“I won’t.”
He took two steps away from me and pointed at me. “That’s what you get for roughhousing!”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
He stared at me. I thought of Joshua Burrows, ribs kicked in, face bruised. I looked at the hulking figure in front of me. Two Toes could do that much damage to someone in about thirty seconds flat. Had he hurt Roberta, too?
I swallowed hard.
How long would it take Lisa to get out of the building?
I was near the windows. I took my gaze from him just long enough to glance down at the street. The Porsche was still parked at the curb.
“She’s still here,” he said.
I looked back to see him calmly picking up my beeper from the floor. Shit. He knew I wasn’t alone.
“You were looking for the treasure,” he said, pushing on the buttons of the beeper.
I didn’t answer.
He looked up at me. “Yes, you were,” he chided, as if I had denied it aloud. “You were looking in the altar for the treasure. Come here.”
I didn’t move. He grabbed my hand and yanked me along toward the bar. He stopped in front of it, but he kept hold of my hand.
“As your guardian angel, I will lead you in the ways of righteousness. I know all the secrets of the altar.”
Right at that moment, I really didn’t care about what was hidden in the bar. But he pulled me over to it, back into the bartender’s working space. He saw my purse and stuffed the beeper inside it, freeing his hand. He grabbed the purse and put it on his shoulder. His now, I supposed. I glanced around, but couldn’t see the manila envelope. Lisa must have taken it with her. I prayed she’d figure out who to give the papers to if I ended up with my skull bashed in or worse.
He looked up at the back of the bar, its intricate carvings and mirrored panels, and smiled. “You have to rub them,” he said. “I watched him all the time.”
He took my other hand, guided both hands toward a panel on our left. He placed each hand on one of the wings of two cherubs which graced the sides of one panel of the mirror. I tried not to think about the smell of his breath over my shoulder. It was one of several sharp, distinctive fragrances emanating from him. The man was a riot of olfactory stimulants.
Our darkened reflections stared back at me from a mirror. Mine, scared. His, pleased.
“Both at the same time or it won’t work,” he said. He gently curved his fingers over mine, moved our hands over the wings simultaneously. I felt the wings move backward. They rolled on some sort of ball-and-socket joint. I heard a creaking noise.
“Now forward, and back again,” he said.
We moved the wings again, making the angels “fly.”
Another creaking noise, and this time, I could see that the mirror had come forward as the wings went back.
We repeated the motion with the wings, and now the mirror was far enough forward to give me a clear view of what lay behind it: a lever.
“Pull it down! Pull it down!” Two Toes said excitedly, letting go of my hands.
I did. The entire section beside the mirror swung out, away from the back of the bar. He laughed and pulled it all the way open. There was a compartment beneath it.
“I can’t see what’s in there,” I said, curiosity temporarily overcoming all other considerations.
Two Toes fumbled in his jacket and produced a match. He struck it and its flame softly illuminated the area where we stood. He briefly held it over the compartment and I saw what was hidden there.
Nothing.
“It’s empty!”
“Shhh!” he said, clamping a dirty hand over my mouth. He dragged me close to him, put a big arm around my waist, pinning my arms. He straightened and my feet lifted from the ground. He rounded to the back of the bar, pulled on another cherub as he leaned a knee against a smooth panel there. It gave, moved noiselessly, turning like a revolving door, and we were suddenly in absolute darkness.
I tried to struggle, but he tightened his grip on my waist and jaw until I stopped. There was nothing but darkness and his scent mixed with that of dust and old wood. At first I thought we were in some sort of closet compartment in the old bar, but we began moving. He was carrying me down a set of stairs, it seemed. The bar must have covered some passageway, probably a means of getting booze in and out during its speakeasy days.
He stopped, then loosened his grip on my waist long enough to open a door. The air was cooler, but it was still very dark. He set my feet on the ground.
“If I let go of you, will you be quiet?” he whispered in my ear.
I nodded.
“I don’t want to hit you, but I will if you make noise.”
I nodded again.
He lifted his hand a little, as if testing me, then took it away completely. I rubbed my jaw.
Where was Lisa? I told myself that even going downstairs in a panic, fourteen flights would take some time.
He still had hold of my waist. His head was cocked to one side, as if he were listening to something. I heard it, too. Footsteps above us. Distant, but crossing the large room above. The old wooden floor was creaking.
Looking for me! I thought frantically. She’s found help and they’re looking for me! I opened my mouth to call out, but Two Toes’ big hand came over it again. As he dragged me along, I wondered how Lisa had managed to find help so quickly. The security guard? Maybe my luck was improving.
Soon I realized that we had come out into the hallway of the floor below. The one where Lucas had died.
Two Toes knew which room that was-he had been there. He was going there again. I heard myself whimper as he pulled me into the room.
“Shhh!” he hissed, and shut the door.
37
IT GOT WORSE.
If Two Toes had stopped in the room itself, maybe I would have managed not to think about where I had seen Lucas’s body, about the pennies on his eyes. Maybe not.
He kept moving. He dragged me first into the bathroom, but when I used my legs to kick against the fixtures, he seemed dissatisfied with it as a hiding place. He dropped my purse into the old clawfoot bathtub, then reestablished his grip on me.
“Stop it!” he whispered fiercely, dragging me back out into the room. “I don’t want to hurt you! I don’t!”
He moved out of the bathroom, back into the bedroom itself, where there was a little light. Very little. He closed the bathroom door with his foot, and moved toward the windows. I felt a little relief until we seemed to be going straight to the bloodstained radiator. He moved away from it, though, and into the small closet. He shut the door, and we were in absolute darkness.
If being unable to escape from a small, dark, confined space was not my worst nightmare come to life, it was only because I had failed to add the prospect of being there not alone, but with a hulking maniac. He turned me so that I faced him, pressed himself full-length against me. He had an erection.
I stopped struggling. I don’t think I’ve ever held so still in my life.
“Oops,” he whispered. “I’m not being a very good angel.”
He shifted his pelvis slightly. His weight still held me against the wall, but at least I wasn’t being prodded through our clothes.
