stopped abruptly. Am I losing it? We didn't plan this. She and the German had discussed a bomb at length. He had given her the concept.
She snapped around, expecting to see the Japanese bastard. God, he had unnerved her. Something had happened to her. No shrimp shit of a man like that could make a plaything out of her. Those placid eyes. She strained to remember every tiny detail, to understand why her kick hadn't broken ribs. The next time her gun would be ready. The little shit couldn't move faster than a bullet.
She put her head on the wheel and took a deep breath. There were no Orientals. He hadn't followed her. To reassure herself, she carefully looked over the cars, behind her, to both sides. She needed to get a grip and follow the plan. Glancing in the backseat, she saw the box with the bomb. It was simple. You wired it to the solenoid and it blew up when you started the car. She knew exactly what she had to do. Slowly she rolled forward right past the Nazi Dan Young.
'I'm going to blow you straight to hell,' she said aloud.
Dan still had plenty of meat on him, but after 2 1/2 years it had begun to undergo a slight metamorphosis. He was living with the beginnings of transformation from muscle man to slack man, and the consequent globules of adipose tissue that formed on the abdomen wall. And the loss of his wind. After over two years of marginal exercise, the first thing to go was cardiovascular stamina. Now he knew that a two-mile jog would have him puffing as if it were a five-mile run of three years ago. When Tess was alive, he did five back-to-back seven-minute miles.
In the entrance the place had a trendy juice bar complete with a hard-body female blonde to inspire effort and pour drinks. Beyond that were overstuffed couches in front of large-windowed racquetball courts. You didn't play in these unless you were good, or you just didn't give a damn.
He'd need to get a towel, he reasoned, and probably look for a locker, although he wasn't clear on how that worked. They'd moved into this newer facility and absolutely everything had changed since the last time he worked out.
The blonde was serving some vegetable-juice blend to three guys, obviously regular patrons, with Baywatch bodies. 'Excuse me. I'd like to work out,' he said to the blonde.
'Well, you've come to the right place.'
'Good.'
'You look in pretty good shape,' she said, giving him a genuine smile. 'Here's your towel; here's your lock.' As she was talking, Maria Fischer came around the corner, apparently headed for the carrot juice. She wore a simple but elegant black, gray, and white suit, complete with leggings and really good court shoes.
With her were two male lawyers from the Sierra Club legal-defense fund who weren't nearly as sweaty as she was. 'Well, what a pleasant surprise,' she said. 'Look who's here to work out.'
He felt exactly like a butterfly about to be stuck to a collector's board with long, sharp pins.
'Yeah, well, I thought I'd start again. Light workout.'
'Uh-huh,' Maria said. Her two friends hung back, only seeming to let their attentions wander elsewhere.
'I guess I better go get changed.'
'Good,' she said in a tone that sounded like anything but good.
It took him about ten minutes. Maria was still by the juice bar. Her two friends had disappeared.
Corey parked two cars over from the Mercedes. After turning off the key, she sat and stared in her lap. Fear bowed to rage. But now the fear was sometimes so strong that she hadn't enough rage. The German and the Japanese, they swirled in her mind. How much better it was when she had been alone, feeling next to nothing. Back then, more than anything, she wanted to kill Dan Young. Now maybe she wanted to kill the Japanese even more-it happened the second he had beaten her and called her a student. In that moment she had felt her life's redemption might lie in killing the small man. It was a moment of clarity.
Shit, what am I thinking about? If the Japanese came, she would kill him. If the German wasn't pleased, he could fuck himself. Snapping her head around, she was certain for a second that the Japanese was behind the car.
Nothing.
Then she glanced to the side again. And there he was. Smiling at her, the shit. Slowly she reached over and pressed the electric window button. He waved. Her eyes bored into his and he pretended not to know her. She raised the gun, drew a bead. She saw his mouth open, feigning astonishment. The asshole thought he was God, that he couldn't die.
Wait! He had a hearing aid. There was no hearing aid on the Japanese. And this one was slight not strong- shouldered. Oh God. She dropped the gun.
'Just kidding,' she called out, forcing a smile. She was sweating like a pig. Shaking.
'Not funny,' the man said.
For just a second she wondered if she was losing her mind. No, it was a likeness. Just two men who looked amazingly similar. Stick to the plan. Stick to the plan. Flicking on the safety, she worked on herself, telling herself to calm down. Had it been the Japanese, she would have shot him through the head. It was comforting. Calming. He would be dead, lying on the pavement with the back of his head blown off. She would have done it. She could have done it. She had the power.
Amazingly, no one else had seen. If she went to work on the Mercedes, it would be OK. She opened the door, went to the trunk, and got her tools. For show, she raised her hood. No, it would call attention. She lowered it and closed it firmly. Shit, she was wasting time. Forcing herself to focus, she went to the backseat and got out the box and went to the Mercedes. In seconds she was under it, reaching up to the solenoid. It took a couple of minutes to get the right wrench, to get it on and to loosen the small nut.
Quickly she fastened the wires. From the toolbox she took a putty knife and scraped the car's underbody, then taped the heavy pipe to the bottom of the car.
After a quick check of her handiwork, Corey grabbed her tool bag and jumped in her car, almost peeling rubber as she left. More than anything she wanted to watch Dan Young explode. If she stayed, maybe she would actually see him disintegrate. But she dare not stick around. Somebody might notice her, and this time she hadn't bothered with an airtight alibi. She would drive her motorcycle like hell to Crescent City.
Already a woman looking like her would be there, the German had said, charging things, checking into a room. If anybody ever checked, they would conclude that it wasn't humanly possible to get there that fast. It wasn't great, but it would have to do.
Dan went up some stairs that were an architect's dream, complete with painted steel railroad rail, wall murals, and roughened tiles color-coordinated to be part of the murals. Even in a small town like Palmer, there must be money in this, he thought. The stairs led to a large mezzanine looking over the entire racquetball complex. The exercise bikes were located here.
Much to his surprise, Maria followed.
'This club was probably completed after you quit working out, huh?'
'Yeah. Matter of fact.'
'What level you gonna ride on?' she said, slipping on one next to his.
'What about you?'
'Twelve.'
Without comment he put his on level twelve. She was giving him a hard time. Given his lack of conditioning, he should have been on level six at the very maximum. He knew the machines well and at his peak had ridden on level twelve. There were only twelve levels.
'I thought I'd ride on level twelve, but since you're just getting into shape again, maybe you should try three or four,' she said.
'An old farmer once said, 'Any woman can make a racehorse feel like a donkey. But it's a hell of a trick to make a donkey feel like a racehorse.' I'll do twelve.'
'Jeez, you've got heart. I'll give you that.'
'Yeah. That's my role here.'
'Oh, and what's mine?'
