Five minutes later, River was on the bike with a serious twist on the throttle. He didn’t kill the biker. He just beat him enough to get him out of the way.
Miles up the road he came to the place where January had been dumped.
Spencer’s car wasn’t on the shoulder.
That was good.
Maybe the man had just kept going.
River turned left off the road, into the terrain. The bike bucked violently but River kept the handlebars in a python grip.
When he got to January, she wasn’t there.
She was gone.
Spencer had taken her.
River twisted the throttle, spun the rear wheel in a one-eighty and accelerated towards the road. The front end wobbled.
The tire was flat.
River kept full-speed on the gas.
That was a bad move.
The rubber shredded off and the rim dug into the dirt, jerking the bike to the left and throwing River over the handlebars.
100
Wilde called Secret’s hotel to be told she wasn’t answering her room phone. He mashed a butt in the ashtray, hopped in Blondie and headed over. When he rapped on the door no one answered. He paced, tapped a Camel out and lit up. Was she inside, dead? He flagged down a maid and got her to open the room. Clothes were spread out on the bed and toiletries sat on the bathroom sink.
Secret wasn’t there.
She wasn’t there dead.
She wasn’t there alive.
Wilde told the maid “Thanks,” gave her a full dollar, got a hug and ear-to-ear smile in return, then left.
Now what?
London popped into his brain.
That wasn’t exactly true because she’d never completely left. It was more accurate to say she got bigger in his brain. Either way, he headed over to her house to see if she was okay and tell her he’d taken a run at Bluetone.
He found street parking for Blondie a block away and inhaled a cigarette on the way, flicking it on the grass as he walked up the steps.
He rapped on the door.
No one answered.
He rapped again.
A turn of the knob worked, the door was unlocked. He pushed it open and stuck his head in.
“London, you home? It’s me, Wilde.”
Sounds came from the upper level.
He headed up and found London sitting on the floor of her bedroom, scrunched in the corner. A bottle of whiskey was in her hand. When she looked up, Wilde saw something he had never seen in her face before, some type of strange combination of fear and despair.
“Wilde-”
He slumped down next to her and took her in his arms. Her body trembled.
“What’s going on?”
“There’s a woman, Alexa Blank,” she said. “She’s in trouble and I’m responsible.”
“Alexa Blank?”
“Right.”
“Who is she?”
“A friend.”
“From where, the law firm?”
“No, back. Way back.”
Wilde tapped a cigarette out and lit up.
“You’re not making sense,” he said. “I talked to Bluetone this morning.”
“I don’t give a shit about him any more.”
“Well you should,” Wilde said. “I gave him the map and told him to lay off you. He said
She looked over.
“You gave Bluetone the map?”
“Yeah, that’s what you wanted me to do.”
“So he has it?”
“Right.”
She brought the bottle to her mouth, took a long gulp and handed it to Wilde. He hesitated then took a hit, not a big one but enough to feel the sting in his mouth.
“You need to get it back,” she said.
“Get what back? The map?”
She nodded.
“If I don’t turn it over, Alexa’s going to die.”
“Turn it over to who?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t get it.”
“He’s just a voice on the phone,” she said. “He’s serious though, I can guarantee you that. He’ll kill her. He let her talk for just a second so that I knew he really had her. She was terrified.”
Wilde blew smoke.
“Back up and start from the beginning.”
The story was more serious than Wilde expected. At age fifteen, London was walking on ice at the edge of Clear Creek on a cold February day when it caved in. She got swept into the icy waters and ended up lodged under the ice against a log. Without even a split-second hesitation for her own safety, Alexa Blank pounded through with her feet and got London dislodged. Both of the girls got swept downstream but miraculously got out before they drowned or froze to death. They were already friends up until then but became inseparable from that moment on.
That was back in high school, tenth grade.
After high school, they drifted socially and in almost every other way but still stayed in touch. London already had her sights on becoming a lawyer and was focused on college. Alexa took a more relaxed path and was currently employed as a waitress at the Down Towner.
