Want To Play (Monkeewrench)

‘Exactly. A bold statement. Black. And then, white. I think there are some racial undertones, too.’

‘I still think they’re clothespins,’ Roadrunner said quietly.

The blond frowned over at him, crinkles of irritation creasing her forehead. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said they’re clothespins. Black and white clothespins,’ Roadrunner repeated.

She nodded. ‘I see your point. The clothespins represent rural artifacts in a complicated world . . .’

‘And I think they’re people with teeny-weeny heads and big fat shapeless feet.’ Gino upped the stakes.

‘Okay. I could see that, too. The suggestion of motor function overriding mental function as a general condition of mankind; the rigidity of the torsos and the emptiness of the background hinting at a paralysis of spirit that has rendered life meaningless . . .’

‘A combined representation of paganism and Judeo-Christianity enveloped in hopelessness.’ Harley gave a sage nod.

The blond looked as if she’d just had an epiphany. ‘Perhaps it’s trying to talk to us about being spiritually bereft.’

Gino’s eyes were watering from the effort of holding back his laughter. He looked into his empty glass. ‘My major concern at the moment is the fact that I’m alcoholically bereft. If you’ll excuse me?’ He turned and sought out the girl with the tray; Roadrunner examined his options and decided to take up his old station by the far wall.

Across the gallery, Magozzi had waited to approach Grace until she was alone – a window of opportunity that had proven to be rare as hen’s teeth. He shouldn’t have been surprised – aloof, dark-haired beauties were universally alluring to men, whether your passion was art or punk rock or reading back issues of Field & Stream during half time. And if you were clueless to the fact that this particular beauty had a very nasty temper and a loaded Sig lodged under her armpit, she probably seemed like fair game.

She watched him approach, her expression absolutely neutral. They stood there and stared at each other for a moment, then Magozzi said, ‘There are some things I need to ask you.’

‘I was alone at the office. No witnesses. No alibi.’

‘I know. It wasn’t that.’

‘What, then?’

Magozzi looked around, hesitating, stalling. ‘It’s not that easy. I shouldn’t be talking to you at all.’

‘Because I’m a suspect?’

‘Something like that.’

She didn’t say anything; she just stood there waiting, not helping him at all.

‘Can I give you a lift home?’ he finally asked. ‘We could talk on the way.’ When she didn’t answer right away, he added, ‘It’s important.’

She thought about it for a minute. ‘I’ve got my car. You can ride along if you want.’

‘Give me a few minutes. I’ll meet you downstairs.’

Magozzi made a quick circuit of the gallery and finally found Gino just coming out of the restroom. ‘Hey, buddy.’ Gino slapped him on the back. ‘You taken a leak yet? They got phones in there, right on a little table with curvy legs . . .’

‘I’m going to ride home with MacBride.’

Gino blinked once, then tried to lower his brows in a scowl, but champagne spoiled the effort, leaving one brow up so he merely looked whimsical. ‘You’re gonna date a suspect?’

‘It’s not a date.’

Gino tried to absorb that, tucked his lower lip inward. ‘You gonna look under her skirt?’

Magozzi covered his eyes with his hand and shook his head. ‘Look, Gino, you don’t know where I am, you don’t know what I’m doing, okay?’

‘Damn right I don’t know what you’re doing. Do you?’

‘Hell, no. Can you catch a cab?’

Gino tipped back on his heels and came perilously close to falling over before he righted himself. ‘Well, buddy, as it happens, I just talked to Angela. She found a last-minute sitter, and she’s meeting me next door for a drink in fifteen minutes. First real date since the Accident.’

‘No shit?’

‘No shit.’

‘You’re a lucky man, Gino.’

‘Yes I am.’

37

Magozzi was playing with the passenger-seat controls in Grace’s Range Rover. By the time he found the seat heater and the lumbar control, he was seriously considering a career as a gigolo.

They were two blocks away from the gallery when Grace said, ‘You put a tail on me.’

Magozzi glanced in the side mirror and saw the squad half a block back. ‘Kind of conspicuous, isn’t it?’

‘Just me?’

‘All of you.’ He counted to twenty and was almost disappointed when she didn’t jump all over him. ‘Don’t tell me you’re okay with that.’

Grace sighed and draped her wrists over the top of the steering wheel. ‘Magozzi, I’m tired. And you know what? I’m past caring about a lot of things. Now, did you really have something you wanted to talk to me about, or did you just want a ride in my car?’

‘I want to know your real names.’

She took the ramp onto I-94, then shot into the far left lane and accelerated. It was a full minute before she spoke again. ‘I take it Tommy hasn’t hacked into the FBI file yet.’

‘You know damn well he hasn’t. You made sure of that.’

Grace didn’t say anything.

‘He ran into the firewall you put on it. And don’t bother to deny it. You did it this morning, probably when you realized he was good enough to crack through FBI security, so you beefed it up a little. You’re speeding.’

‘You don’t get it, do you?’ Grace said quietly. ‘If anyone ever connects who we are now with who we were in Atlanta, we’d have to disappear again, start all over.’

‘Because you’re afraid the Atlanta killer would find you.’

‘Exactly.’

‘He already has.’

Grace sighed heavily. ‘Maybe. Maybe it’s the same guy, but what if it isn’t? What if this really is just some new crazy playing the game, and because we buy into the theory that it’s the same guy, we get careless and he finds us again? Can you guarantee it’s the same man? That we’ve got absolutely nothing to lose by blowing our cover?’

Magozzi thought about that. ‘No. I can’t guarantee it. Not tonight, anyway. But I might be able to tomorrow.’

‘Then tomorrow I’ll tell you our real names.’ She turned her head and looked at him. ‘Why is it so important to you to know who we were, Magozzi? There’s no magic back there, just ordinary names.’

‘I’ll get to that.’

‘When?’

‘To tell you the truth, I’m kind of going out on a limb here. Giving you information about an ongoing homicide investigation isn’t exactly procedure.’

Grace looked at him briefly, then back at the road. ‘Something broke, didn’t it?’

‘Maybe.’ He rubbed at the ache that was just starting in his temples. Exhaustion and champagne were a bad combination. ‘If there’s a chance you might know anything about it, I’ve got to ask you. If my instincts are right, it could break the case. If they’re wrong . . . shit, I don’t even want to go there.’

‘You’re not making a lot of sense.’

‘I know. I hope to make more sense later. I guess at the very least I’d like to be looking you in the eye if I go out on that limb.’

‘You expect me to invite you into my house?’

‘We could stop somewhere else. A coffee shop, bar, whatever.’