TWENTY
REEVE HEADED NORTH OUT of town on I-5, citing a “family crisis” as the reason he had to leave the Marriott at such an odd hour. On the way down from Los Angeles, he had picked out a number of dreary-looking roadside motels, just off I-5 on the coastal road which ran parallel with it. He checked the mileage as he drove, and came off the interstate near Solana Beach. He was twenty miles out from the Marriott. The motel had a red neon sign which was making a buzzing sound as he parked beneath it. The reception was all locked up, but there was a sign drawing his attention to the machine attached to the wall alongside. It looked like a cash machine but was actually an Automated Motel Reception. Reeve slipped his credit card into the slot and followed the onscreen instructions. The key which appeared from another slot was a narrow plastic card with holes punched in it. The machine flashed up a final message saying it wished him a pleasant night’s sleep. Reeve wished the machine a pleasant night, too.
The rooms were around the far side of the building. Reeve drove slowly and picked out his room number with his headlights. There were four cars parked, and about twenty rooms. Reeve guessed they weren’t doing great business at the Ocean Palms Resort Beach Motel. He also guessed that
But the locks on the doors were new. Reeve slotted home his card, turned the handle, and pulled the card out. He had his bag with him and slung it over a chair. He checked the room over, tired as he was-just the one door and one window. He tried the air-conditioner and wasn’t surprised when it didn’t work. The lightbulb in the lamp fixed into the wall over the bedhead was dead, too, but he took out the dud and replaced it with a working bulb from the ceiling light. He went back out again, locking his door, and prowled the area. There was a small well-lit room at the end of the row. It had no windows and no doors and a bare concrete floor. There were humming machines in there, one dispensing cold drinks, another snacks, and the last one ice. When he lifted the lid he saw there was no ice, just a small metal paddle on a chain. He looked in his pocket for quarters, then went back to the Dart and found a few more. Enough for a can of cola, a chocolate bar, and some potato chips. He took his haul back to the room and settled on the sagging mattress. There was an ugly lamp on the table beside the TV, so he moved it where he couldn’t see it. Then he switched on the TV and stared towards it for a while, eating and drinking and thinking about things.
When he woke up, the morning programs were on, and a maid was cranking a cart past his door. He sat up and rubbed his head. His watch told him 10:00 A.M. He’d been asleep the best part of six hours. He ran a tepid shower and stripped off his clothes. He stayed a long time in the shower, letting the water hammer his back and shoulders while he soaped his chest. He had fallen asleep thinking, and he was thinking now. How badly did he want Kosigin? Did he want Kosigin at all? Maybe Dul-water was right: the proper torment for Kosigin was to give someone else-Allerdyce, in this case-power over him. It was a right and just fate, like something Dante would have dreamed up for one of the circles of Hell.
But then Reeve liked Allerdyce little better than he liked Kosigin. He wished he had a solution, something that would erase them all. But life was never that simple, was it?
Checking out of the motel was as easy as dropping his key into a box. He’d been there about eight hours and hadn’t seen a soul, and the only person he’d even heard was the chambermaid. It was everything he could have asked for.
By now he guessed McCluskey would be tearing up every hotel room in the city. He’d want details of Reeve’s car, but Dulwater wouldn’t be able to help him, and neither would anyone else. If he checked the automobile registration details at the Marriott, he’d see that Reeve had put down a false license plate attached to an equally fictitious Pontiac Sunfire. Reeve drove the Dart down to a stretch of beach and parked. He pulled off shoes and socks and walked across the sand to the ocean’s edge. He walked the beach for a while, then started jogging. He wasn’t alone: there were a few other men out here, mostly older than him, all of them jogging along the waterline. But none of them ran as far as Reeve did. He ran until he was sweating, then stripped off his shirt and ran some more.
Finally, he fell back onto the sand and lay there, sky swimming overhead, waves pounding in his ears. There were toxins in the sky and in the sea. There were toxins in his body. So much for the Superman. So much for Mutual Aid. Reeve spent the rest of the day on the beach, dozing, walking, thinking. He was letting McCluskey and Dulwater sweat. His guess was that they wouldn’t go to Kosigin, not right away. They’d try to find Gordon Reeve first. At least McCluskey would. Reeve wasn’t so sure about Dulwater; he was the more unpredictable of the two.
That evening he ate at a roadside diner, his waitress not believing him when he asked for soup, a salad, and some orange juice.
“That all you want, sweetheart?”
“That’s all.”
Even then, he wondered about additives in the juice, chemicals in the soup stock, residues in the salad vegetables. He wondered if he’d ever enjoy a meal again.
Reeve took the Dart back into San Diego. His face was still stinging from his day on the beach. The traffic was heavy heading into town. It was a work week, after all. Eventually Reeve hit the waterfront, parked in the first space he found, and went for a walk.
He found the Gaslamp Quarter. He accosted the first non-crazy-looking beggar who approached him and laid out his scheme. The beggar forced the fee up a couple of notches from the price of a drink to the price of dinner
It was pretty crude: a plastic carrier bag sealed shut with Scotch tape, and MR. KOSIGIN: PRIVATE & CONFIDENTIAL in felt-penned capitals.
“Now, I’m going to be watching, so just do what I told you,” he warned his messenger. Then he stood across the street, on the corner outside the coffee shop. He could see Cantona inside, dunking a doughnut. But Cantona couldn’t see him, and Reeve kept it that way. He kept an eye open for Dulwater or anyone else, but Dulwater was probably still tied up sorting out his own problems. It was a risk, using the coffee shop. After all, Dulwater knew Reeve himself had used the premises, and Dulwater knew what Cantona looked like. But Reeve reckoned he was safe enough. Meantime, the beggar had entered the CWC building.
Reeve waited a few minutes, then walked to another vantage point and waited a few more. Nobody left the CWC building. As he’d guessed would happen, an unmarked police car eventually screamed to a halt outside the entrance. McCluskey got out, and was met halfway up the steps by Kosigin himself.
It was Reeve’s first real look at Kosigin, Allerdyce’s photographs aside. He was a short, slim man who wore his suit like he was modeling in a commercial. From this distance, he looked as dangerous as a hamburger. But then after what Reeve had learned lately, he couldn’t be sure anymore just how safe a hamburger was.
Kosigin led McCluskey into the building. McCluskey looked tired, pasty-faced. He’d had a very long couple of days. Reeve wondered if the detective had slept at all. He hoped not. He knew the beggar was inside, probably sandwiched between two security men. They’d want to ask him questions. They’d maybe take the money away from him; or threaten to, if he didn’t give a convincing description of his benefactor.
Reeve’s mobile rang. He held it up to his ear. Unsurprisingly, Cantona’s voice came over loud and clear.
“Hey,” he said, “your man just came out of the building. But get this, only as far as the steps where he met up with that fucking detective. They’ve both gone back inside.”
Reeve smiled. Cantona was doing his job. “Thanks,” he said into the mouthpiece. “Keep watching.”
“Sure. Hey, do I get to take a lunch break?”
“What? After that doughnut you just ate?”
There was silence on the line. When Cantona next spoke, he sounded amused. “You sonofabitch, where are you?”
“I’m just leaving.” Reeve put away the telephone, turned on his heels, and headed into the shopping district.
The first thing he did was get a haircut. Then he bought some very plain clothes which all but made him invisible. The barber had given him a shave, too. If he hadn’t been in fear of his life, Reeve would have felt great.
