It swung to the side and went out the window.
He looked at Alabama.
She knew the look.
She wasn’t a fan.
“No way,” she said. “Get it yourself.”
“You never get it for me.”
“I will if you do one little thing for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Be sure your head’s still in it the next time it goes out.”
He smiled.
“Ouch.”
When he came back, Alabama met him at the door, took the hat from his hand and tossed it on the rack, a dead ringer. “Cock it to the left,” she said.
“I try.”
“Try harder.”
The phone rang.
Alabama answered, said “Yeah, that’s him,” and handed the phone to Wilde. “It’s that agent from New York. He wants to know if you’re the same Wilde who just called him about Emmanuelle.”
Wilde lit a cigarette, blew smoke and took the receiver.
Then he hung it up.
“That guy’s an ass,” he said.
Ten seconds later it rang again.
98
Waverly swung by Emmanuelle LeFavre’s hotel to see if she was in, which she wasn’t, then headed back to the financial district and took up a post in an alley across the street from the Brown Palace. She hadn’t been in position more than ten minutes when what she hoped would happen actually did, namely Bristol and his woman-friend swung out of the revolving doors and onto the sidewalk.
Staying back as far as she could without losing line of sight, she followed them two blocks up to where the woman stayed outside on the sidewalk while Bristol disappeared into the doors of Jackson amp; Reacher, Denver’s second largest law firm.
What was he up to?
Waverly crossed the street and found an innocuous spot where she could keep an eye on the woman through the glass of a parked Olds.
The spankee wore a short red dress.
Her legs were shapely.
Her nylons had a seam up the back.
Her hair was bouncy and blond.
She leaned against the building and smoked as she waited. A passing car honked at her and someone shouted, “Hey, baby!”
She ignored it.
She must have the envelope by now. Would she show up at ten?
For half an hour, not much changed. Then Bristol emerged. With him was a female, conservatively dressed, holding a pencil in her hand as if she’d been taking notes. She looked familiar, Waverly had seen her around somewhere before.
Where?
Then she remembered.
She saw her at the El Ray Club last weekend, Friday night, dressed like a slut and getting drunk. She was having no problem getting men to keep her glass full. One of those men had an uncanny resemblance to Robert Mitchum.
She got introduced to the red-dress blond, smiled and shook hands, mouthed a few words and disappeared back into the building.
Bristol and the red-dress walked up the street.
Waverly followed, cutting through the traffic onto their side. Passing by the law firm, she stopped long enough to read the names stenciled on the door.
There was only one female name.
Gina Sophia, Esq.
She memorized the name and continued up the street. If she got the chance later, she’d break into the slutty little lawyer’s office and see what her precious notes said; either that or somehow get her out for a drink and let the liquor loosen her up.
99
River’s wind was giving out and his legs were getting heavy. He kept running, fighting through the pain, but his body was working against him. January was either dead or dying and he was to blame. He’d hunt Spencer’s ass down to the ends of the earth. That would be his life mission from this moment on.
Screw everything else.
From behind him, a noise cut through the silence, something in the nature of an engine. He twisted and saw a motorcycle approaching, still a ways off but coming fast.
He brought his body to a stop.
His chest heaved.
Sweat rolled down his forehead.
As the bike got closer, he got in front of it and waved his arms for it to stop. It slowed to twenty or so but then held steady. The driver was a man, a big man.
The man didn’t stop.
He gave River a look, then swung around and accelerated.
Shit!
River grabbed a rock the size of a baseball and threw it with all his might. It connected with the driver’s back near the shoulder. The front tire wobbled violently then the bike went down and raked against the road with an awful noise.
River ran over.
By the time he got there the man was on his feet, squared off with a long blade in his grip.
“I need to borrow your bike,” River said.
The man charged.
