Thursday's Child (31 page)

Finally he reached for the phone and slowly dialed a familiar number.

There were places you went when things were really fucked up. It wasn't quite like throwing yourself on the mercy of the court, but there was a similarity. The court of last resort.

When the phone on the other end was answered, Robert took a deep breath and started talking quickly. But it wasn't working. There was only silence on the other end and then, carefully, the connection was broken.

Robert pulled the phone from his ear and stared at it in stunned surprise. Then he hung up.

23

1

Wally Dixon truly didn't want to hear any more about Beau Epstein or Robert Turchek. He was tired of that whole damned case, and besides, there were six new homicides vying for his expert attention. A man could only handle so much, after all, and why the hell didn't Gar find himself some new case that would keep
him
out of trouble instead of making phone calls to a cop who was
really
busy?

When Wally paused to take a breath, Gar finally got his question asked. “Any word on Turchek being back in town?”

Wally sighed. “Rumors, that's all. Nothing solid. But you know how the slimebags love to gossip. If he is in this city, he better be watching his ass every minute.”

“More gossip?”

“You got it. Turchek is stirring things up too much. Making the outside world peek a little too closely at things some people prefer not to be peeked at. Besides, they're convinced he's going to take a fall before too long and nobody wants to fall with him. I wouldn't give long odds on Turchek's life span, in other words. And that is all I know and now I have a meeting with the captain. Good-bye.”

When the phone call was over, Gar stayed where he was for a time, frowning and doodling on the memo pad, as he wondered whether “spying” was the right word for what he was thinking about doing.

When after ten minutes or so, he decided that he just didn't give a damn about semantics, Gar scribbled a note for Mickey, who was in the darkroom. He grabbed his gun and his cane and set off to play detective.

Or spy.

Or maybe just mother hen.

The next day dragged on forever.

Beau hurried through breakfast as quickly as he could without making Saul suspicious, and then went back upstairs. To read, he said. The truth was, he wanted to stay close to his telephone, even though there was a good chance that Robert wouldn't call for another twenty-four hours.

If then.

And, of course, nothing happened all morning. He didn't even read, just sat staring at the game shows on television.

At lunchtime, he ate a sandwich standing in the middle of the kitchen. Ruth wanted to know if he had ants in his pants or something, but he just smiled and carried a big glass of lemonade back upstairs with him. He told Ruth he wasn't feeling too good and so would she please call Lieberman and cancel his appointment. Saul would be pissed, but to hell with him.

It was almost six o'clock before the phone finally rang. He had the receiver in his hand before the first ring had ended. “Yes?” he said cautiously.

“Hi.”

He sighed. “I was afraid you wouldn't really call me back.”

Robert was quiet for a moment. “I never lied to you, Tonto.”

“I know.” Beau scratched his bare ankle. “I haven't told the cops anything, Robbie. Not one fucking thing.”

“Good boy. I knew I could count on you.”

Robert, at least, trusted him. “So did you get all your business taken care of?”

“All done, yeah.”

“And now?”

“Now I'm history around this town. Before the cops or anybody else figure out where the hell I am.”

Beau was wishing he had a cigarette. “What about me?”

“You.” He heard Robert take a deep breath. “Well, that's your choice.”

Beau frowned. Making a choice was hard. “I don't know. I want to come, but …”

“But what?”

He cleared his throat. “I'm sort of scared.”

Robert didn't say anything right away. “Of me?” he asked finally.

“Of course not,” Beau said firmly. “Of things, that's all. Just things.”

“Well, that's okay. That's really okay. So it's probably better if you stay right where you are.”

Beau blinked back tears. “But I'm scared to do that, too. I'm just all screwed up, Robbie.” He hated the fact that his voice broke like a little kid's.

“Ah, hell, Beau, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have even called you in the first place.”

“No, I'm glad you did,” Beau said quickly. “I've been waiting. Without really knowing that I was, if that makes any sense.” He stared hard at the ceiling and then decided. “I'll come with you,” he said.

“You sure?”

“Yes. I'm very sure.”

“Okay,” Robert said. “We'll talk about it anyway, when I see you.”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah. I'm at the Pelican Motel, out on the Pacific Coast Highway. Can you get out here without anybody knowing?”

“Yes. I'll be there as soon as I can.”

“Room 108,” Robert said. “And, Beau—”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful, okay?”

“Sure.” Beau hung up slowly. He had to plan.

Luckily, Saul wasn't coming home for dinner. And Harold was out, too, driving Saul wherever it was the old man was going, so that meant all he had to do was slip away from Ruth. Very easy. By the time anybody knew he was gone, it would be too late for them to do anything. He'd be back with Robert, for good this time.

He felt that same jolt of fear mingled with excitement.

But first, he had to get through dinner. Since it was just the two of them, he ate with Ruth in the kitchen. It was an effort to carry on a normal conversation with her, because his mind was leaping ahead to what was going to happen later, but he tried so she wouldn't suspect anything.

When the seemingly endless meal was finally over, he went right back upstairs. He changed his clothes while he waited. Ruth, he knew, was a creature of habit. She would clean the kitchen carefully and then go to the rooms she and Harold had in the back of the house. Once there, she would be lost in front of the television. He could get away clean.

The hardest part was the waiting.

When he was pretty sure that enough time had passed, Beau crept down the stairs. He paused in the foyer to listen, but heard nothing, and so he went out the front door.

He began to run.

2

It took two buses and a hitched ride with a couple of softball players on their way home after a big win to get him all the way out to the Pelican Motel. He went directly to room 108 and tapped lightly on the door.

“Who's there?” Robert's voice was cautious.

“It's me.”

The door opened immediately and he went inside quickly. Robert grabbed him in a tight hug, which he returned. After a long moment, they stepped back and surveyed one another with care. “My Disneyland vest,” Beau said. “Remember?”

“Yeah, sure.” Robert reached out and flicked the safety pin with a finger. “I like that, you idiot.”

Beau grinned. “It drove everybody else crazy.”

“I can imagine.”

“You look like you're feeling better,” Beau said, although that wasn't strictly the truth. Robert's face looked drawn and tight, even though he was smiling.

“I'm okay. The damned headaches come and go, but I'm okay. Better now,” he added, patting Beau's shoulder. “Christ, it's good to see you.”

“Yeah. I missed you a lot.” Beau walked over and sat down on the bed. “I want to come with you.”

“I'm glad. If you're really sure that's what you want.”

Beau nodded. “I'm sure. I'm still sort of scared, but I'm sure.”

“You ought to know that I'm in kind of a tricky position right now. Somebody still wants me dead. Next to me might not be the safest place to be.”

“I know,” Beau said.

“If I can help it,” Robert said, “nothing will happen to you.”

“We're both going to be okay,” Beau said.

They just grinned at one another for a moment.

The sudden pounding on the door crashed into the room like a bomb exploding.

“Turchek?” came a voice from the other side of the door. “This is Gar Sinclair. Why not open the door now and save everybody a lot of trouble?”

Robert's gaze went from the door back to Beau.

Beau felt cold. “I didn't bring him, Robbie. I swear to God I didn't. He must've followed me somehow. I didn't bring him.”

Robert patted his shoulder again. “I know that, Tonto. I know it.”

“I'm still sorry, though. It's my fault.” Beau fought to hold back tears. “I'm always bringing you trouble. God, I'm sorry.”

Robert knelt in front of him. “Shut up. That's a stupid way to talk. I don't blame you, understand?”

Beau nodded.

“Turchek,” Gar said from outside. “The cops are on their way. It would be better for everybody if this was all wrapped up by the time they arrive.”

Beau swore softly and hit the bed with his fist. Then he looked at Robert again. “Gar's not a bad guy, Robbie. He really tried to help me. Maybe if I asked him … maybe if I could make him understand.…”

“Oh, sure.” Robert got up and went to the door. “Hey, Sinclair, you've got the kid believing in you. Says you're a friend of his and probably, if he asks nice, you'll just let us walk out of here. Is Beau reading you right, Sinclair?”

There was only silence in response.

Robert looked at Beau with what seemed to be a certain amount of satisfaction. “So much for your friend the detective, Tonto.”

Beau shook his head. “What are we going to do, Robbie?”

“I don't know.” After a moment, Robert took a gun out of the desk drawer. “Maybe if we can get out of here before the pigs show up, we still have a chance.” He checked the weapon and then looked at Beau again. “Unless you want to leave, Beau. You can walk out right now and I won't stop you. I won't even blame you.”

Beau swallowed hard. “No,” he said faintly. “Not unless you come, too.”

But Robert shook his head. “I remember what Andy went through in prison. I don't think I could do that. Even if they let me live long enough to get to prison.”

Beau grabbed his hand. “Please, Robbie. Let's just give up. I'll make my grandfather get you a good lawyer. I'll come to see you in jail. I will. It's better than being dead.”

“I don't think so.”

Beau tried to stop shaking. “It's better for
me
than you being dead.”

Robert closed his eyes for a long moment, then opened them and stared at Beau. “I'm sorry. You have every right to hate me, but I have to do this my way.”

“I don't hate you,” Beau said dully. “I love you. And I'm not leaving.”

“Okay.” Robert glanced at the door, then back at him. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

“Then just go along with whatever I say and do, okay?”

“I will.”

Beau stood. Robert put an arm around Beau's neck and held on firmly. Then he put the barrel of the gun against Beau's head. “Okay?” he said.

Beau just gave a jerky nod.

“Don't be scared.”

“I'm not,” he whispered. But that was a lie, because he was.

“Good.” They walked back to the door. “Open it,” Robert ordered him.

Beau reached out a hand and did. They found themselves facing Gar Sinclair, who also had a gun.

“I think the trump card is mine,” Robert said mildly.

“The police don't like this kind of thing,” Gar replied.

“Fuck it. Either I walk out of here okay or neither one of us does.”

Gar looked at Beau. “You okay?”

Beau didn't say anything and then Robert gave an extra squeeze to his neck. It hurt. “Tell him you're okay, Tonto.”

“I'm okay,” Beau said hoarsely.

Gar was watching Robert. “I don't think you'll kill the boy, Turchek.”

“Don't you?” Robert smiled icily. “Try me, if you've got the balls. I don't think you do.”

Nobody said anything for several long seconds. Then Gar lowered his gun and stepped back. “Okay. You win. Take him and go.”

“Thank you. Maybe you really are an okay guy, like Beau here says. Now put the gun on the ground, please.” He did. “Kick it away, Tonto.”

Beau raised one foot and kicked the gun across the pavement.

The two of them started moving toward the car. Beau felt Robert's arm loosen just a little. “You're doing great,” Robert whispered right into his ear. “Almost there.”

The shot came at that moment.

3

Gar's first instinct—he'd been a cop a long time—was to hit the ground. But he didn't. Nobody did or said anything for one perfectly quiet instant. Then, when he realized that the shot had come from somewhere across the road, Gar looked that way. He saw nothing of course. A pro wouldn't be that easy to spot.

He looked back toward Beau. Robert was just starting his fall forward, dragging Beau down with him. Gar forgot the gunman, who was no threat to anybody else, after all, and moved toward them.

In the distance, he could hear the approaching sirens. The cavalry, a little too late.

He reached Beau, who was on the ground now, half-trapped under Turchek's bloody form. “No,” Beau was whispering. “Nononono.” It came out as a horrified mantra.

Gar crouched down next to them. “Are you hurt, Beau?”

Beau was busy trying to wipe the blood from Robert's face and didn't even seem to hear him.

Gar gripped his shoulder. “Beau, are you hurt?” he asked again.

“Help him,” he whispered. “Please, help Robbie.”

The squad cars finally appeared, bathing the scene in flashing blue-white lights.