I didn’t linger at my task. Having Dorsey march in just now would be a major embarassment.. and probably get me arrested, unless I read this situation all wrong. At this stage of the game, I doubted that I would ever live to leave any jail cell the police put me in.
After a glance through the security peephole in the door, I was out of there.
Along the empty hallway without seeing anyone, then waited for the elevator. Rode it down, did the gut check as the door opened, saw the coast was clear, and marched across the lobby and out.
At least the rain had stopped.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I was waiting for Willie Varner to arrive at the van late Thursday morning when my cell phone rang. I checked the number before I answered. Uh-oh.
“Good morning, Dorsey.”
“Are you working?”
“Just getting off, actually.”
“I was wondering if we might have breakfast.”
“Sounds fine to me. Where and when?”
“My room at the Hilton, in about an hour.”
I hadn’t showered or shaved since the previous morning, and my clothes were beginning to smell, but I had to see her. “Okay. See you there.”
I flipped to the bugs in her room and listened. A steady buzz on both bugs, though stronger on one than the other. It sounded as if the maid was vacuuming.
More activity in Royston’s suite. People talking business and investments. The political situation in California in one of the adjoining suites. In the other they were worrying the bone: Was or wasn’t it Zooey? Would having her on the ticket help or hurt the president?
I flipped back to Royston’s suite in time to catch him on the telephone. “When will you arrive?” he asked. Then, “Are you staying with the first lady?” Some more grunts, then, after a long pause, “We could work up some spontaneous demonstrations if I could at least hint as to how it will go, have the signs and banners ready to unfurl. It would look terrific on television, get the ball rolling..
“I see,” he said after another long pause, then he hung up the telephone. Someone came in and said the maid wanted to clean the room.
I was examining the sad state of my shoes when Willie unlocked the side door and climbed into the van.
His very first words were, “You look like something the cat coughed up.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Don’t you get valet services out here?” He plopped into the other chair. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing much.”
“The cabbie had a radio talk show on. They said the president hasn’t announced his VP choice yet.”
“That’s about the size of it, I think.”
“Have you had any sleep?”
“I napped for an hour or two in this chair.”
“So are you going back to Jersey?”
“After a while. First I have a date.”
His head jerked up. “Dorsey?”
“Yeah.”
“In her room?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, why not? I could use some red-hot sex to get the juices flowin’, speed the healin’, but I guess listenin’ is the next best thing. ‘Course, watchin’ would be better.”
“As your friend, I’m asking you not to listen.”
“Ask away. The answer is no. Just remember every moan and grunt and compliment on your equipment is being recorded for posterity. When the FBI catches up with you, this stuff is going to be played at the Hoover Building, before the grand jury, in court, maybe even on TV. I’ll bet I could even sell it to some of those talk show shock dudes. Maybe Jerry Springer — he’s kinky enough. Imus would like the political angle.”
“This is how you repay me for saving your miserable life?”
“Hey, man, sellin’ recordings of your sexual exploits sounds like a career to me. Man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do to keep body and soul together. Next week nobody will give a shit about this political crap, but sex always sells. Gonna buy a Lincoln Town Car and move to the suburbs.”
Willie thought about that prospect for a moment, about the car and the lawn and the barking dogs next door, then shifted gears. “There’s two sisters livin’ in Andover who I might be able to hook you up with. They’re a pair of fine lusty ladies with big tits. These gals are sorta Hershey’s chocolate, but with you that’d probably be no nevermind. I’ve noticed that big tits seem to bring out your best performances. We get back and—“
I climbed from the van. When Willie the Wire got rolling, leaving was the only way to shut him up.
There was a copy store a block crosstown. I went in, waited for a moment until the clerk was available, and filled out a fax form. I handed her the document; she pushed buttons on the machine. The paper fed through the thing, and she handed it back.
“Have a nice day,” she said. Her tits were medium-sized.
“Yeah.”
Right beside the copy story was a drugstore. I bought toothpaste and a brush and put them in my pocket. Found the remnants of that chocolate chip cookie I stole the other day in that pocket. Had forgotten I had it. It was a mess now. I threw it in the trash on the way back to the hotel. Bought a cup of coffee off a bagel vendor and drank it, although it was acidic enough to take the enamel off my teeth.
In the hotel men’s room I answered nature’s call, brushed my teeth, and washed my face. Yes, I could smell myself. If Dorsey wanted me in this condition, she was really serious about marriage. Or randy as hell.
For some reason as I stared in the mirror at my unshaven mug, the image of the burning house in the forest near the Greenbrier River flashed through my mind. The feel of guns bucking in my hands, falling people, smiling killers, broken bodies … Would I see those images at odd moments all my life, or would they fade into static amid the zillions of electrical impulses that stored memories inside my brain?
Blood and murder, sex and politics. One fine stew, you must admit.
And Dorsey, with her millions and her marriage proposal. I could almost hear her saying, “Let me take you away from all this.”
The unshaven mug in the mirror stared back at me.
Dorsey obviously had lots on her mind when she opened the door. Yet she took one look at me and her nose wrinkled. “Did you sleep in those clothes?”
“I’ve been working all night.”
“Strip. I’ll send everything to the laundry on an emergency cleaning order. They’ll have them back in an hour or two. Then get in the shower.”
It was an offer too good to pass up. I went into the bathroom and stripped to the skin, piled wallet, cell phone, keys, 38 revolver, and ankle holster on the counter, and dumped my clothes in the hallway. I could hear her on the phone to room service.
The shower was running and the bathroom steamy when I heard the door open. I peeked around the curtain. She was examining my pile of hardware on the counter. “Uh-uh. Leave that stuff alone.”
“Do you always wear a pistol?”
“Only on duty.” I had forgotten to leave it in the van, where I stored it prior to my last tryst with Dorsey.
She took her clothes off. It always amazed me how fast she could strip for action. Then she asked, “Do you have room for one more?”
It was a big shower. After all, this was a big hotel, with big prices.
