Here Comes the Night (17 page)

Tony lay dazed on his back, looking up at a barbed wire
fence. The Kawasaki had wobbled into it and then fallen on its side after the
bitch had shot his tire out. He was lucky the bike hadn’t plowed through the
fence, cutting him up with its little razor-edge snags.

Other than pressure on his pinned leg, he didn’t feel like
he was that hurt. As soon as he could pull his leg out from under the Ninja, he
could assess the damage.

Amazingly, the Ninja’s engine was still running. With an
effort he reached up and found the kill switch. In the prickly silence that
followed, he became aware of a thick presence behind him.

The hair on his neck stood up. He wasn’t sure if he could
get to his gun. He thought he still felt it against the small of his back.

Just as he slid his hand toward his weapon, angry moo’s
assaulted the air. He twisted his head around and saw a half dozen heifers,
disrupted from a peaceful breakfast, now standing behind the fence, looking at
him with dark bee-bee eyes. It was so ridiculous, he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Go on, chew your fucking cud.” He was still snickering as
he concentrated on freeing himself.

There wasn’t as much pain as he expected when he finally
pulled his trapped leg free. All that weight lifting in prison was paying off.
It sure came in handy today, when, from an awkward position, he had to hoist
the Ninja up to twist his leg free. While he grunted with the exertion, the
cows tilted their heads toward him in a quizzical look.

Finally out from under the bike, he tried out the hurt leg.
It was sore and already bruising up, but nothing broken.
He felt
light-headed, but that would pass as soon as he got moving.
No way that
sick old couple was going to get the best of Tony Bonner.

He stood the bike up with its ruined tire, and had a
cigarette as he thought about the rich pervs, rolling their way along in that
bronze Sherman tank. At least he’d left some holes in the side for them to cry over.

This was not even close to over. A new tire and he could
catch up with them long before they caught sight of the city. He hadn’t lost
his bite yet.

He started the engine and limped the Kawasaki along the
road, back tire wobbling. But he had a good feeling about this. Something was
going to come along. He had a sixth sense about this shit.

Tony had already seen a surprising number of little
businesses along the way. They often looked desolate, but in fact, they were
strung out along the state highways because that was still the main artery for
the small towns up and down these roads. A guy could find damn near anything
for sale along Highway 152. From an old used car in back of a garage to a
toolbox traded in by some hapless traveler for gas. Or a motorcycle tire.

Tony would get back on the road, one way or the other, and
find the old farts. And then he was going to fuck them up until they bawled for
mercy.

Even though the courthouse halls were practically deserted,
Buck wanted to avoid the curious gazes of cops or court officials who would
want a glimpse of the celebrity defendant. He kept his eyes down and straight
ahead as they headed to the hearing early Saturday morning. An assistant of
Hackman’s had brought him a clean set of clothes, so at least he didn’t have to
look like some slob from the drunk tank. Of course, that couldn’t hide his
bruised face, black eye, cuts, and generally swollen appearance.

Buck knew how to keep his head down, ever since his college
days, when statewide fame had made him highly recognizable. Even drinking in a
bar with his buddies always seemed to turn out badly. Anytime he wasn’t in
line, cultivating an All-American image, there were repercussions. Either the
coach would get wind of the drunken party, or more damaging, a reporter would
slip an acid comment into his
Oklahoman
column. Even the high-powered
alums couldn’t completely insulate you from that.

His college marriage to Sissy Spivey, gorgeous Gamma Phi
queen, had sunk right along with his football career. A small town shit kicker,
he would never have made the cut with her Bartlesville old rich family without
his football reputation. As a result, he always felt like an imposter around
his wife and her family.

The day they married he watched Sissy come down the aisle in
her pearl-infused designer dress and for a second didn’t know who she was. It
was like seeing her for the first time, awash in her bridal glory, flashing the
engagement ring Daddy had financed. It struck him at that moment that he would
never live up. Standing there, a smile pasted on his face, he had experienced
an anxiety attack that nearly took him to his knees.

They did stick it out, however, through the Dallas fiasco
and long term knee rehabilitation, even though by then they were bored to tears
with one another. Her focus lay in her nails and hair, and, of course, how well
Buck fit into Daddy’s oil lease business, which wasn’t well at all.

A family was out of the question. It would only ruin her
figure, Sissy concluded, so their life revolved around painful family
gatherings where Buck was treated like the former trophy husband who’d failed
them all when he lost his million dollar knee to a flagrant, vicious tackle.

After they’d been together ten years beyond any feeling for
one another, he’d finally just walked out one day, unable to say why or even
talk to her. Sissy hadn’t been particularly perturbed. She told him later,
after the door closed behind him, she turned over in bed and called one of her
friends for lunch. The only thing he felt was relief. He swore off permanent
relationships.

Buck had been, if not thrilled, quite content with his
single life. He traveled to sports events and even got into snow skiing with
the help of an obscenely expensive knee brace. He and some friends had learned
to scuba dive at the same time, and that yielded a list of must-dive islands to
go to. There was never a shortage of women if he needed a lay or a date to an
event. If not meaningful, his life was at least fun, as long as he made enough
money to go where he wanted.

Then he had met Angie at the Christmas party. It was one of
those moments when, if the people around them didn’t catch the crackle in the
air between them, they had to be brain dead. He had been so embarrassed by his
immediate turn-on that he avoided her gaze for the remainder of the evening.
Didn’t even ask her to dance for fear he’d come on to her. She was the boss’s
wife, strictly off limits.

A couple of weeks later, out of the blue, she’d knocked on
his apartment door. When he let her in, she just stood there like a nervous
kid. At first neither of them seemed sure what to do.

Then he had finally said, “Mrs. Wesner, do you…?” He was
going to finish, “…think this is a good idea?” But he didn’t get the chance.

She moved to him and gave him a long, hungry kiss. And they
did it right there on his carpet the first time.

Now, walking down a courthouse hall with his lawyer, their
footsteps ricocheting off the tiles and onto the walls, Buck prayed he might
get a glimpse of her. Hackman had explained that Angie would be bringing the
money, so he might see her afterwards. That prospect kept him going. He just
didn’t want to fall apart. She could have that effect on him.

The impromptu court proceedings were casual by usual
standards. The bail hearing room had only a Court Reporter and Bailiff to
officiate for Judge Collier. Hackman had told Buck it shouldn’t take but a few
minutes, unless the D.A. wanted to be a dick about it.

The prosecutor was not a dick, but only because she was
female. Rebecca Stiles, a brunette with a short, compact body, entered with
files falling from her arms. The silent scorn in her look at Dearmore promised
as much trouble as she could stir up.

Judge Collier entered and called the proceeding to order. It
looked like he still had on golfing shoes under his robes.

The prosecution seemed anxious to show the judge that this
slick, high profile personality was basically pulling a fast one on him.
Rebecca Stiles probably saw this as her chance to come on hard and strong,
keeping this jock celebrity in jail where anybody lesser known would surely be.

“We have only been apprised of this case in the last couple
of hours, Your Honor.” Stiles’ voice was a deep purr. “The District Attorney’s
office has barely had time to even peruse the investigation, much less decide
what charges might be brought.”

Hackman jumped in. “We are aware of the circumstances in
which this has played out, Your Honor. If this were in the course of a regular
work week, we would not be standing before you asking for bond. But since it is
the beginning of the weekend, the defendant, who is injured himself, could be
looking at two days behind bars before the prosecution even considers the
case.”

Stiles jumped back in. “Which perhaps the defendant should
have considered before his Friday night revelries, Your Honor.”

Hackman puffed up. “That is grossly unfair to characterize
Mr. Dearmore’s activities in that light, Your Honor.”

Judge Collier put both of his hands up in a s
ettle down
gesture.
“Relax, Counsels, take a breath. I must admit, Mr. Dearmore, you do look like
you got the wrong end of it.”

Buck managed, “Yes, sir, I’m afraid so.”

The Judge leaned forward. “While the prosecution’s concern
is noted, there are other considerations which also weigh upon the court. It
seems the defendant himself has sustained injuries which will require further
attention and…”

“He can receive additional care while in custody…” Then Stiles
ground to a stop under the withering look from the Judge. She stepped back.
“Sorry to interrupt, Your Honor.”

“As well you should be,” Collier said in a congenial manner.
“I am also mildly concerned that if any harm should come to him while in
custody, that would fall heavily on my shoulders.”

Stiles couldn’t help herself. “What harm would come to a
famous football player, Your Honor? Wouldn’t he be more likely to be asked for
an autograph?”

Collier fixed her with a curious gaze. “Well, I see your
knowledge of incarceration is incomplete.”

Buck could see a thin smile on his lawyer’s lips. Hackman
had explained beforehand that his celebrity alone would keep him from the
general population. No one wanted to take responsibility on the off chance that
some asshole couldn’t resist the notoriety of knifing someone with a name. It
could help them if the judge believed he was safer out of jail than in.

“What does the defense say on the subject of bond?”

Hackman cleared his throat and spoke with a soft, respectful
tone. “Your Honor, we would ask that Mr. Dearmore be released on his own
recognizance until the prosecution has had an opportunity to review possible
charges. His ties to the community and his reputation guarantee that Mr.
Dearmore will dutifully return to the court when and if any charges are filed,
although the defense believes that once the facts are known, that is a highly
unlikely scenario. We contend that the defendant is himself a victim in this
complicated matter.”

The Judge nodded and turned to Ms. Stiles. “And what does
the prosecution have to say on this matter?”

“Your Honor, the defendant’s car was in an accident
involving another celebrity last night, Miss Candy Myers. This incident could
well turn into vehicular homicide. Under such a serious charge, we contend that
Mr. Dearmore’s ties to the community would pale in comparison to a murder
charge. He has the means to flee, and, if out on bond, he will have the
opportunity. We ask remand.”

“What bond amount would satisfy the D.A.?” the Judge asked.

“Prosecution asks 100,000 dollars,” Stiles said in defeat.

“Your Honor,” Hackman jumped in, “that is outrageous.”

Before Hackman could say more, the judge raised his hand in
a silencing motion. “It seems to me that the defendant’s passport can be
surrendered to the court as a gesture of good faith. I would also admonish Mr.
Dearmore that he is not to leave the area. Are you in agreement with these
stipulations?” Collier looked down at Dearmore with his eyebrows raised in a
question.

Hackman nudged Buck, who jumped in, “Yes, Your Honor.”

“Very well, the defendant will be released on a 50 thousand
dollar cash bond until the matter of charges is resolved one way or the other.”

Stiles looked like she wanted to argue the point, but the
Judge was swift.

“Court is adjourned,” he said and whisked himself off to
finish his tennis game.

Stiles gathered her folders, glared at them one last time.
“You’ll be hearing from us, Gentlemen.”

After she was gone, Buck sighed with relief and turned to
Hackman. “So, now what?”

“We bond you out downstairs.”

“Mrs. Wesner will be there?” Buck tried to sound casual.

“Yes, since time is of the essence,” Hackman explained.

Hackman said, “You are alright with that, I assume. The bank
putting up bail for you?”

Buck looked at him, wondering if he had any idea what was
going on. “I just feel bad, her coming down here when her husband just died.”

“I know. I hated to ask, but she didn’t have a problem with
it when I called.” Hackman offered.

“I’m grateful for it,” Buck said. If only there would be
some small chance to talk to her for a moment. Nothing seemed more important.

Angie understood it was no time to lose their heads. She
would drop off the money to Buck’s lawyer and get out of there. She did not
know him at all, but he was with Indigo’s firm, so she had to be cautious.
Under no circumstances could she give him any reason to second guess what was
going on.

Then she would head to the O.K. Corral and wrangle an
address or phone number for this waitress. After that, she would drop Gordon’s
jewelry and clothes off at the funeral home. She had an agenda firmly in her
head. So when Angie ran into the waitress right inside the Police Station
entrance, it threw her for a loop. All she could do was stare dumbfounded.

When Erika looked up and saw her, she was speechless as
well. After a moment, she said, “Mrs. Wesner? What are you doing at the police
station?”

Angie looked around and didn’t see anyone paying them any
attention. She went over and sat beside her. “Actually, this is quite a
coincidence. I was here on some other business, but I was going to try to find
you later.”

“Me? Why?” Erika looked puzzled.

Angie wanted to confront her right then and there, but the
room was too public, especially if the girl should balk at being called out on
what happened. “I just had a couple of questions about the cameo, that’s all.
No big deal.” Angie looked at her watch in frustration. “Listen, I have to take
care of this other thing right away, but could I come back in a few minutes so
we can talk? It’s very important.”

Erika didn’t look too sure. “I guess so, but I’m waiting for
the detectives now.”

“Detectives?”

“Yes.”

“Did they call you in?” Angie asked.

“Not exactly. I just need to talk to them.” She ducked her
eyes toward the floor.

Angie felt a moment of panic. “When are they supposed to be
here?”

“I don’t know. Not too long, they said.”

“Listen, I won’t be but a minute,” Angie said, getting up.
“Wait for me?”

Erika still looked unsure. “Sure, but if they come…”

“Please, I‘ll be right back, okay?”

The girl nodded. “Unless they show up.”

“I know, I know. Thank you,” Angie said. Then she hurried to
the reception desk and asked where to go to post bail.

A few minutes later she was at the right window, but they
didn’t seem to know what had happened yet with the hearing. Just as she turned
away in frustration, a handsome black man hurried up to her.

“Mrs. Wesner?” he said.

“Yes?”

He seemed relieved. “I’m Terrence Hackman.” They shook hands
and he ushered her over to a bolted down set of plastic-formed chairs. “Thank
you so much for doing this. I know Mr. Dearmore is profoundly grateful.”

Angie was looking around to see if Buck was in the vicinity.
“Where is he?”

“He’s still in holding. We’re just waiting for the paperwork
to be faxed over and then we can bond him out.”

“So they are letting him go?”

“Oh yes,” Hackman assured her. “The judge was very
understanding.”

“How much do you need?” Angie asked, fumbling for her purse.

Hackman lowered his voice. “Fifty thousand cash.”

“I’ve got it,” Angie assured him.

“Just leave it in your purse for now. As soon as they get
the court order, you’ll have to identify yourself and sign some forms. That way
you’ll be the one to get it back. It should be just a few minutes for them to
fax it down.”

Angie sat, her hands on her purse clasp. “How is Mr.
Dearmore?”

“Frankly? Not well. He was badly beaten by those thugs. They
cut off his pinkie finger.”

“What?” Angie felt her knees go weak. She had seen his
swollen face earlier in the hall, but had no idea about the finger.

Hackman looked concerned. “Are you alright, ma’am?”

Angie pulled herself together and nodded.

“I’m sorry. You’ve had so many shocks this morning.”

“It’s alright.”

“We’ll be out of your hair in just a minute. I’m planning to
take Mr. Dearmore directly to a doctor from here, just to make sure he’s
receiving the best care.”

“Yes,” she managed. “Good idea.”

At that moment a large woman behind the window called out,
“Terrence Hackman?”

“Yes, right here,” Hackman said and hurried to the window.
After a few moments, he signaled Angie to join him. Within five minutes, the
bond was posted.

“How long will it take now?” Angie asked Hackman.

The clerk answered for him. “About five or ten minutes. You
can wait over there.”

After they sat back down, Hackman said, “If you need to go
on, please do.”

Everything in Angie knew to go. But she couldn’t make her
feet or body move. She had to see him. Even if she couldn’t touch him, she had
to be in the same space as him. Finally, she told Hackman, “As long as I’m
here, I can tell him how sorry I am about all his troubles.”

Hackman nodded and seemed appreciative. “I’m sure that will
mean a lot to him.”

Every minute then seemed like an hour. Hackman inquired
about Gordon’s services and they made small talk about the arrangements.

Then there he came, out of a door with a guard guiding him
to the check out desk. Angie watched as he waited, head down, for his things
they’d taken when they brought him in. His billfold, his key chain. He looked
up and saw Hackman and nodded.

Angie studied Buck, searching for any sign, clues, as to how
he was holding up. His face was sickly pale except for the discolorations, and
one eye was almost swollen shut. The bandaged hand was stained with blood where
his pinkie used to be.

Hackman waited for him and whispered a greeting when they
finally cut his nylon flex-ties and released him. Buck’s face registered relief
when he moved to the other side of the counter. Hackman gestured toward Angie.

Buck’s face colored for a moment when he saw her, then
looked down. Angie couldn’t hear what Hackman was saying to Buck, but figured
it was about her posting bond for him.

Buck glanced at her again, seemed unsure of himself, then
walked toward her. His voice sounded oddly formal. “I appreciate the bank
helping me out, Mrs. Wesner, and I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Angie touched his hand without the thick bandage, like a
condolence gesture. “Thank you, Mr. Dearmore. I’m so sorry about what all has
happened to you, too.”

Their eyes met, holding it in check. The space of inches
between them might as well have been miles. Finally, he said, “Thanks. It’s
been a rough night all around.”

At that moment, the bond clerk called Hackman back over for
something else to sign, and they had a moment together.

“You shouldn’t be posting bond,” Buck whispered.

“It’s in the bank’s name,” she said. “Since Gordon couldn’t
arrange for it.”

“What’s going on?” he murmured.

“Nobody knows. What happened yesterday?”

“They grabbed me.”

“Who?” Then Angie’s face changed as she saw Hackman moving
toward them.

“Okay, we’re set,” Hackman said, looking at them, sensing
he’d missed something. “There’s always one more form, it seems like.”

Angie kept it casual. “So you’re headed out to see the
doctor?”

Hackman looked at Buck. “It’s up to you, Buck. I’m going to
insist you get checked out, but you may need to eat something first. How long’s
it been?”

Buck shook his head. “I can’t remember.”

“That’s what I thought. Tell you what. We’ll have some food
brought in to my office, I’ll have the doctor meet us there. Then you can rest
there, or I can take you back to your apartment. But I want you checked out.
And then after you’ve rested, we’ll put our heads together, alright?”

They all said goodbyes like casual acquaintances, although
Angie was having a hard time holding it in. The sight of Buck, hurt and lost,
was too much.

As Hackman and Buck turned and walked away, everything
flooded in. Tears streamed down her face as she watched them walk away.

“Mrs. Wesner?” Somebody from behind the desk was saying her
name.

Angie blinked, then turned, mouth open, barely holding back
a sob.

James Edgars stood there at the clerk’s window, studying her
face with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

She just stood there, caught, pinned in a unforgiving
spotlight.

Edgars frowned, then glanced down the hall where she’d been
looking and saw Buck and Hackman leaving. He looked back at her, his eyes
widening. The detective didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

When Angie could finally make her body move, she hurried
away. She didn’t trust herself to speak to him. Edgars would have picked up on
the slightest vibe, like a parent who knows his child all too well.

She was still scolding herself as she arrived back in the
front area. With a quick sweep Angie realized the bench where Erika had been
sitting was empty. It was a body blow. She practically ran out the front door
of the Police Station.

By the time Angie had made it out to the BMW in the parking
lot, she had already lost it. Nothing she did seemed to help. She was just a
cog in a game machine, getting thumped every round, no matter what. She got in
and inserted the key, but before she could start the engine, she began slamming
the steering wheel with her fists. Banging until it shook.

Furious, starting to bawl, she turned the key over and
roared out of the lot.

The first exit onto the Interstate she could find was
Western, so she took it and found herself on I-40 speeding west. Along the
highway the air was choked with the odors of oily asphalt and burned up
machines. She could smell it even with the vents closed.

Usually, when she was this distraught, she would go running.
Pull on her jogging shoes and sweats and head for a nearby park. But that
wouldn’t be fast enough today. She needed to blow something away.

The BMW warmed up to the task with an easy hum. It was
always ready. By the time Angie whizzed past the fairgrounds, the BMW was
purring at 85. And she was just getting started.

Angie didn’t plan to stop until she scared herself to death.