Revenant Rising (2 page)
Satisfied that they stand out only as foreign to this part of the world, Nate is approaching a semi-relaxed state when Colin breaks into his musings, asking if he’s ready to admit that freedom’s a welcome change.
“Freedom?” Nate responds.
“Yeh, freedom from entourage.”
“I’m admitting nothing.”
“Right, because when you’re in full manager mode you never leave off thinking an entourage led by you could’ve saved the likes of John Lennon.”
“I’ve never
ever
thought that.” Nate again fiddles with the radio knobs and again produces nothing but noise and Nashville.
“Maybe not, but I know you’re thinkin’ it every time you assemble the troops. And rather ridiculous it is considering the number of American presidents shot at whilst surrounded by elite troops.”
“Okay,
okay
. Did you hear that?” Nate points at the radio.
“All that crackle and country music? Yeh. The way you’re crankin’ it, how could I help?”
“The main reason I didn’t insist on assembling the so-called troops is because you don’t even chart up here in East Bejeezus. Your musical genre gets no airtime that I can tell, so no one’s apt to recognize you much less approach you.”
“And anyone wanting to assassinate me wouldn’t fancy travelin’ this far.” Colin laughs and switches off the radio.
The miles rack up and prosperous-looking motels and strip plazas give away to a landscape of unpainted houses, collapsed outbuildings, and boarded-up commercial establishments. The few occupied places are neglected, redolent of hopelessness and despair.
If this contagion of destroyed incentive stretches all the way to Lake Superior, is it any wonder Aurora Elliot was willing to leave with the first latter-day Sportin’ Life to crook a finger at her? In her place Nate would have signed on with the Bremen Town Musicians if they were the only ticket out of here.
“You see her as prey, then.” Colin says without lead in. “You see Aurora as something to be caught and eliminated.”
“
What
?” Nate says. “Where’d you get that idea? Where
do
you come up with this stuff?”
“Never mind, but I know for dead certain you think I’d be better off without her.”
“That I’ll never deny.”
“I wonder . . . Did you ever consider that I might still see her as salvageable? She
is
mother to my boy and there’s the new one on the way.”
“Oh
please
. She was mother to Anthony as long as it served her purpose and that was only until the novelty wore off. And what the fuck kind of mother poisons her child before it’s born? As far as salvaging her . . . I think you see her as you would a possession. I think you see her as a pet project you never tire of working on. C’mon, Colin, it’s way past time to let go. She’s not worth saving, something you consistently refused to see the
first
five or ten times she went on a tear. Something else you better start seeing—that baby she’s due to deliver in a few weeks may not make it. Even if it does, it could be born addicted, permanently damaged. The one thing I did find out before the trail grew cold in Europe—Aurora’s unquestionably been using since she flew the coop. For that reason alone—for what she’s done to your unborn child—I’m justified in regarding her as prey.”
“Flew the coop. Cute. Makes me out as nothing more than a bird fancier, then?”
Nate ignores the rejoinder, gives Colin a few minutes to digest the cruel realities flung at him and then continues in the same blunt manner.
“Is ‘Revenant’ just a working title for the new tune or are you really calling it that?”
“I’m callin’ it that.”
“That’s a mistake. Very few people’ll know what it means and the ones who do will probably anglicize the pronunciation. And the radio people—I hate to think. They’ll probably call it remnant or reverent or worse.”
“So what? Who knew how to pronounce Versace right off? Who here hasn’t mispronounced Perrier one time or another? And you still end up with frog piss in a fancy bottle.”
“You do realize you’ve just left yourself open to suggestions you’re bottling frog piss,” Nate says with a grin.
“That’s uncalled for!”
“What’s uncalled for? I was making a joke.”
“You know damn well the song relates to Aurora and you can’t resist taking one more dig.”
“I did
not
know it was about her. If I thought it was about anybody in particular, I would’ve picked a member of the Dungeons and Dragons crowd.”
“Is that another joke?”
“I’ve only ever heard the word revenant associated with fantasy gaming and that’s why I never took it seriously.”
“Well, start taking it seriously because along with the definition you’re obviously giving it—one that returns after death—there’s another one meaning someone who returns after a long absence.” Colin lights a cigarette and drops his window a crack.
“Butt that out in the ashtray when you’re finished. We’re in the Hiawatha National Forest for chrissake and I’d prefer you not torch it.”
“Can you
possibly
stop telling me what to do at every turn? Do you have
any
idea what a nag you are? Shit! I have a wife. I have a mother.
What
in bloody hell do I need with an executive nanny?”
“Is that your term?”
“It’s one I hear when the talk’s about you. Describes you a lot better than mere manager.”
This time Nate waits a little longer before introducing another issue. “I think the collaboration with Rayce Vaughn’s a bad idea as well. He could drag you down.”
“Down? Sorry, I don’t follow.”
“He’s on his way, Colin . . . the never-ending substance abuse. He’s gonna hit bottom any day now and you won’t be doing yourself a favor by going along for the ride.”
“You’re actually sitting there telling me I’ll be tainted by my great friend—my fuckin’
mentor
, he is—if I stand by him in time of trouble? Bleedin’ Jesus, Nate, have some compassion, won’t you?”
Colin makes a great show of tossing the burning cigarette butt out the window. Nate watches in the rearview mirror as it scatters sparks in the distance. But there’s little concern it will start a fire because wet snow is falling in heavy flakes from a glowering November sky. After a minute or two he switches on the wipers and resumes the exchange.
“I understand plans have gone forward for dividing the Kent property.”
“They have. Chris already has a team of architects at work and I expect by the time I get back the hop fields’ll be history.”
“No second thoughts?”
Colin groans. “About what? About buying a country estate? About selling off a parcel of it to a mate? About establishing the ideal place for Aurora to get a fresh start once she’s found?”
Nate hears only Colin’s unflagging optimism regarding Aurora. “Speaking of the unspeakable, read me the fax again.”
“The one from Cliff Grant, that would be.”
“Yeah, the one describing the truck. And while you’re at it tell me again why Grant and his source are considered believable.”
From an inside pocket Colin produces the much-handled original copy of the fax that set the wheels in motion. As he reads from it, Nate does his best to discount each assertion and instead finds himself weakening with each one. Maybe it’s Colin’s hopeful delivery; maybe the thing isn’t bogus after all.
“That’s enough,” Nate cuts in, on the edge of becoming a true believer.
“You asked me to repeat why I’m willing to believe Cliff Grant, and that’s what I’m doing. Even you cannot deny that Grant was the logical one to go to when he’s made a bleedin’ career of invading my privacy and exposing Aurora’s every whim and fancy.”
“Don’t you mean every twisted desire and—”
“Don’t interrupt! We’re talkin’ about Grant, not Aurora, and I’d like you to remember that the sonuvabitch has an amazing track record for knowing where I’m going to be, so—”
“Reprehensible track record,” Nate says, “and maybe you ought to remember how many restraining orders we’ve brought against him.”
“If you can shut up for a minute that would be my point. We wouldn’t have had to resort to legal tactics if Grant and his network of fart-sniffers hadn’t been so good at tracking me and Aurora over the years. Who better than Grant to pinpoint Aurora, then?”
“Jesus, Colin . . . I don’t know . . . and I’m afraid to ask how much you’ve told him and what you may have promised him.”
“Rather goes without saying that he had to be told Aurora’s gone missing.”
“So he knows she’s run off again.” Nate sighs. “Do you have
any
idea how hard I worked—how hard my staff worked—to keep that information out of the tabloids? To keep ’em quiet, I all but blackmailed some of the European PIs.”
“Then it shouldn’t be a stretch for you to grasp that I was doing similar when I contacted the bastard that’s notorious—fucking
infamous
—for his far-reaching connections and promised him an exclusive with Aurora if he came through for me. I also promised him a massive lawsuit if so much as one word of all this subterfuge shit appears in print without my permission. Grant knows you by reputation. He’s well aware what you had done to the Seattle transvestite ten years ago and to the stalker that time in Amsterdam. He’ll comply with me or lose his livelihood.”
“All right.” Nate sighs again. “I’ll give you that one, but what about the other guy, the one supplying Grant?”
“Can’t say. Grant refuses to identify the bloke. I get the feeling it’s not one of his regulars, though. All I know for dead certain is that he surfaced soon after I approached Grant and professed to have seen Aurora riding in a truck in the vicinity of her hometown of Paradise, Michigan. It’s all in here, as you know.” Colin brandishes the wrinkled fax. “And I was told the info came with no strings attached.”
“I still don’t like it. There are always strings.”
“Yeh, don’t I know.”
“Too much coincidence,” Nate says.
“Save it, will you? We already had that argument when you stopped me at JFK. Reminding—who told you I’d be passing through New York? And how’d you know I intended to continue to Detroit on a commercial flight?”
“Hey, you know I never reveal my sources.” Nate cracks a rare smile.
“Yeh, you and Cliff Grant. Brothers under the skin you are,” Colin says without smiling and lights another cigarette.
Another hour has passed when Colin begins fidgeting and brings out a small folder from an inner pocket. When asked, he identifies it as a pocket calendar. There’s little question what he’s charting when he counts off days and weeks with the tip of a pen.
“She’s due end of December, could be a Christmas baby,” he says. “And yeh, I know, I shouldn’t get my hopes up about any of this, but it’s hard not to.”
Nate says nothing that would reveal his own weakness for hope and they both go back to watching for red pickup trucks. Thirty minutes later, the snow flurries diminish; by the time they approach the town of Bimmerman, the pavement’s dry.
“I could stand another cup of coffee. How ’bout you?” Nate says.
“I’ll need a pee before I take on any more coffee.”
“Okay, just give a nod when you see a place that’ll do.”
The small town is surprisingly congested for a weekday afternoon. Nate proceeds at a crawl which in no way impedes the heavy flow of traffic. Nearly every angled parking space is filled with pickup trucks, vans, and small campers. Pedestrians outfitted in hunting gear stand around in clusters and many of them appear drunk or well on their way. They’re spilling out of a bar on one corner, openly drinking from cans and bottles on another, and partying on truck beds in between. He and Colin crane and pivot to take in both sides of the wide thoroughfare, where it’s next to impossible to scan each vehicle participating in the impromptu bacchanal.
“Want to join the party?” Nate indicates a bar where a nearby parking space is opening up.
“Shit no! They’ve got guns.”
“You know, I wonder if they do. I don’t see one deer carcass among them. These guys are just using hunting as an excuse for a prolonged drunk.”