Phoenix Heart (18 page)

“Ah shucks,” I started to say, and then I saw the look in
his eyes. “You’re welcome,” I said softly.

He smiled, and I sat back down on the floor in front of him.

“We’re going to have to find a way out of here,” he said. “Hotel
Security’s not going to be able to hold those two forever.”

“I know,” I said. The fear that I’d managed to rein in
threatened to bolt at the thought of Beer Belly coming back, but I refused to
let it run. “At least I’ve accomplished one thing. You said ‘we’ instead of ‘you.’”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “At this point I’d be terrified to
cross you in perfect health, and now in my weakened condition…” He tried to
cough dramatically, but it turned into a real cough that bent him double.

I held him by the shoulders until the fit had passed but it
left him gasping for air. I took a washcloth and gently wiped the sweat from
his forehead and face. “That’ll teach you to try to be a comedian,” I
whispered.

He nodded as he moved against me and rested his head on my
shoulder.

I held him, stroking his hair, trying not to think, trying
not to feel. It was a long minute before I could trust myself to speak. “Enough
of this lolly-gagging around, now.” I helped him ease back against the wall. “We’ve
got to think of a way out of here.”

He smiled. “Well, actually,” he said. “Seeing as you’ve
turned out to be such a fine actress, I think I have an idea.”

We were ready when the knock came on the door. A tall, burly
bellman stood on the other side. If I were casting a boxing movie, he would
have been perfect in the role of one of the over-the-hill, probably-took-one-too-many-punches
fighters hanging around the gym. A scar cut through his left eyebrow and
continued onto the bridge of his nose. Black eyes peered at me from beneath a
prominent brow. He even had the requisite at least once-broken nose.

Andrew’s voice came from the chair behind me, weak and somewhat
slurred. “Who is it?” He was slumped down in a chair, my oversize dark-blue,
crew neck sweater hiding the bandages and blood stains. He was wearing his
sunglasses and I’d used some water to slick his hair down in an attempt to
disguise him at least a bit. The wine from my dinner was sprinkled liberally
over him, and the empty glass hung from his hand.

“Help,” I said over my shoulder to Andrew. I turned back to
the bellman. “What’s your name, please?”

“Harry,” he said placidly.

“Harry, I’m Melanie. Do you think you could help me get my
colleague out of here and into a taxi?”

The bellman’s eyes shifted from me to Andrew. “What’s the
matter?”

“He drank too much and fell on the edge of the table and I
think broke some ribs. Anyway, if you could just help me get him out a back
elevator, down to the garage and get us a taxi I would really appreciate it.”

He shook his head slowly. “Guests aren’t supposed to use the
freight elevator.”

I grimaced and shrugged. “I can’t take him down through the
lobby.”

Harry shifted his gaze from me to Andrew and back again and
his eyes narrowed. “Why not? Why don’t you just call an ambulance?”

I sighed and looked back toward Andrew. “Because, he’s running…
I mean, because it would not be a good thing if this got in the papers.” I
shouted the last line across the room and Andrew groaned and stirred.

“Running?”

“Yes, sorry, well, he’s running for office. City council.”

Harry craned to try and see Andrew’s face.

“I don’t think you’d recognize him, but I’d still rather not
take the chance. Can you help?”

He looked from me, to Andrew and back again. “Guests aren’t
supposed to use the freight elevator.”

I reached in my purse. “I know. You said that.”
Please
,
I thought.
Please
. I looked up at him, trying to keep my face calm even
though beneath that thin veneer that whimpering little girl was back and about
to fall down on her knees to plead, beg, promise, pray. I held the last of my
cash out to him. “How about seventy-five dollars?”

Harry didn’t even look at the bills. He was staring blankly
at my face. He finally nodded. “Fine,” he said.

“All right, then. Let’s...” He stepped into the room and I
had to fall back a pace to keep him from running into me. “...get on with it,”
I finished weakly. I followed him across the room. We stopped on either side of
Andrew’s chair.

“Which side?” Harry asked.

“His left.”

Harry squatted down on the right, hooked his large arm
through Andrew’s, and brought it up under Andrew’s elbow and forearm. His meaty
fingers completely encircled Andrew’s wrist. He looked over at me. “Like this. Won’t
hurt him s’bad we hold him by the arms. You hold his arm up, it’s gonna pull on
those ribs and hurt like hell.”

I carefully copied his hold as Andrew looked from me to Harry
and back again. He looked a question at me but all I could do was shrug and
shake my head.

On the count of three, we eased Andrew up out of the chair. He
complained pathetically. “What are you doing? Where are we going?”

“Oh, hush up,” I said. “Stop whining.”

“I’m not whining,” Andrew whined.

When we stood him on his feet, I saw the pain flicker in his
face and he leaned heavily on me. He blinked a few times, shook his head and
groaned theatrically. “My side hurts. Get me a doctor.”

“What do you think we’re doing?”

We started toward the door, but had not even made it halfway
across the room before Andrew’s knees gave out on him and he sagged toward me. I
shifted my grip and he recovered, but I could see the effort it took. “See?” he
said panting, “I’m nots soo drunk.”

I looked over at the bellman, but he was staring at the
door, his rugged, fight-scarred face expressionless. The sweat rolled down from
Andrew’s hairline and the panting had developed a catch to it. He jerked his
head slightly and raised an eyebrow at Harry.
I don’t know
, I mouthed.

At the door I steadied Andrew against Harry, grabbed my
purse and coat, dropped the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, then quickly eased
under Andrew’s arm, and took his weight across my shoulders.

I looked over at Harry. “Ready,” I said.

Harry didn’t respond. He was looking at Andrew’s arm pulled
across my shoulders. “Must not be his ribs,” he said.

I winced. I’d forgotten. I looked back to Harry, but his
face had the same, unreadable expression. “Guess not,” I said.
Just get us
out of here. That’s all. Just get us out of the hotel before those men come
back.

In the room, with the door closed, with the rest of the
world shut out, Andrew’s idea had seemed logical and workable. Maybe even a
little bit fun. After all, it was just a bit of playacting: him a candidate, me
maybe a “friend” who was starting to get irritated by the whole problem. But,
as we stepped out into the hall, I felt we were stepping through the curtains
midway in what was supposed to have been a carefully staged play, and instead
had become the production of a lunatic. Number one problem was that the play
had been so badly miscast as to be laughable. Why in heaven’s name would
someone like Andrew Richards hook up with someone like me?

Point two: If the handsome hero does get in trouble, he
should be shot with a gun loaded with blanks so that in act two, he can leap
upon his silver steed, ready to do battle once again. But blanks had been
substituted with real bullets and it was real blood seeping through the torn
towels tied around Andrew’s middle, not red dye mixed with liquid starch.

And now, on the hotel hall set, every spotlight had been
flipped on, so that a hot, intense light came from every direction,
illuminating our every move. The volume controls had been cranked to maximum so
that the sounds of our passage were amplified until the walls vibrated.

And I knew, next would come the climactic Act II scene: every
door to every room up and down the hall would fling open in unison, crash back
against the wall and old women, young men, children, mothers with babes in
arms, would rush out, pointing their fingers, screaming for the police and in
that blinding light there would be nowhere to hide.

On cue a distinguished looking middle-aged man stepped out of
a door three doors down. He turned, whistling quietly and stopped dead to stare
at the unlikely procession of a tall, pale, sweating man hanging between a
burly bellman and a long-haired, terrified woman.

As we came abreast of him I rolled my eyes and jerked my
head at Andrew. “Drunk,” I said.

“Oh,” he whispered, and his face cleared as he shook his
head in sympathy. He watched us pass then he moved the other way toward the
elevator.

The bell rang and he stepped back to let two women step off
the car. The women turned toward us and stopped. I heard the man whisper, “Drunk,”
and nod up the hall at us.

I sighed and turned forward again. Act II had been put off,
at least for a while. I started to smile at Andrew. Almost there, I wanted to
say with that smile, and he would nod and smile in return. But he didn’t. The drunken
act had stopped. His sunglasses were sliding down his nose and I could see that
his eyes were nearly closed. He couldn’t do any more than meet my gaze for a
brief instant. Each step, the mere act of remaining upright seemed to be taking
every bit of his concentration.

I swallowed, trying to remove the constriction in my throat.
“Good Lord!” I said. “He looks like he’s going to pass out. How much farther is
that elevator?”

“Around the corner,” Harry said. He didn’t even look at me.

I shifted under Andrew’s weight. A pain was shooting up my
back as the muscles cramped under the unaccustomed load. I was sweating under
that pink sweater; the angora was no longer pretty and soft, but scratchy and irritating.

A few feet further and we were off the carpet of the main
hall onto the linoleum of the service corridor. At the end of the corridor, set
in the left wall I could just see the elevator doors. The three of us stumbled
toward them, even Harry losing his balance as Andrew’s legs became weaker and
his knees buckled. The three of us tacked down the slippery linoleum like a
rudderless sailboat in a shifting wind. Twenty feet, ten, five. It was when I
was in arm’s reach of the door, stretching out to push the button that Andrew’s
legs gave out completely.

“Melanie!” he gasped. He struggled, I tried desperately to
support him, but his strength was gone and he was too much for me. He fell
against me, slamming me against the wall. His sunglasses fell off and clattered
to the floor. I clung to him with one arm, scrabbling desperately with the
other to find something to grab, to brace against, but my own knees gave way
and my ankles twisted as my pink pumps skidded out from under. I started to go
down when suddenly Andrew’s weight was lifted off me. Harry had grabbed hold of
Andrew’s right arm, pulled it around his neck and, seizing Andrew’s belt, had
hoisted him upright. He looked over at me. “You all right lady?”

“Yes, yes.” I pushed off the wall. “Andrew?” I grabbed his
hand and shook it. “Andrew!”

“Okay,” he gasped. “Okay.” His breath came in tearing little
gasps.

I could feel Harry’s cool, assessing stare, but I wouldn’t
meet his eyes. “Jerk just about passed out,” I said.

Harry hoisted Andrew again and held him with one arm as he
searched for something in his pocket. “Why don’t you give it up?” he grunted. He
leaned back against the wall, pulled a key out and used it to unlock the
elevator button.  

Andrew’s exhausted eyes met mine.
No
, I mouthed.
Please
.
Hold on
.

He shook his head once slowly in resignation, his eyes
closed and his head dropped against Harry’s shoulder.

I looked up at Harry, desperately trying to maintain the
charade. “What do you mean? Give what up?” I asked, but try as I might, I
couldn’t keep the damn quavering out of my voice.

Harry looked at me for a long moment, that same irritatingly
placid look on his face. He lifted the hand with which he had grabbed Andrew’s
belt. Bright red blood coated the palm and fingers.

I sank back against the wall. “Oh, my god,” I whispered.

“Lady? It’s all right lady. I’ll get you out of here.”

I started fumbling in my purse, trying to find more cash to
offer him, but all I had was the balance of my prize money, all in traveler’s
checks. It took a second for his words to sink in. “I’m sorry, what did you
say?”

The elevator doors slid open and Harry hoisted Andrew
through into the small car with no more effort than if Andrew’s six-foot,
two-inch frame were that of a ten-year-old child. I followed them in and stood
next to Andrew, gripping his arm and looking up at Harry. Andrew appeared to
have truly passed out, and Harry’s massive arm was around him, completely
supporting his weight.

Harry’s eyes met mine and he half-smiled, then seemed to be
embarrassed that he was making such a flagrant emotional display. “Don’t worry.”

“Please.” I tried to go on, plead with him not to call the
police, make him understand that I was only trying to help Andrew, but my
throat closed, and all I could do was look up at him as the tears started once
again.

That finally cracked that placid composure of his. “Hey,
now. Don’t do that. I ain’t gonna call the cops.”

I sniffed and wiped at my face. My hand stopped on my cheek
and I looked up at him. “You won’t?” I whispered.

“Nah.” He paused as the elevator reached bottom and the
doors opened. He stared out across the garage for a second. “Listen, Lady. Anybody
looks at a guy the way you look at this guy, well, I sure as hell don’t think
you’re gonna hurt him, that’s all.”

The tears started rolling again.

“Ah, now Lady. I told you. You gotta stop that.”

I started to laugh, but the tears wouldn’t stop. “I’m not
crying. Thank you. Thank you so much.”