It was all too much. She wasn’t going to Minneapolis. She would go home and turn everything that she knew, such as it was, and everything that she suspected, over to the attorney.
The cable car slowed again. Marissa looked around. She was someplace in Chinatown. The car stopped, and just as it was starting again, Marissa stood up and swung off. As she ran to the sidewalk, she saw the conductor shaking his head in disgust. But no one got off after her.
Marissa took a deep breath and rubbed her neck. Glancing around, she was pleased to see that both sides of the street were crowded. There were pushcart vendors, trucks making deliveries and a variety of stores with much of their merchandise displayed on the sidewalk. All the signs were written in Chinese. She felt as if the short cable- car ride had mysteriously transported her to the Orient. Even the smells were different: a mixture of fish and spices.
She passed a Chinese restaurant and, after hesitating a second, went inside. A woman dressed in a Mandarin-collared, red silk dress slit to the knee came out and said the restaurant was not yet open for lunch. “Half hour,” she added.
“Would you mind if I used your restroom and your phone?” asked Marissa.
The woman studied Marissa for a moment, decided she meant no harm and led her to the rear of the restaurant. She opened a door and stepped aside.
Marissa was in a small room with a sink on one side and a pay phone on the other. There were two doors in the back with Ladies stenciled on one, and Gents on the other. The walls were covered with years of accumulated graffiti.
Marissa used the phone first. She called the Fairmont and reported to the operator that there was a man in room 1127 who needed an ambulance. The operator told her to hold on, but Marissa hung up. Then she paused, debating whether she should call the police and explain everything to them. No, she thought, it was too complicated. Besides, she’d already fled the scene. It would be better to go back to Atlanta and see the attorney.
Washing her hands, Marissa glanced at herself in the mirror. She was a mess. Taking out her comb, she untangled her hair and braided a few strands to keep it off her face. She’d lost her barrette when the blond man had yanked her by the hair. When she was finished, she straightened her blazer and the collar of her blouse. That was about all she could do.
Jake dialed George’s car for the hundredth time. Mostly the phone went unanswered, but occasionally he’d get a recording telling him that the party he was calling was not presently available.
He could not figure out what was going on. Al and George should have been back in the car long ago. Jake had followed the girl, practically running her over when she’d leaped unexpectedly from the cable car, and had watched her go into a restaurant called Peking Cuisine. At least he hadn’t lost her.
He scrunched down in the driver’s seat. The girl had just come out of the restaurant and was flagging a cab.
An hour later, Jake watched helplessly as Marissa handed over her ticket and boarded a Delta nonstop to Atlanta. He had thought about buying a ticket himself, but scrapped the idea without Al’s okay. She’d spent the last half hour closeted in the ladies’ room, giving Jake ample time to try the mobile phone at least ten more times, hoping for some instructions. But still no one answered.
As soon as the plane taxied down the runway, Jake hurried back to his car. There was a parking ticket under the windshield wiper, but Jake didn’t give a shit. He was just glad the car hadn’t been towed away. Climbing in, he thought he’d drive back to the Fairmont and see if he could find the others. Maybe the whole thing had been called off, and he’d find both of them in the bar, laughing their asses off while he ran all over the city.
Back on the freeway, he decided to try calling the other mobile phone one last time. To his astonishment, George answered.
“Where the hell have you been?” Jake demanded. “I’ve been calling you all goddamn morning.”
“There’s been a problem,” said George, subdued.
“Well, I hope to hell there’s been something,” said Jake. “The girl is on a plane to Atlanta. I was going crazy. I didn’t know what the hell to do.”
“Al was knifed, I guess by the girl. He’s at San Francisco General, having surgery. I can’t get near him.”
“Christ!” said Jake incredulously, unable to imagine that the pint-sized broad could have knifed Al and gotten away.
“He’s not supposed to be hurt that bad,” continued George. “What’s worse is that apparently Al wasted a maid. He had the woman’s passkeys in his pocket. He’s being charged with murder.”
“Shit,” said Jake. Things were going from bad to worse.
“Where are you now?” asked George.
“Just on the freeway, leaving the airport,” said Jake.
“Go back,” said George. “Book us on the next flight to Atlanta. I think we owe Al a bit of revenge.”
18
“READING MATERIAL?” asked the smiling cabin attendant.
Marissa nodded. She needed something to keep her from thinking about the horrible scene in the hotel.
“Magazine or newspaper?” asked the attendant.
“Newspaper, I guess,” said Marissa.
“
Marissa was in no mood to make decisions. “
The big jet leveled off, and the seat-belt sign went out. Marissa glanced through the window at rugged mountains stretching off into dry desert. It was a relief to have gotten onto the plane finally. At the airport, she had been so scared of either being attacked by one of the blond man’s friends or being arrested, she had simply hidden in a toilet in the ladies’ room.
Unfolding the newspaper, Marissa glanced at the table of contents. Continuing coverage of the Ebola outbreaks in Philadelphia and New York was listed on page 4. Marissa turned to it.
The article reported that the Philadelphia death toll was up to fifty-eight and New York was at forty-nine, but that many more cases had been reported there. Marissa was not surprised since the index case was an ear, nose and throat specialist. She also noted that the Rosenberg Clinic had already filed for bankruptcy.
On the same page as the Ebola article was a photograph of Dr. Ahmed Fakkry, head of epidemiology for the World Health Organization. The article next to the picture said that he was visiting the CDC to investigate the Ebola outbreaks because World Health was fearful that the virus would soon cross the Atlantic.
Maybe Dr. Fakkry could help her, thought Marissa. Perhaps the lawyer Ralph was lining up for her would be able to arrange for her to speak with him.
Ralph was catching up on his journals when the doorbell rang at 9:30 P.M. Glancing at his watch, he wondered who could possibly be visiting at that hour. He looked out of the glass panel on the side of the door and was shocked to find himself staring directly into Marissa’s face.
“Marissa!” he said in disbelief, pulling open the door. Behind her, he could see a yellow cab descending his long, curved driveway.
Marissa saw him hold out his arms and ran into them, bursting into tears.
“I thought you were in California,” said Ralph. “Why didn’t you call and let me know you were coming? I would have met you at the airport.”
Marissa just held onto him, crying. It was so wonderful to feel safe.
“What happened to you?” he asked, but was only greeted by louder sobs.
“At least let’s sit down,” he said, helping her to the couch. For a few minutes, he just let her cry, patting her gently on the back. “It’s okay,” he said for lack of anything else. He eyed the phone, willing it to ring. He had to make a call, and at this rate she was never going to let him get up. “Perhaps you’d like something to drink?” he asked. “How about some of that special cognac? Maybe it will make you feel better.”
