Pepe stared at me and I stared right back at him.
The staring went on.
He got up and said, “You tell that Felix guy, you tell him to lighten up, okay? We’ll be in touch.”
“I’m sure he’ll look forward to it.”
Pepe spoke to Ramon, he spoke back, and the two of them left my house.
But not before Pepe stopped at a bookcase, slipped out a book, and held it up.
“This looks cool,” he said. “And see? No misunderstandings. I’m taking it.”
It was a copy of John Keegan’s The Face of Battle, autographed to me personally by the now-deceased author.
The two left and shut the door behind them.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I stared at the closed door, feeling like a sixth-grader who just got beat up for his lunch money by a couple of playground bullies.
Those two galoots had taken one of my prized possessions, and I had sat here and watched them do it. Damn.
I got up from the couch, went over to the kitchen, opened up a drawer, and took out my .32 Smith & Wesson semiautomatic pistol. I checked the magazine and action, put it on safe, and then tucked it into my left pajama pocket. My pajamas sagged but I didn’t care.
I called Felix and there was no answer, but I left a message. I wandered around until Diane called. “Gotta make this quick,” she said. “You up for dinner tomorrow?”
“That would be great, thanks.”
“How are you doing?”
“Never better,” I said.
“I think you’re lying, but I don’t have the time to figure it out. Later.”
“You got it.”
Then the night was all mine.
I spent a few minutes rearranging some of my books so it didn’t look like I was living in the middle of a paint sample emporium, and then I made some toast and scrambled eggs for a late-night snack. All the adrenaline burning through my system after meeting Pepe and his big friend had made me hungry. I even placed the eggs on a plate, instead of eating from the frying pan, which seemed like another sign of progress.
After cleaning up, I went upstairs and measured my blood and fluid output, which was holding stable. Good to know that it wasn’t increasing, but it wasn’t declining either, meaning the drains weren’t coming out soon. Damn. I was tired of feeling half-man, half-machine.
I stretched out on the bed and watched some more Band of Brothers, and as I was dozing off, the phone rang. It was Paula.
“How are you doing?” she asked.
“Doing all right,” I said. “You got a good room over there in the Hub of the Universe?”
“Pretty good,” she said, “since the paper’s owners are paying for it. I’m considering doing some room service later.”
“You wild woman, you,” I said, and her laughter warmed me right through.
“Actually, some of us survivors of the newspaper age are gathering in the bar later to reminisce and plan our survival techniques.”
“Boy, it makes changing out my little sacks of blood twice a day look like fun in comparison, right?”
Paula said something about waiting to be with my healthy body again, which warmed me even more. “You know, it looks like there might be a future in newspapers after all,” she said. “If we can just get our bearings back … and not worry so much about making owners halfway across the country rich.”
“You’ll figure it out, young lady. If anybody can do it, you can.”
“Thanks. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”
“Please do.”
I was awake now and decided to make one more round of the house, in case Pepe and his man-mountain decided to pay me a late-night visit. I got out of bed, tickled that I could actually move without hurting anything, and then went downstairs with cane in hand. I found enough energy to reshelf one more bookcase and then, exhausted, I switched off the lights.
Just in time to see someone peeking in one of my living room windows.
I moved over to the entryway, flipped on the outside lights, opened the door, and leaned out.
A shadow, flickering its way up my driveway, and soon out of sight.
“Hey!” I called out.
No answer, not that I expected one.
It was nice to know that my trespasser was aware that I was awake. But who was it?
I flipped off the lights, moved back in, and shut and locked the door. In the darkness I said, “For an old house way off the road, we’re sure as hell getting a lot of visitors.”
Suddenly quite tired, I put my .32 Smith & Wesson back in the kitchen drawer and went to bed, making sure my Beretta was within easy reach. I stretched out, switched off the nightstand light, and stared up at the darkness. Nothing was happening, which should have comforted me, but it did the opposite.
I called Felix in the morning and didn’t get him at home, but I did get him on his cell phone. He said he was busy, but when I told him who visited me the night before he said he’d be right over and hung up the phone.
Less than an hour later we were having crepes and bacon in my kitchen. When I started to say something to Felix, he had shook his head and kept on eating.
“Later,” he said. “The older I’ve gotten, the more I want to enjoy my meals without any negative energy.”
I nearly spat out a bite of crepe. “Negative energy? For real? What’s next, healing crystals? Pyramid models? Feng shui for your gun collection?”
He just smiled and we continued eating.
When he had washed and I had dried, we sat on opposite sides of the kitchen counter, coffee mugs in hand. “All right,” Felix said. “Go ahead. Tell me about your misadventures with the bluebirds of happiness.”
I talked and talked. Felix just sat there, listening, and
