“Would you believe I pay that guy two hundred bucks a week to go through this?”
“It's sure paying off.”
“Thanks. Those mutts with you?”
Valentine glanced over his shoulder. The bikers were still there, their collective breath fogging the glass.
“No,” he said.
Judo Queen grimaced and stood erect. “I've got a knot in the middle of my back. Know anything about massage?”
“A little.”
“Please. It's killing me.”
He climbed into the ring and got behind her. With his thumbs, he worked the troubled muscle up and down. Normally, he didn't go around touching strange women, but he had an audience and she'd asked. Seize the moment, seize the day.
“Thanks,” she said. Turning, she stuck out her hand. “Kat Berman.”
“Tony Valentine.”
Her handshake was firm. The Mercedes was visible from the ring, and Valentine had a sneaking suspicion she'd seen him arrive and decided he was someone important.
“So, what can I do for you, Tony?”
“I need to speak to you.”
Kat smiled. “Let me guess. WCW. No, WWF.”
He had to think. Those were the wrestling federations. Kat thought he was a promoter, here to make her dreams come true.
“AARP,” he confessed.
She giggled like a little kid. She didn't seem so nasty anymore, so he let the bomb drop.
“I'm a friend of Yun's.”
Her face turned to stone. “Did he send you?”
“His wife.”
“I've got no argument with the Yuns,” she said, jabbing his arm to make her point. “I offered to pay him for those lessons. Did Lin Lin tell you that?”
“That's not the issue.”
Another jab. “I've got a kid to support. A little girl.”
“Did you have to wear the crane on your uniform?”
“I couldn't afford another one, Mr. Mercedes Benz. When I'm famous, he'll be flattered I've got that stupid bird on my tit.”
“I doubt it.”
Her hand came up to slap his face. Valentine intercepted it, squeezing her wrist and holding it firmly. Outside, the bikers were jumping up and down. One waved a Budweiser can.
“I've taken a thousand body slams and a dozen fat lips to get where I am,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Nobody is going to stop me from succeeding.
And with that, Kat pulled her arm free, grabbed his wrist, and turned sideways, getting her weight centered to throw him. She was standing in a corner, which meant she planned to hurl him over the ropes, and into a row of folding chairs.
That got Valentine mad. Didn't she see the gray hair? For all she knew, he was wearing a pacemaker. Grabbing her braid with his free hand, he yanked it hard.
Kat yelped and stood up straight, a beginner's mistake. With his right leg, he swept her feet out from under her. She hit the canvas hard.
She lay on her side, stunned. A drop of blood appeared beneath her left nostril. She covered her face with her hands.
“Go away! Leave me alone!”
Valentine turned around. Glancing at the bikers, he saw a guy who had not been there before. Tall, thin, with a widow's peak and a murderous gleam in his eyes. Was this the abusive boyfriend Lin Lin had warned him about?
The boyfriend pointed at him. Then drew his forefinger across his throat.
Valentine went away.
Outside, the bikers were sharing a twelve-pack. The boyfriend was gone. At the end of the block, a black Mustang pulled away from the curb with a squeal of tires.
“You know that guy?”
The bikers' faces were solemn, the fun gone.
“You're a real jerk,” the ponytail said.
“Why'd you have to hurt her,” another biker said.
Valentine heard the threat in their voices. Was it the beer, or the fact that they outnumbered him? He removed his hands from his pockets.
“I didn't see any of you rushing in to defend her. But that would have taken guts, and courage. Something you poor slobs drank away years ago.” He waited for one of them to start something. There were no takers, so he finished his discourse. “I've spent most of my life dealing with losers like you, so let me give you some advice. Get a haircut, get a job, and get a life. Oh, and one more thing. Get out of my way.”
They obliged him. Driving away, he glanced in his mirror. The ponytailed biker was holding his beer can as if to throw it. He hit the brakes hard.
The biker lowered his arm, then sauntered away. The others followed like a pack of sheep. Valentine punched the accelerator and watched them disappear in his mirror.
14
Ann
Valentine lay on his motel bed and stared at the cheap popcorn ceiling. He'd had crummy days before, but none like this. He'd brained his son, let a crook slip through his fingers, and knocked down a crazy broad. It had to be some kind of record.
He closed his eyes and tried to nap. It didn't work. Something was weighing on his mind. Then he realized what it was. He still needed to change motels.
He didn't go far. Two blocks south was the Blue Dolphin, and the manager rented him a room behind the swimming pool for fifty bucks a night. He unpacked, then took out his cell phone and punched in Mabel's number.
“I moved,” he informed her.
She wrote down the new number and filled him in on the day's events. Then she said, “I decided you were right. I need a dog for protection. Everyone says that mutts are the best. What do you think?”
“Beats me. I never owned a dog.”
“I'm going to check the pound. If one licks my hand, I'll bring it home with me.”
“You were always a sucker for a warm tongue.”
“Stop that.”
“I need you to research something on your computer,” he said. “It's called RDX.”
“Sounds intriguing. Should I use Whoopee?”
For Christmas, he'd given Mabel a subscription to an Internet service called Road Runner. He'd never been a fan of cyberspace, but seeing the joy it gave his neighbor, he'd decided it wasn't such a bad thing after all.
“Yahoo,” he said.
“I know what it's called. I like Whoopee better. Now, is RDX a vegetable, animal, or mineral?”
“It's a powerful explosive. That's all I know about it.”
“Is this what killed your friend?”
A stiff wind banged his motel room door, and Valentine jumped an inch off the bed. Like a ghost in an Edgar Allan Poe story, he imagined Doyle's spirit hanging outside, keeping tabs on him.
