“And you didn’t have any trouble getting in?”
“Not the least.” He flopped down on the sofa and propped his feet up on the hassock. “Once I put on the doc’s coat and draped a stethoscope around my neck, everyone in the hospital started treating me like God.”
She sat down, cuddling against him. “So did you get him out?”
“He got himself out. Where’s my next martini?”
She jabbed him in the ribs. “Tell me!”
Frank grinned, then slid down lower on the sofa. “Slipped a note onto his food tray. Candystriper carried it in to him, never the wiser. Told him to get ready to run.”
“And then?”
“Then I created a diversion.”
She grabbed a pillow and beat him over the top of the head. “Will you stop making me beg for it? Tell!”
He grabbed her wrists and pulled her lengthwise across his lap. “I sparked an oxygen tank in one of the operating rooms. Created an explosion.”
“No!”
“But I did.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“I sincerely doubt it. It was more show than substance. Made a huge noise, generated a ton of smoke. But I doubt if it did much real damage. What it did do, however, was allow your dear ex-husband to make his getaway.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “You are so brilliant.”
“I do my best.”
“Where is he now?”
“How should I know? Probably crawled back to some bar. Doesn’t matter.”
“But we have to get in touch with him.”
“Yes, darling, I know. But we don’t want to be too speedy about it. Even an imbecile like him might think it a bit coincidental if-”
He stopped in mid-sentence. His head jerked around.
Tommy was crouched behind the banister. He was wearing Star Wars pajamas and clutching a teddy bear.
Bonnie whirled. “Tommy! What are you doing out of bed!”
Tommy had a miserable expression on his face. “I’m not sleepy.”
She ran toward the stairs. “I don’t care if you’re sleepy or not! When I say get in bed, that means get in bed!”
Tommy took a step back. “Were you talking about Daddy?”
“You miserable brat!” Her hand whipped back and slapped him hard across the cheek.
“Ow!” Tommy squirmed away.
Bonnie grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him hard. “What did you hear, you sneak?
“Nothin’,” Tommy said. He twisted, unsuccessfully trying to get away. “I didn’t hear nothin’!”
“Tell me!” Her hand reared back and cracked him again across the face.
“I didn’t!” Tommy began to cry. “I didn’t!”
Frank came up behind them on the stairs. “There, there, now. Let’s all get a grip on ourselves.” He sat down between them and laid his hand gently on Tommy’s knee. Tommy pushed it off. “Bonnie, if he’d heard anything, he would’ve told us, I’m sure.”
“I didn’t hear anything,” Tommy repeated, choking.
“Of course you didn’t. Your mother was just surprised to see you up again after she sent you to bed.”
“I wasn’t sleepy.”
Bonnie leaned forward. “I don’t care if you’re-”
Frank gently pushed her back, silencing her. “Of course you’re not sleepy,” he said, maintaining the same even singsong voice. “Who would be? It’s Christmas Eve. Tell you what. Are you hungry?”
Tommy shrugged. “A little.”
“Well, then. Let’s go get some food. A Christmas feast, I think. What’s your favorite?”
Tommy glanced at his mother, then quickly looked away. “I like McDonald’s, but Mommy says-”
“McDonald’s it is, then. Happy Meals all around. After all, it’s Christmas!” He patted Tommy on the shoulder. “Now you run upstairs and put your clothes back on. Get down here as soon as you can. We’re going to party!”
Tommy wiped his nose, then wordlessly scrambled back up the stairs. A second later, they heard the door to his room close.
“And what was that all about?” Bonnie asked, hands on hips. “One minute you’re a terrorist, the next you’re Mr. Rogers.”
Frank smiled thinly. “You weren’t going to get any information out of him by beating him over the head. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar?”
“My mother wasn’t exactly the homespun wisdom type. And our family wasn’t exactly a ‘Good night, John- Boy’ bunch.”
“Well, then let me take the lead. We have to gain the boy’s trust. Eventually he’ll tell us what he knows.”
“And if he knows too much?”
Frank’s eyes narrowed and darkened. “I’ll leave that to your discretion.” He glanced at his watch. “Speaking of family matters, I think it’s time I called your ex.” He started down the stairs. “Do you think he’s still carrying his cordless?”
“I’m certain of it. He hasn’t let the thing out of his sight since he got it.”
“Good. That makes matters ever so much easier.” He reached for the phone.
Bonnie placed her hand over his, stopping him. “Wait a minute. Let’s think this thing through.”
“We can’t wait any longer. Your precious offspring will be down soon, ready for his french-fry fix.”
“But I can’t call Carl. Not now. And you can’t either.”
He lifted the phone. “I don’t see why not.”
“He’ll recognize your voice.”
“Don’t be so sure. I’m a rather accomplished mimic, remember?”
“Frank, he got shot here, remember? Only hours ago. He may be a drunk, but he’s not utterly brainless! He won’t come here no matter what you say.”
Frank turned to her, smiled, and said, in a near-perfect imitation of Tommy’s high-pitched voice, “Please come, Daddy. Please. They’re hurting me.”
“You devil!” Bonnie’s mouth turned up in a huge grin. “That’s pretty good.”
“More than good enough for cellular phone transmissions.” He began to dial.
Bonnie came up behind him and wrapped her hands around his abdomen. “You’re so bad,” she purred, pressing up against him.
Frank smiled as he finished dialing the number. “I’m just getting started.”
Carl stared at the whiskey bottle resting in the middle of the kitchen table in his one-room apartment. God, he wanted a drink. Wanted it so bad every cell in his body seemed to ache for it. Wanted it so bad his brain seemed to be ordering him to unscrew the lid and take a swallow.
But he kept thinking about what that damned busybody priest-lawyer had said. Her words kept coming back unbidden: Maybe if you had more faith in yourself, you wouldn’t need the bottle.
Hell, what did she know anyway? It wasn’t as if she had some hot line to the truth. It wasn’t as if she’d been through what he’d been through.
He stared at that beautiful glistening damnable bottle. Just one drink would make him feel so much better …
But he wouldn’t stop at one drink, of course. He wouldn’t stop till he was tying on the floor swimming in his own urine, choking on his own vomit.
He turned away. He didn’t have time for this now. The cops could show up at any moment. He’d deal with the bottle some other time, when he could think straight. Later. But not now.
