Jump the Gun (5 page)

“And go where?” I grabbed a handful of French fries.

“I don't know. Let's just get the hell out of here.”

“I'll stay here, Mr. Paxton. There's really no need for you to concern yourself with me,” said Mary.

Mickey glowered at her. “Are you kidding me? I don't trust you past my little finger. If you
are
Jake's mother, and I mean the Jake that we know, you could be setting us up, calling him to come find us.”

“But you don't have to tell me where you're going.”

“Lady, you've got Luis' medallion number memorized, I bet. I don't want you putting Luis in danger, or us. So we're sticking together for a while. In fact, forget the hotel and Jake. Let's take our chances with the police station. Back to plan A. How does that sound?” Mickey looked at me.

“Sure. Let's go.” I had no reason to trust Mary or go out on a limb for her.

Luis got up, but Mary refused. “Please, don't do this. I cannot go back to Tall Oaks. Surely you can tell by now that I don't belong there. I am fully independent, I am not demented, I do not need caregivers. My family just stuck me in there as a way to keep track of me. I am not trying to harm any of you in any way.”

I was ready to leave her there at this point, too tired and confused to save anyone but myself…and maybe Mickey. But then the roar of a car charging too fast into the parking lot and car doors slamming caught our attention. Out the window we spied Jake and another guy hustling toward the restaurant.

“Holy crap,” I said. All of us, including Mary, frantically sought a way out of the diner.

Luis shouted “There!” and pointed to a back door with an exit sign. We ran out faster than you can say pigs-in-a-blanket. As luck would have it—we were in Las Vegas, after all—Luis had parked near our exit, far from the entrance. We piled in, Mickey took the front seat this time, and Luis tore off.

Mickey whirled to glare at Mary. “Was that your doing, Mary? Did you call Jake and tell him where to find us? Did you?”

Mary didn't answer, but I stated the facts. “She never left the table, Mickey. She couldn't have called him.”

Mickey turned back around. No one said anything else. Luis kept driving, and lucky for us he knew what he was doing. He made lots of sudden turns, getting us out of the city, and drove fast on the straightaways. After a few minutes he slowed down. “We're fine, now.”

It was plenty fine with me that where we were going was up to Luis. Frankly, I expected him to take us to the police station, but he drove for about twenty minutes, a ways out of Las Vegas and into another town, some nowhere place in the middle of the flat desert landscape. The small, ranch-style houses had asphalt or ground red rocks for front yards. I figured each one had a kidney-shaped pool behind it. Not much vegetation. Only a few cars on the streets. It was the last place in America I would want to live. “Wow. Who could live here?”

“Me, for one,” said Luis, and I shut up. A few minutes later he pulled in front of the lobby of the Sleep Tight Inn, turned off the engine, and swung to Mickey on his right. He pointed at the meter. “You owe me this much plus two hundred bucks, Mick.”

Mickey pulled out his wallet and counted out the money. He handed it to Luis, and then wrote something on what I figured was his business card, saying, “This is who I am. All of my information is there.”

Luis stuck the money in his pocket while he was reading Mickey's card. He glanced at Mickey and they traded a nod. Then Luis turned to see all of us. “Now, here's what I'm going to tell you, folks. You don't want to go to the police. You want to stay here for the night. We lost them back there at the diner, and I'm going to park my cab somewhere away from here and away from my house, in case they're looking for it. You should be safe tonight. But stay in the motel, and don't leave.”

“Luis, what are you talking about? Why shouldn't we go to the police?” Mickey spoke very softly, asking as if he didn't want to hear the answer.

“That hombre back there, the big one with the bandage on his nose? That's the one you know as Jake?”

Mickey and I nodded and Mary said, “He was the man on the elevator, but without the bandage…”

“Mickey broke it when we escaped,” I explained.

Luis sighed. “He's a cop. A real one, and a bad one, but he's in good with the department. I don't know what's going on here, but I know that if he's threatening you with guns and shit, then it ain't pretty, and I'd bet he really does want to kill you.”

We were stupefied by this piece of news. Mary said, “Yes, well, he did have a badge.”

“Luis, how do you know this cop? Have you had trouble with him before?”

Luis looked at me. “Sure, and maybe I'll tell you about it. Right now, I want to ditch my cab and ditch all of you, okay? Stay here tonight. Get some sleep. I'm going to think about all of this and see if I can come up with any ideas. I'll be back in the morning, or I'll call you.”

This wasn't very reassuring, let me tell you. Until that moment, we didn't know anything about this Luis guy except that he was kind and trying to help us. Now we found out he had a history with Jake. Maybe Jake wanted to kill him, too, or maybe Luis had committed some crime and that was the trouble he was talking about. Here we were, stuck in the middle of yet another inexplicable coincidence, heading for more danger.

“Let's go. Mary, come on. Annabelle.” Mickey seemed to think this was the best thing to do, like we could trust Luis, and I agreed to do what I was told—not a typical response on my part, but taking direction well is something that comes in handy during a crisis when you can't tell the difference between a cop and a thug, a sweet old lady and a thief, and a man who is in the process of stealing your heart and a man who could be landing you in a deep, unmarked grave in the middle of the Mojave desert. So I got out of the cab.

Chapter Six

The Sleep Tight Inn was nothing like an inn. It was a motor lodge. A cheap and simple motor lodge with a small outside pool and a little coffee shop. Mickey, Mary, and I walked up to the registration desk. The check-in clerk's nametag read Lorinda. Her poofy blonde hair and heavy black eye makeup reminded me of Karen Black in
Five Easy Pieces.

“One room, two beds, please,” said Mickey.

I tugged on his sleeve and mouthed, “One room?”

“I'm not letting her out of my sight.”

“You're in luck, sir. We have just one room available. There was a wedding in town, and it was a pretty big one, and we got booked up.”

“Two beds, right?”

“Yes sir. Forty-eight dollars.”

“Fine. We'll take it.” Mickey reached for his wallet and brought out an American Express card.

“Sorry, sir, we don't take Am Ex.” Mickey tried a VISA card next. “Uh, sorry, sir, but the expiration date on this has passed. Do you have a replacement card?” Mickey took the card back and pulled out cash. “Yes, sir, that should do nicely.” Lorinda gave Mickey the registration form and he filled it out in his name only, Michael T. Paxton. I made a mental note to ask him what his middle name was, at the appropriate time.

“One key? Or two? Or, uh, three?”

“One,” said Mickey, but I elbowed him. “No, make that two,” he added.

She rummaged in the drawers below the counter. “Gee, I am sorry. It looks like I only have the one. If you'd like to wait, I can look…”

“We'll take the one, that will be fine.” I snatched the key and the three of us walked outside and down the row of rooms to number 46. The room looked like just about every other hotel room I had ever stayed in, except, of course, the Royal Opal, with the big everythings, which I had not actually stayed in, overnight, anyway. Nope. Instead I was here. With my date. And a friend of my grandmother's.

“I don't suppose there's any bourbon in this room,” Mary wondered out loud.

“No mini bar that I can see.” It's usually the first thing I look for in a hotel room. It's good to have emergency rations on hand at all times, like a can of Pringles potato chips and a cold beer.

“Well, then, I will just prepare for bed.” Mary disappeared into the bathroom. She left her purse on the floor by the door.

Mickey picked it up and quickly rifled through it. He pulled out her phone and turned it on. “Damn. It's locked. Probably needs a password.” He sat down in one of the two chairs situated by the window with a table between them, and dropped the phone on the table.

I sat down on the edge of the bed nearest to him. “What are you thinking?”

“I don't know how else Jake would have found us, unless Mary contacted him.” He took a deep breath. “But right now, I'm tired of thinking and I want some rest.” Mickey was under a lot of stress, but so was I for heaven's sake, and I figured we were a team in this, we had to stick together, we had to man the lifeboats, save older women and children first, throw our lives on the line for the sake of god and country. Well, something like that. And I wasn't ready to sleep.

“Are you still thinking that this is all my fault?”

“Had I not met you in Chicago and asked you to come with me to Las Vegas, none of this would have happened. That is what I am thinking.”

“Which means you think it is all my fault, right? Just say it!”

“Circumstances have arisen because we made this trip together. That does not mean that I think you contrived the circumstances.”

“Oh. Well, I still feel like I should be apologizing to you, but I don't know what for.”

“Then don't. Believe me, I am not waiting for an apology, or expecting an apology. I'll let you know if I think you owe me one.” He was looking at me when he said this, but I bent my head slightly and focused on my shoes, which were my nice red wedge sandals. “So, Annabelle, what are you thinking?”

“I'm thinking that my toenails need clipping.” I kept looking at them.

“Ah.” He moved from the chair and sat next to me on the bed. He put his arm around my waist and he kissed my cheek, like a good friend would do, like your best friend in high school who just happened to be a boy. “I want to tell you something.”

I turned to face him just as Mary came out of the bathroom, and Mickey and I stood up like teenagers caught kissing in the rec room when they are supposed to be playing ping pong. “Who's next?” she asked cheerfully as she made her way to the other bed.

“Um, that would be me.” I went in to attend to myself the best I could, what without a toothbrush and toothpaste. I hunted for my contact lens case in my purse until I remembered I had packed it in my toiletries bag, swore, and then filled each of the two plastic cups on the sink counter with water, popped out my lenses, and put one in each cup. You're not supposed to do this—apparently lenses can absorb bacteria from the water and infect your eyes and make you blind—but my eyes were itching like crazy from the dry air, so I took the risk. I retrieved my eyeglasses from the case in my purse and put them on, combed my hair to no great effect, peed, and rinsed with some mouthwash that was in a little Listerine bottle next to the little “Desert Flower” shampoo bottle. When I came out of the bathroom, Mary was lying on the other bed with the cheap fake-quilt spread over her, her shoes and jacket off, and sound asleep. I knew she was asleep because she was snoring.

I looked at Mickey. He smiled, got up, and as he passed me to go into the bathroom, he stroked my arm with his hand. “Nice specs.”

“Don't drink the water in the cups. They have my lenses in them.”

I put my purse on the floor under the empty bed, hoping Mary wouldn't crawl around down there looking for it. What should my next move should be? Lie down next to Mary, sit in one of the chairs, sit on Mickey's bed—which is how I was already thinking of it—lie down on Mickey's bed, gaze out the window at the parking lot like I was lost in thought, do sit-ups—I never do sit-ups, but I could make a good impression that way—better yet, do push-ups? I opted to sit on the end of Mickey's bed—he had, after all, told me that he wanted to tell me something—and turned on the television. I pressed the mute button so as not to disturb Mary. When Mickey emerged, I was bathed in the TV light and glued to the scene near the end of
Silverado
when Kevin Kline and Brian Dennehy face each other in a gun duel. It's one of my favorite movies; I've seen it at least six times. The lack of sound did not diminish my understanding of the plot. But when I looked up and saw Mickey standing there shirtless, shoeless, and sockless, the cowboys became immediately less appealing.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi back atcha.”

He sat down next to me and looked at the television. “
Silverado
. Another of my faves.”

That canceled out his penchant for squid. “Me, too.”

Then he picked up the remote and pushed the power button and the screen went black. He put his arm around me again, and kissed me. On the lips. Soft. Just the right length of time. Eyes open at the beginning, closed at the end. I was looking at him for the whole kiss. No tongue. Just full lips. Nicest lips I had ever felt. He pulled back and his eyes scanned my face, looking for something specific. He brought his right hand up to the side of my face and tenderly touched the scar on my left cheek. “Where did you get that?”

“Car accident. Sixteen. Thirty stitches. Skidded on the ice in Omaha when we went there for Christmas vacation.” We were both whispering, Mary was still snoring. He leaned over and kissed my scar. Then he took off my glasses, folded them, and put them on the bedside table. I'm telling you, he was doing everything perfectly. “Mickey.”

“Yes.”

“What did you want to tell me?”

He moved back from me slightly and met my eyes full on. A knowing smile crossed his mouth. “All through this entire crazy, insane, ridiculous, somewhat terrifying day, I have not been able for one moment to lose the feeling I had when I first saw you in Chicago, that you are the most beguiling woman I have ever met. In spite of everything that's happened, I want to be with you, I want to know you.” Then he kissed me again. Soft again. Just lips again.

I didn't believe him, really. I know that I'm pretty, except for the ears, but so many women are more extraordinary than I am, and Mickey, given his movie-star looks, must have dated most of them. Also, I know he didn't want to be with me when he was hit over the head by Jake or when he thought I was lying to him about, well, everything. But I liked hearing this anyway, and I wanted to be with him and know him, too. He had a cagey side, which could mean bad news for me. But deep inside I didn't believe that anything going on was his doing, and I really liked it that he was sticking around instead of ditching me at the Sleep Tight Inn. Sure, maybe he just wanted to figure out the truth about the day's events, but…that kiss. It was the real deal. I smiled, a big smile, and put both my arms around him, turned on the bed slightly so that one leg was bent on top of it and I was facing him, and I planted my mouth on his, and kissed him hard, and he kissed me back hard, and this time we found our tongues. Mickey reached underneath my t-shirt and started to undo my bra.

“We can't do this,” I whispered.

“Oh, yes we can.” He popped the clasp as deftly as Kevin Costner undid Susan Sarandon's in
Bull Durham
. I gasped.

“No, no we can't. Mary is in the next bed. We can't risk waking her.”

“We won't.” He pulled my shirt over my head and drew my bra down off my shoulders. He looked at my breasts. “We just have to be very quiet.” Then he gathered me in his arms and laid me back on the bed.

“Very quiet,” I agreed.

“Very. Silence is golden.”

And several minutes later, when I felt that my head and heart would explode with pleasure, I kept my mouth pressed against his as my body shuddered. And he managed to move without making the bed creak.

Like I said, he was perfect.

We fell asleep with my head on his chest and Mary snoring away. I don't remember dreaming anything. I was lost in a deep, delicious sleep. As the first light of morning came in through the window, I woke up in the same position I had fallen asleep in. My first thought was that Mickey's arm was probably going to be numb for the next twenty-four hours after it had been underneath me for the last six. I gently moved away from him and turned over to face Mary's bed, hopeful that the feeling in his arm would return and we wouldn't have to make an emergency trip to the hospital to have it amputated. I was drifting off again to sleep when I noticed something, and sat up with a start. “Oh!”

Mickey awakened quickly and sat up himself. “What! Hey! What!”

“Mary's gone.” I put on my glasses.

Mickey looked. “So much for not letting her out of my sight.”

“Yeah.” I paused. “What if something bad happened? Maybe she was taken…”

Mickey shook his head. “If someone had come in here we would have heard them. We locked the door, they would have had to bust in.” We both looked at the door, and, of course, the chain lock was no longer hitched.

“Maybe she got up and walked outside, and then something happened.”

Mickey jumped out of bed and pulled on his pants, went to the door, opened it a crack, and looked outside. “She's not out here. I suppose she could be in the coffee shop.” He shut the door and peered at the table across the room. “Her phone is gone.”

I leaned over the side of the bed and looked under it.

Mickey chuckled. “What are you doing? You're about to fall on the floor.”

My purse was still there. I grabbed it, sat up, reached in, and pulled out my wallet. “Phew. I think she rummaged through my purse in the cab.” Then I sat up. “We still don't know if Mary is in on whatever is going on or not. Hell, Mickey, we don't even know if she's dead or alive at this point.” I shivered.

“Hey,” Mickey sat down next to me on the bed. “Let's get cleaned up and wait to hear from Luis, and decide what to do next.” He kissed the top of my head. “Take a shower.”

I kissed him and got up. On my way to the bathroom, I turned to him. “How's your arm, by the way?”

“What arm?” He smiled at me.

I walked into the bathroom and shut the door and gave a little yelp. Mary had drunk my contact lenses.