He turned to leave.
'Put the money on the table,' she said.
He turned slowly back around. 'Excuse me?'
'On the table, the money.' She motioned with her gun.
'I brought you what you wanted. That costs
In response she let the blanket drop once more and ran one hand along her curvy, nearly naked body. 'So does this,' she said very firmly. 'Take a good look, little boy, it'll be the last time you see it.'
He bristled at this insult. 'A thousand dollars! For what? A frigging peep show? I wouldn't pay a thousand bucks even if I got to screw you.'
'No amount of money would be enough to let you even touch me,' she said bluntly.
'Oh, yeah? Boy, you're quite the catch. A druggie exhibitionist living in a room in a strip club? And hiding behind a scarf and those big dark glasses. Waving your naked ass in front of me and then not giving it up. Who the hell do you think you are? Huh?'
'You're boring me. Get out.'
'You know what? I don't think you're going to fire that gun, not with lots of people around.' He looked at her in triumph. The look was short-lived.
She tapped a cylindrical object attached to the gun's muzzle and said, 'This is a suppressor. Really makes for a silent shot.' She pointed it once more at his crotch. 'Would you like a quick demonstration?'
'No,' he yelled, backing away. 'No.' He dropped the money on the table, turned and ran out of the room, slamming the door closed behind him.
The woman locked the door, went back to her bed and swallowed several pills. A few minutes later she was moaning on the floor, happy again.
Outside the woman's door, Sylvia ducked out of the way right before Kyle came running past. She had heard everything. Rushing back outside, Sylvia was just in time to see Kyle spit gravel out of his Jeep's tires as he raced out of the parking lot. Sylvia slipped the hat off her head and let her hair down. Her suspicions had been confirmed. Kyle was stealing drugs and then selling them to the woman in the room. Sylvia decided to wait out in the parking lot to see if she came out.
Hours passed. It was very early in the morning, and Sylvia had watched well over a hundred people, mostly men, leave the building. She was just about to give up when someone emerged. It was a woman, her head was wrapped in a scarf and she wore sunglasses even though it was very dark outside. She seemed a little wobbly on her feet but got into a car parked near the rear of the building and drove away. Sylvia did not follow, because she would have been too easily spotted. However, she did see the car the woman got in. She drove off. While some questions had been answered tonight, troubling new ones had taken their place.
CHAPTER 49
THE DAY OF ROBERT E. LEE Battle's funeral started out under a blue sky that soon turned cloudy. By the time the procession reached the cemetery, a warm, gentle rain was falling. The army of black sat around the freshly dug hole under an enormous white tent.
King looked at many faces he knew and many he didn't. It was said that the regional airports in Charlottesville and Lynchburg were lined wingtip-to-wingtip with private jets belonging to friends of the Battles' who'd come to pay their last respects. Morbid curiosity had probably enticed more than a few attendees.
Michelle sat next to King. She was actually wearing a dress! King knew better than to make any comment. His arm was still aching from his last wisecrack.
The Battles were in the front row, Eddie and Savannah on either side of their mother. Chip Bailey was next to Eddie. Dorothea sat at the end of the row, arms crossed. Mason stood off to one side, his gaze on the heavily veiled Remmy.
On the other side of King sat Harry Carrick. The man was dressed as dapper as ever, his white hair even more striking against the backdrop of his dark suit. He'd given Michelle a peck on the cheek and King a firm handshake before sitting down.
'Quite a crowd,' King whispered to him. Michelle leaned over to listen.
'Bobby and Remmy had lots of friends and business associates. Throw in the curious and the ones who came merely to gloat, and you have a staggering turnout.'
'So I guess the Junior Deaver case is over,' said King.
'Technically yes. You can't prosecute a dead man for burglary; what would be the point?'
'Technically, but…,' said King, watching his friend closely.
'But if my assumption is correct and Junior was innocent, I'd still like to catch the thief.'
'You want us to keep investigating?'
'Yes, I do, Sean. I have his wife and children to consider. Why should his little ones grow up thinking their father was a thief if he wasn't?'
'In fact, we have our own motivation to follow that up.'
'I can see that, considering how Junior was killed.'
'Exactly. What are you doing after the funeral?'
'I've been invited to the Battles',' answered Harry.
'So have we. Maybe we can find a quiet corner and discuss tactics.'
'I look forward to it.' They all sat back and listened as the preacher commenced his talk about the dead man, the resurrection and life eternal. The rain continued to fall, making a somber afternoon even more depressing.
As the lengthy homily finally ended, the preacher went forward to comfort the family. King's gaze moved beyond the group assembled by the grave, and out in grids to the surrounding area. It was the same technique he'd used when in protection detail at the Secret Service. Then he'd been looking for potential assassins; now he was looking for someone who'd already killed.
King spotted her as she came over the slight rise of ground to the right.
Lulu Oxley was dressed all in black but, unlike Remmy Battle, wore no veil. And then it suddenly occurred to King: Junior's funeral had been today as well. And there was only one cemetery in the area. Appearing behind Lulu as she marched toward them were Priscilla Oxley and the three Deaver children.
'Oh, shit,' whispered King to Harry and Michelle. Michelle had already seen them coming. Harry hadn't until King pointed her out.
Harry jerked back and said, 'Oh, good Lord.'
Lulu turned and motioned for her mother and children to stay where they were. They instantly obeyed, and then Lulu kept right on coming. King, Michelle and Harry rose as one to head her off. Others in the crowd had seen her too, because the murmuring was growing louder.
When they reached her, about fifty feet from the Battles, King said, 'Lulu, you definitely don't want to do this.'
'Get the hell out of my way!' said Lulu in a voice that told King she'd been drinking.
Harry took her by the arm. 'Lulu, listen to me. You listen to me now!'
'Why the hell should I? I listened to you before and Junior's dead!' To King she looked like she might collapse any moment or else pull a gun and start shooting anything with clothes on.
'No good can come out of your being here,' continued Harry. 'No good. Mrs. Battle is grieving too.'
'She should be rotting in hell for what she did!' She tried to jerk her arm away from Harry's grip, but the old man somehow held on.
His voice was steady and calm. 'There isn't a shred of evidence that she had anything to do with Junior's death. In fact, everything points to his being killed by the same person who killed all the others, including Bobby Battle. The same person killed
'Then maybe she had her husband killed, I don't know. But she threatened Junior and now he's dead.'
King looked back and saw that Remmy Battle had raised her veil and was now staring at them. And then King's worst fears were realized. Remmy went over to Mason, said something to him as she pointed at them, and then
