'It's been spotty.'
A crash of thunder punctuated his remark.
The barkeep looked over Rance's shoulder. 'It's looked like rain all day. Now it looks like a bad storm.'
Rance was about to ask about employment possibilities when he was interrupted by a horrendous lightning display. 'Gods,' the barkeep breathed. 'Did I say bad storm?'
Moments later the flash flood hit. Rance was halfway through his ale when a high wall of water swept through the town.
Later he recalled nothing much but the feeling of being carried away by an unstoppable force. He remembered a few screams, the swirling brownish-gray water, floating debris. There was not much else to remember, and almost nothing remained of the town.
He swam to high ground, sloshed out of the water, lay down, and sank six fathoms into sleep.
Someone was trying to undress him. He threw out his right hand and hit something soft.
He got up and looked at the man writhing on the ground, clutching his throat.
The man regained his voice and croaked, 'Bastard! I thought you were dead!'
'Not yet,' he answered. 'Not quite yet.'
CHAPTER TWELVE
Max spent all night in the study, a cold anger frosting his insides.
Max 2 had needed a change, all right.
Many of the reasons for his crying need were piled in a heap on the desktop. Here was notice of an imminent IRS audit of his personal returns and his company's. There, stacks of overdue household bills. Legal documents informing of pending litigation. Two notices that a warrant for his arrest would be sworn out if payment of fines for a sheaf of traffic violations was not forthcoming…
There was more. Max saw the letterhead of a Las Vegas hotel and couldn't force himself to look at the amount of the marker or how long overdue the payoff was.
Something was rotten in Max 2's world.
Max 2 had himself a fine advertising agency, Dumbrowsky Taylor Burke. He was looking at a bank statement of the business account. Low cash flow, very low. A business with a balance sheet like this couldn't stay in business very long.
Taking everything into consideration, it looked as though Max 2 was completely broke. On the surface, he looked fine, but his actual net worth was probably a negative number. If so, where had the gold come from? Oh, here.
Second mortgage on the house, to the tune of several hundred thousand dollars. The house was worth that much, all right. 50, he'd converted the cash to gold. And the first payment on the new mortgage was already a week overdue.
Max was getting a distinct whiff of bamboozle on the wind.
All a scam. He had been hoodwinked. This life was in more of a mess than the one he'd left.
Dawn was coming through the window, and he heard movement upstairs.
Well, he had Andrea back. That much was an improvement. Maybe having her in his life would make up for this pot of trouble he was in.
Someone was coming down the stairs. He ducked into the powder room, wet his overlong hair, and slicked it down. Max 2's hair had been a lot shorter; he hoped the discrepancy wouldn't be glaring. Also, Max 2 had about fifteen pounds on him. Max loosened his robe.
After steeling himself for the shock of what he knew was outside, Max opened the study door and went into the foyer.
And there was Andrea, standing at the front door in an expensive coffee-colored fur stole and a maroon dress. She had aged not a whit, looking as Max had always remembered her: tall and beautiful. He drank in everything about her that he had cherished: the long legs, the long, wavy chocolate-brown hair, the high cheekbones, the high-fashion face of classic symmetry.
Max fell in love all over again. 'Andrea,' he breathed.
She turned her pale blue eyes on him. 'I'm leaving, Max.'
Max stopped dead in his tracks.
'Forget about the trial separation. I've decided to file.' She was pulling on long black leather gloves. Finished, she looked at him. 'Up all night again?'
'Andrea… you can't… I just-'
'There's nothing more to say, Max,' she told him coldly. 'It's all been said. I'll have my lawyers call your lawyers.' One dark eyebrow drew up into a sarcastic arch. 'Isn't that the way you've always handled everything?'
'Andrea, please.'
'No use, Max.' She turned away to look out the window. 'My taxi's here.' She picked up a suitcase from behind a large potted plant and opened the front door. Outside, the rain had passed and it was a bright autumn day. 'You can have the house, liens and all. The settlement will be the least of your problems. I just want. a few favorite pieces of furniture.'
'Andrea, wait-'
She was out the door. For the second time, Max watched Andrea walk out of his life, and this time she was dressed to kill. Ten years ago she had boarded the 41A Crosstown bus, wearing jeans and Max's buckskin jacket.
In the driveway, Andrea stopped and turned. 'Good-bye, Max. It was fun. For a while, anyway. We lived well, we had some good times.'
'Andrea, don't. We can get it all back. Trust me.'
'I trusted you, Max. But something happened to you along the way. You began to hate everything, even me. I don't know why.'
'Not true, Andrea. Andrea, baby… I love you.'
'You did once. And I loved you. But that was years ago, Max. Years ago. It almost seems like another world. Good-bye.'
'Andrea, wait, I have to explain something to you. I'm not-'
The taxi honked.
'Too late, Max. I don't want explanations now.' She began to turn, but halted. She looked at him, faintly puzzled. 'Did you do something to your hair?'
Max could say nothing.
She shrugged. 'Good-bye, Max.' She walked to the waiting taxi.
Helpless, knowing that he could never explain to her satisfaction, Max watched her get into the cab. He continued watching as the taxi followed the broad circular drive to the street, made a left turn, and was gone, carrying Andrea out of his life forever, once again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
'This one looks interesting.'
Snowclaw had his head poked through a promising aspect of his own when he heard Gene's words. He sniffed, decided this otherwise pretty world was not as provocative as he had thought, and turned away. He walked across the hallway. 'Yeah?'
'Well,' Gene said, 'if you like deserted cities. There's one out there on that plain.'
'A city. Is that what that is?'
'Looks to be.' Gene leaned against the doorjamb and studied the scene abstractedly.
