Down on the street, he heard Alabama shouting something from the window. He stopped, looked up and focused.
“I said, she’s trouble. Stay away from her.”
Wilde shifted his feet.
Then he said, “I can’t.”
89
Waverly’s note was simple. “Your life is in danger. Meet me at the Flamingo Bar on Larimer Street at 10:00 p.m. tonight and I’ll explain. Do not tell Tom Bristol where you are going and be sure he doesn’t follow you. This is not a joke.” She folded the note, put it in the envelope, licked the glue and sealed it shut. Then she handed it to the Brown Palace receptionist-the cigar-smoking peach-together with a dollar bill.
“What I need you to do is slip this to the woman staying with Tom Bristol in room 414,” she said. “Don’t let Bristol see you. Tell the woman to read it in private, away from Bristol. Is that something you can do?”
He took the dollar and stuffed it in his pants pocket.
“Done,” he said.
Waverly kissed his cheek.
“Thanks.”
“It’s the least I can do, and that’s what I always do.”
Waverly smiled and left.
Now what?
From a phone booth down near Colfax she called Emmanuelle LeFavre’s hotel again only to find that the woman still wasn’t in.
Damn it.
She headed to her fleabag room, changed into her grungy clothes, laid the dress neatly on the bed and took the bus to her apartment, getting off a block after the fact and circling back on foot.
From across the street, everything looked normal.
No Tom Bristol’s or trolls were loitering around.
She wasn’t going to stay there, not tonight at any rate, but it wouldn’t hurt to check things out, just to be sure everything was all right. She trotted across the street, shot into the building and bounded up the stairway two steps at a time.
Her door was locked as it should be.
She opened it.
The place was trashed.
Someone had broken in and messed it up.
She pulled the door closed, relocked it and headed down the stairs with a thundering heart.
Halfway down she heard steps coming up.
They were heavy.
They were moving fast.
That’s what she told herself.
Her body didn’t respond though.
It didn’t turn around.
Instead it did the worst thing it could do.
It betrayed her.
It froze.
90
“We’re almost there,” River said. Fifty yards later he added in a calm voice, “Okay, this is it. Pull over here.” As expected, Spencer turned his eyes to the shoulder. At that moment River twisted his body violently and kicked at the side of the man’s head with every ounce of strength he had. The man was fast and ducked at the last second but not before River connected.
The car jerked to the right and shot off the road.
The terrain shook the car so crazily that River couldn’t get a second kick.
Then something bad happened.
The car slammed to a stop and Spencer stormed out.
He was stunned but wasn’t hurt.
He wasn’t even bleeding.
He jerked the back door open and shoved the gun into River’s face.
His face contorted.
No words came out of his mouth.
He was heaving.
He was deciding.
River recoiled against the door. He didn’t want to get shot in the face. He’d rather it be to his chest or somewhere else, anywhere but the face.
Seconds passed.
Spencer said nothing.
His finger twitched on the trigger.
Then he spoke.
“I ought to take you to hell right here and now.”
River said nothing.
He didn’t want to push the man over the edge.
“That was a stupid move,” Spencer said. “What did you think? That some puny little kick was going to take me out?”
River looked into the man’s eyes squarely for the first time. They were filled with rage but not as deeply
