This was carrying the sympathy a little further than he would have preferred, but he graciously accepted the offer.
It was on the tram that Freddy saw something that nearly did stop his heart-the Bronco being towed. There was a police car following it.
“Hey, hey…sit down there, fella. You really shouldn’t have come up here.”
“You’re so right,” Frederick said with feeling.
Would someone be watching to see who came off the tram and didn’t have a vehicle? Of course. A trap must be in place. He was starting to wonder what Everett would say if he learned that one of his men had been arrested in Albuquerque. It didn’t bear thinking about.
His anxiety over the number of crimes he might be charged with had taken up so much of his mind that he had forgotten the story he told the hippie. So he looked a little confused when the man said, “You can wait inside until about nine, okay? That’s when the last tram comes down. Just take it easy until then, man.”
“Thanks, you’ve been so kind,” Frederick said.
The man smiled and said, “Think nothing of it. You’re an inspiration. I mean it.”
After the tram office closed and the workers had left, he considered stealing one of the other cars in the lot, but he still had some fears that the lot was being watched. After all, as far as the police knew, the Bronco might belong to one of the hikers. He knew that car theft wouldn’t usually warrant so much attention, but the theft of the Bronco would lead to the house he had tossed, the pickup he had stolen, and possibly the hotel. Not good.
The cell phone rang again. Again he ignored it. It started beeping. He looked at the display and saw a text message:
ARRIVING LGB TOMORROW 10 AM. BRING THE VAN. DO NOT DISAPPOINT ME.
He stared at the message for a moment, but no matter how many times he read it, it said the same thing- Everett and Cameron would be at the Long Beach Airport at ten in the morning. He called the company he used when he needed a private jet and arranged to have a plane ready to take him home at six tomorrow morning. He told them his wallet had been stolen, so he would not have his ID. They assured him that the pilot and crew they were sending were his favorites and knew him personally, so there would be no problem. Was there anything else they could do for him?
People were really wonderful, he thought. Then he saw the text message again, and thought of Everett, and how he would react when he learned what had happened here, and that he had lost track of Meghan.
He turned the phone off. He began to weep.
The first group of hikers arrived about then, so he wiped his face with the soft handkerchief he had brought with him. He had made sure not to bring one of the monogrammed ones. He looked up to see his little boyakina hurrying toward him. She looked angry. A pissed-off woman, he decided, was all he needed to make this a one- hundred-percent-fucked-up, completely whack day.
But she slowed when she saw his tears, her look changing to one of genuine concern. For some reason, that made him start crying again. He was glad Everett wasn’t here to see what a total pussy he was turning into.
She sat down next to him and put an arm around his shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
Where to begin? he thought. He briefly considered telling her that his grandmother had died in a fire, some accident that occurred while she had been reading the Tarot cards by candlelight, but then he remembered that she didn’t like the fortune-telling thing. He found he liked the feel of that comforting arm and suddenly no longer had the energy for lies. He leaned against her and said nothing.
She used her free hand to stroke his hair. “I think the hike helped me to start thinking a little more clearly. Your parents weren’t Russian spies, were they?”
He shook his head. “They’re alive.”
“And that was also bullshit about your grandmother, right?”
He nodded. “She’s dead.”
She sighed. “If my usual ability to pick men is at work here, you’re also out of a job and completely broke.”
“I have ninety-five dollars.”
She laughed, and he found himself laughing, too. He dried his face again.
He came to a quick decision. “I’m-” He started to give her the full title, but then said, “I’m Frederick Whitfield. What’s your name?”
“Vanessa. Vanessa Przbyslaw.”
For a moment he was distracted. “How do you spell that?”
She told him.
“Okay, Vanessa, here are three things that are true. One-I have no wheels at the moment, and I don’t want to tell you why not. Two-my plane leaves at six tomorrow morning, and I have got to be on it. Three-I’d like to spend the hours I have left here in New Mexico with you. Can I go home with you?”
She studied him for a moment, then said, “Why am I going to say yes?”
“Because I remind you of James Dean?”
She laughed again and said, “Okay, that’s as good a reason as any. Come home with me, James Dean, and I’ll cook you a late dinner.”
He kissed her long and hard. As he did, a practical consideration occurred to him. All his condoms were in his wallet and luggage-and these were in the possession of Meghan and the Albuquerque police, respectively. “Know of an all-night drugstore we could stop at on the way home?” he asked.
He decided she really was pretty when she blushed.
He stood on the threshold of her apartment, holding the paper sack from the grocery store, staring in amazement. It was a small place, nothing special in its layout or location. But the decor was completely unexpected.
She watched his face and said, “If you wanted turquoise and beige and howling coyotes and cacti and all that goddamned Southwestern shit, you went home with the wrong woman.”
The apartment, in the middle of Albuquerque, probably eight or nine hundred miles away from the nearest ocean, was covered with nautical paraphernalia. A fishing net covered one wall, and attached to it were a life buoy, driftwood, shells, starfish, an oar, and other objects of the sea. At one end of the living room, there was a large aquarium.
“I like it,” he said. “But…”
“But why is it here in New Mexico? Because I’ve promised myself I’ll live near the water again someday, and this reminds me of that promise. I grew up near the ocean, not far from Portland, Maine. I’ve sailed since I was seven. I’m not saying there isn’t great stuff here, but I miss the water.”
“Okay, then why live in Albuquerque?”
“I came here with my mom four years ago. Her doctors told her she needed to live in a dry climate. I moved with her to help her out, and got a job here.”
“She lives with you?” he asked uneasily.
“Not now. She’s in a hospice.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. He moved nearer to the aquarium.
“Freshwater,” she said. “Can’t afford a saltwater aquarium at the moment.”
“I live near the Pacific,” he said. “Have you ever seen it?”
“Not yet. I will someday, though.”
“You really know how to sail?”
“Yes.” She grinned as she walked into the kitchen. “Later on, I’ll show you some knots.”
They ate dinner on placemats made from nautical charts. Spaghetti sauce from a jar. To his own amazement, he liked it.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll repay you for all this trouble, you know.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m serious. I might surprise you, you know. Maybe I’ll come back and take you away from New Mexico. You know, take you sailing in the Pacific-Hawaii, Tahiti, Bora Bora-something like that. I’ve got some business to finish
