tell me where you live. Will you at least tell me your last name, Julia?”
She started to shake her head but it was simply too much trouble. She whispered, “Julia ... Jones.”
“Oh yeah, like I’m going to believe that one. Give me your address or I’m driving you right over to San Francisco General.”
She gave him her address. Deadening fear settled inside her, jagged and hard. Her jaw throbbed, and sharp licks of pain suddenly leaped to life in every part of her body. But there was his coat— “I hope I don’t ruin your lovely jacket. This is very fine wool.”
“Like your leather jacket, it’s been through the wars.”
Cheney began the long trek back to the entrance of Pier 39, her wet leather jacket over the top of his coat. He shook her every once in a while and said each time, “Don’t go to sleep. I mean it.”
He thought she said she wasn’t stupid, but couldn’t be sure.
