Play Dead
Page 104
The tape came to a halt. “So what do we do now, Laura?”
A loud beep interrupted their conversation. Graham’s gruff voice blared through the speaker. “This is Graham. When you have a chance, luv, give us a call, will ya? I may have found out who David visited at the Pacific International. I’ll be at my home number all night.”
His voice . . . so sad, so defeated. Why? What had Graham learned? Laura checked her watch and lifted the phone. “Now,” she answered Serita, “we call Australia.”
STAN woke up from his nap with a jump. Another bad dream had plagued his sleep—another nightmare filled with wicked spirits that vanished from sight and memory once Stan opened his eyes and truly awoke. Then only the pounding of his heart, the shortness of his breath, and the frightening aftertaste in his mouth reminded Stan that once again his slumber had been beset by the evil demons of his past.
He threw on a robe and headed toward the kitchen. Tonight was the big meeting. Tonight Stan would see his father’s killer for only the third time. The first time had been when he was ten years old. The second, when he was at the Boston Garden. And now the third, to receive his first payment. One hundred thousand dollars. It was a staggering amount of money and would go a long way to giving him . . . Giving him what?
Stan stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked at Gloria. She was unloading the dishwasher, just putting away some dishes, but Stan remained hushed and watched. The delicate curves of her body under the silk blouse, her soft, gentle smile, the concentration in her eyes as she set about her simple task . . . they just made him stop and think. What did he need all that money for? He had stopped gambling. He was bright. He could get a job now, a real job, and stop running away for good. When Stan stopped and looked at Gloria, he thought he could do all those things.
But when she was not around him, when he was alone, he could still feel what the B Man had called “the itch.” He knew then that this talk about settling down was nothing but a pipe dream, that he was never meant to live that kind of domestic life. And besides, who needed it? Who wanted it? Gloria was after all just a woman—another scheming, deceitful bitch who would disappoint him eventually. She might be a little more subtle than most, and her venom might be gentler, but make no mistake: Gloria was a woman like any other.
The one hundred grand was his protection money. When he finished feeding off Gloria, he would have a nice little nest egg to carry him until he found his next mark. He would be on his way. He would be free.
But when Stan’s eyes gazed upon Gloria as they were doing right now, his suspicions broke apart and disintegrated before her warm beauty. He no longer merely lusted after her; he longed for her, to hold her, to comfort her, and, yes, to make mad, passionate love to her. Something about their relationship was . . . complete. Yes, complete. It was the only word that he could come up with to describe how he felt. What was this strange power Gloria held over him? And where would it lead?
She turned and saw him standing in the doorway. Her face lit up. God, he loved the way her face brightened whenever she saw him. “Hi,” she said.
He returned the smile. “Hi.”
“Have you been standing there long?”
“A couple of minutes. I just wanted to watch you.”
Her cheeks turned red. “Did you have a nice nap?”
“Very nice.”
“You must be starving. Do you want some dinner?”
“No, thanks. Are you feeling any better now?”
“A little,” she said. “I still can’t believe Judy is dead.”
He took her in his arms. “I know. It’ll be a while before it sinks in.” His eyes found the clock behind her head. Seven thirty p.m. In one hour, he would meet his father’s killer in an alleyway in south Boston. There, Stan Baskin would allow his fatherless childhood to be bought off for a few lousy dollars. One hundred thousand—Stan’s going price on a father’s memory.
Gloria looked at him with great concern. “Stan, are you okay?”
He held her tighter. “I’m fine,” he said. “I’m just fine.”
SERITA studied Laura’s face. Her skin was pulled tight around her high cheekbones, her eyes a mix of concentration and bewilderment. Laura was the most beautiful woman Serita had ever known. There was something positively hypnotic about it. There were times it unnerved and frightened Serita. Beauty like that could be dangerous. Beauty like that could be fatal. “Do you want me to leave the room?”
Laura located Graham’s number and began dialing. “I’d prefer if you stay, but if you want to get out while you still have the chance, I’ll understand.”
Serita remained in her seat. “I’m here for as long as you need me.”
Laura’s shaking fingers were barely able to dial. “You’re a good friend.”
“The best,” Serita shot back with a smile. “So tell me about this sheriff. Is he cute?”
Laura chuckled, appreciating the distraction. “In a grizzly-bear sort of way. He’s a real mountain man.”
“I could use some of that, honey. Earl with all his smooth sophistication is starting to get to me.”
The call connected through. Laura heard the first ring. “You love him, you know.”
Serita opened her mouth to protest. Then she closed it. “Yeah, I know.”
Third ring. Laura’s leg began to shake. Her hand gripped the receiver. “About time you admitted it.”
Fourth ring. Serita smiled. “I don’t want to get corny on you, Laura, but whatever happens, I want you to know that you’re the best friend I ever had.”
Fifth ring. “Same here.”
Finally, the ringing stopped. The receiver was lifted and a gruff voice barked, “Hello?”
“Graham?”
“Laura, I’m glad you called.”
“I just got your message. I was away for a couple of days.”
“Anything wrong?” the big man asked.
“Plenty,” she replied. “This thing keeps getting weirder and weirder.”
“Why? What happened?”
“My aunt called me the day before yesterday,” Laura began. “She said she had to tell me something about David’s death. The drowning had something to do with the past, she said. I don’t know. She wasn’t making complete sense. She wanted to tell me about it in person.”
“So did you see her? What did she say?”
“Nothing. When I arrived, someone had set fire to her house. My aunt died in the blaze.”
A loud beep interrupted their conversation. Graham’s gruff voice blared through the speaker. “This is Graham. When you have a chance, luv, give us a call, will ya? I may have found out who David visited at the Pacific International. I’ll be at my home number all night.”
His voice . . . so sad, so defeated. Why? What had Graham learned? Laura checked her watch and lifted the phone. “Now,” she answered Serita, “we call Australia.”
STAN woke up from his nap with a jump. Another bad dream had plagued his sleep—another nightmare filled with wicked spirits that vanished from sight and memory once Stan opened his eyes and truly awoke. Then only the pounding of his heart, the shortness of his breath, and the frightening aftertaste in his mouth reminded Stan that once again his slumber had been beset by the evil demons of his past.
He threw on a robe and headed toward the kitchen. Tonight was the big meeting. Tonight Stan would see his father’s killer for only the third time. The first time had been when he was ten years old. The second, when he was at the Boston Garden. And now the third, to receive his first payment. One hundred thousand dollars. It was a staggering amount of money and would go a long way to giving him . . . Giving him what?
Stan stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked at Gloria. She was unloading the dishwasher, just putting away some dishes, but Stan remained hushed and watched. The delicate curves of her body under the silk blouse, her soft, gentle smile, the concentration in her eyes as she set about her simple task . . . they just made him stop and think. What did he need all that money for? He had stopped gambling. He was bright. He could get a job now, a real job, and stop running away for good. When Stan stopped and looked at Gloria, he thought he could do all those things.
But when she was not around him, when he was alone, he could still feel what the B Man had called “the itch.” He knew then that this talk about settling down was nothing but a pipe dream, that he was never meant to live that kind of domestic life. And besides, who needed it? Who wanted it? Gloria was after all just a woman—another scheming, deceitful bitch who would disappoint him eventually. She might be a little more subtle than most, and her venom might be gentler, but make no mistake: Gloria was a woman like any other.
The one hundred grand was his protection money. When he finished feeding off Gloria, he would have a nice little nest egg to carry him until he found his next mark. He would be on his way. He would be free.
But when Stan’s eyes gazed upon Gloria as they were doing right now, his suspicions broke apart and disintegrated before her warm beauty. He no longer merely lusted after her; he longed for her, to hold her, to comfort her, and, yes, to make mad, passionate love to her. Something about their relationship was . . . complete. Yes, complete. It was the only word that he could come up with to describe how he felt. What was this strange power Gloria held over him? And where would it lead?
She turned and saw him standing in the doorway. Her face lit up. God, he loved the way her face brightened whenever she saw him. “Hi,” she said.
He returned the smile. “Hi.”
“Have you been standing there long?”
“A couple of minutes. I just wanted to watch you.”
Her cheeks turned red. “Did you have a nice nap?”
“Very nice.”
“You must be starving. Do you want some dinner?”
“No, thanks. Are you feeling any better now?”
“A little,” she said. “I still can’t believe Judy is dead.”
He took her in his arms. “I know. It’ll be a while before it sinks in.” His eyes found the clock behind her head. Seven thirty p.m. In one hour, he would meet his father’s killer in an alleyway in south Boston. There, Stan Baskin would allow his fatherless childhood to be bought off for a few lousy dollars. One hundred thousand—Stan’s going price on a father’s memory.
Gloria looked at him with great concern. “Stan, are you okay?”
He held her tighter. “I’m fine,” he said. “I’m just fine.”
SERITA studied Laura’s face. Her skin was pulled tight around her high cheekbones, her eyes a mix of concentration and bewilderment. Laura was the most beautiful woman Serita had ever known. There was something positively hypnotic about it. There were times it unnerved and frightened Serita. Beauty like that could be dangerous. Beauty like that could be fatal. “Do you want me to leave the room?”
Laura located Graham’s number and began dialing. “I’d prefer if you stay, but if you want to get out while you still have the chance, I’ll understand.”
Serita remained in her seat. “I’m here for as long as you need me.”
Laura’s shaking fingers were barely able to dial. “You’re a good friend.”
“The best,” Serita shot back with a smile. “So tell me about this sheriff. Is he cute?”
Laura chuckled, appreciating the distraction. “In a grizzly-bear sort of way. He’s a real mountain man.”
“I could use some of that, honey. Earl with all his smooth sophistication is starting to get to me.”
The call connected through. Laura heard the first ring. “You love him, you know.”
Serita opened her mouth to protest. Then she closed it. “Yeah, I know.”
Third ring. Laura’s leg began to shake. Her hand gripped the receiver. “About time you admitted it.”
Fourth ring. Serita smiled. “I don’t want to get corny on you, Laura, but whatever happens, I want you to know that you’re the best friend I ever had.”
Fifth ring. “Same here.”
Finally, the ringing stopped. The receiver was lifted and a gruff voice barked, “Hello?”
“Graham?”
“Laura, I’m glad you called.”
“I just got your message. I was away for a couple of days.”
“Anything wrong?” the big man asked.
“Plenty,” she replied. “This thing keeps getting weirder and weirder.”
“Why? What happened?”
“My aunt called me the day before yesterday,” Laura began. “She said she had to tell me something about David’s death. The drowning had something to do with the past, she said. I don’t know. She wasn’t making complete sense. She wanted to tell me about it in person.”
“So did you see her? What did she say?”
“Nothing. When I arrived, someone had set fire to her house. My aunt died in the blaze.”
