Coven

Adams for moral support and began: “Sorry about making a spectacle of myself. I must have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed today.”

“Well, I’m sorry too,” she said, looking down. “About this morning, I mean. I’m not always like that.”

Wade rubbed his hands together. “Okay, now that we’ve got that settled, let’s start over again.”

And something quite unusual followed. A kind of bridge rose between them, a pleasant neutrality that lacked the pressure of appearances. For the next hour and a half they…talked. A day ago they’d been antagonists, but now they each provided buried commonalities. He told her things about himself in ways she found amusing. He told her far more than he planned. He told her about his school problems, his inabilities at decision making, the situation with Dad. She told him about her work problems, her inabilities in respecting others, the situation with Chief White and the other police. A wordless conclusion came at the end, that they both dealt with their problems from the wrong angles. Wade was fleeing from himself by being what others expected him to be, while Lydia made the same flight by being just the opposite. Wade seemed to be providing something she desperately needed without knowing it, and it occurred to him that he was probably seeing a part of her that no one else had for some time. In the course of an evening, they’d become each other’s confessors. A few shreds of their shadows had been freed.

Afterward they looked bewildered at each other. A shocking acknowledgment exchanged. Did I say all that? he thought. And did she say all that? To me? Lydia looked down and gulped. “Wow, I… I didn’t mean to drag you through my whole life.”

“I did some dragging of my own. Look” —he touched his Adams— “our beers got warm. It’s not just any woman who can divert me from my beer.”

“I’m honored. Order some more. I’ll be right back.”

She excused herself for the obvious. Wade felt pleasantly exhausted, and still bewildered. The place had become packed. Up front was standing room only. Abruptly, though, the crowd began to quiet and part. People were frowning. They were making way for someone, someone big. Then Porker lummoxed through.

“Well, well. Wade St. John, every toilet’s favorite guy.”

“Aw, Porker, tough luck. The all you can eat pasta bar is closed.”

“You’re a funny guy, St. John. And you were real funny on the front page of the paper today.”

“Thanks… Say, have you lost weight?”

Porker ignored the comment. His shadow engulfed the entire table. He and Besser would make a great tag team: the Blobsy Twins or something. “Who you here with?” Porker demanded. “Your deadbeat friends? Or one of your usual fast lane bimbo types?”

Wait’ll you see, big guy, Wade thought, ’cause here she comes.

Porker’s mastodonic physique turned. He gaped, balloon faced in lust. The sight of Lydia nearly caused him to fall backward, which surely would’ve collapsed the entire brass and wood bar. “H hi, Lydia,” he yammered. “You’re sure lookin’ good tonight.”

“Thank you,” she said. Very primly then, and to Porker’s complete outrage, she sat down across from Wade.

Porker’s hooded pig eyes flashed panic. “Y you’re with him?”

“That’s right,” she answered.

“D don’t you know who that is?”

“Yes, Porker, I do. I’m a big girl now.” She flashed him a seductive white smile. “But would you do me a favor?”

“Yuh yuh yeah.”

“Don’t tell anyone, okay? The chief might get the wrong idea.”

“Sh sh sure, Lydia.”

Her smile brightened. Her crossed arms drew closer, to articulate her breasts. “Promise?”

Porker gulped, staring. “Pruh pruh promise, sure.”

Wade was duly amused. This wasn’t body language, it was body hypnosis. Porker’s portable radio squawked, and as he answered it his eyes remained riveted to Lydia’s breasts. Then he snapped it off. “Shit! We gotta big nine out on the Route!”

“See ya,” Lydia said.

Porker hustled out. “What’s a nine?” Wade asked her.

“Traffic accident. White probably needs him for a roadblock.”

“I hope you’re not going to get in trouble being here with me. I don’t guess police are allowed to fraternize with students.”

“I can deal with it,” she said.

Before Wade could say anything more, Porker rushed back in. “Lydia! I just got another call after the nine. Vandalism out at North Admin. Chief White wants you to check it out.”

“I’m off duty,” Lydia objected. “Send someone else.”

“There is no one else—the whole shift’s on the Route. A gas truck jackknifed, spilled gas all over the place. Come on, take the call. It’ll only take you a few minutes.”

Lydia frowned. “All right.”

Porker was gone again, and Lydia was regretting, “Looks like I—” She slackened suddenly. “Shit, I forgot! I don’t have a car!”

Wade smiled. “Don’t worry. I have a car.”

««—»»

Wade floored the Vette out of the inn’s lot, dumping 400 plus horsepower onto the hardball. He did zero to sixty in four seconds. Lydia’s gorgeous bright blond hair was a flying mane. “Slow down!” she yelled.

Nonsense, Wade thought. The Vette sucked down onto the road as he slowed off the exit and blew through the campus gate. A minute later he side skidded to a halt at the front steps of North Admin.

“Jesus Christ!” she yelled. “That’s a highway, not the Indy 500!”

“Relax,” Wade said. “I got you here in” —he looked at his watch— “less than three minutes.”

“Come on,” she said.

North Administration was the main records hall. It stored all student personnel files and all the medical files for the campus health clinic. Lydia’s high heels clipped along the floor. Behind, Wade watched her figure traverse in the tight black jeans.

“Hey, you kids! What’cha doin’ there?”

A bent duffer with a red nose approached, holding a mop. Wade sympathized with him. Lydia flashed her badge and ID.

“Damn,” the janitor said. “I only called three minutes ago.”

Wade smiled proudly.

“I’m Officer Prentiss. You reported some vandalism?”

“That’s right. While I was buffin’ the north wing floors, I noticed the clinic door open, and I know I locked it earlier. First thing I see is the door frame split, like it was kicked in, and I notice file drawers open, folders layin’ about. Come on.”

He took them several doors down and turned on the light. The clinician’s desk sat adorned with Hummel curios, a Cross desk set, and a petty cash box. “Don’t touch anything,” Lydia said. The whole scene distracted her, and Wade, too, felt the wrongness of the room. Several file drawers hung open, and a lot of folders had been tossed around the room, but that was it.

“This sure is patsy vandalism,” Wade said. “They busted in just to throw a bunch of files?”

“This isn’t vandalism, it’s burglary,” Lydia said.

“Right. Blind burglars?” He gestured at the desk. “They left the desk set, the clock, the cash box?”

“That’s not what they were after.” She bent over the violated file cabinets. Someone had forced the drawers open.

“The files?” Wade asked.