Whistle Pass (6 page)

Before Charlie decided either way, there was one question that needed answering. “Did you send a cop to beat the crap out of me?”

The smirk on Roger’s face didn’t set well.

“Austin.” He shook his head. “No. I didn’t. But he would have done it thinking he was protecting me.”

“Protecting you? From what?”

“From whoever’s been sending me death threats. I told you there’s more. Will you please sit and listen?”

Wanting Roger gone was one thing—dead, quite another. Charlie plopped down next to him. “So, talk.”

“This year the Atomic Energy Commission began a program funding nuclear power plants between government and industry.” His eyes lit up like headlights. “We can have one of the first plants here, Charlie. Right here in Whistle Pass. History, Charlie. Can you imagine? This town would be famous.”

“Or infamous. What if the damn thing blows up? You’d be a hole in the ground.”

Roger frowned. “That’s the kind of caveman mentality I’ve been dealing with around here. It’s why I’m running for state office, so I can make this happen.”

“But you’re getting death threats. I take it some of the local
cavemen
aren’t too thrilled. How do you think you can win if the people don’t support what you’re doing?”

The frown slid to a sly grin. “Because this is the smallest county in the district, and I’m a big hit in the other ones where the plant won’t be located. The service provider we’re negotiating with has agreed to reduce the cost of electricity to all the county users. Once the people learn what a boon the plant is, they’ll take pride in what I’m doing for them.”

Charlie scoffed. “Uh-huh.” He shifted his weight a little. “What is it you think I can do for you?”

“Nobody knows you here. All I’m asking is for you to mingle and keep your eyes and ears open. If you come up with something, let me know. That’s it. That’s all. I’ll turn it over to the police once we have a lead to follow, and you can go back to wherever it is you came from.”

Charlie squeezed a wince of doubt. “Aren’t you forgetting about whoever sent the telegram? And, by the way, paid for this room?”

Roger didn’t miss a beat. “It has to be the same people, Charlie. They want to destroy me. We just have to find them first.” He reached over and grabbed Charlie’s hand. He pulled it to his lips. “We had something special once. If I ever meant anything to you, please help me now.”

Fury roiled inside him. Charlie jerked out of his grasp. “You’re a real piece of work, Roger. No doubt, you’ll be governor someday.”

The candidate simply smiled. “That’s the plan.”

He wanted to pack his bag and go, but the temptation of finding out who’d jumped him in the hall, and why, set his tongue scrubbing the back of his teeth while he considered sticking around. Finally he said, “Room’s paid for anyway. I’ll give it a shot for a couple days.”

Roger put a hand on his shoulder and stood. “Thank you, Charlie. I’ll owe you. You ever need anything, just ask. It’s yours.”

He
needed
the man he’d fallen in love with. But it didn’t look like that possibility—or the man—existed.

Roger walked to the door, then paused, hand on the knob. “You don’t still have that other picture the war correspondent took, do you?”

“Nah. Burned it years ago.”

“Good.” He opened the door. “Couldn’t afford to have something like that surfacing now.” The click of the latch echoed in the empty part of Charlie’s heart once filled by Roger.

He reached in the duffle and pulled out a pocket-sized leather folder. Separating the dried and cracked cover, he looked at the weathered photo. Two men, naked to the waist, embracing and lost in an impassioned kiss. Charlie’s back had been to the camera they didn’t know was there. The face so readily identifiable was the candidate for state representative himself.

The correspondent had given the picture to Charlie in the hospital. Said he’d planned to publish it, but given the ambush and what Charlie had done to save the few who lived that late afternoon, he’d decided the affair was a story the folks back home didn’t need to read yet.

Charlie rubbed a thumb on his chin. Roger’d said he didn’t send the telegram, but he sure thought to ask about the photo quick enough. Might be worth hanging on to a while longer until he figured out what was going on. But the picture needed to be in a safe place, and this room wasn’t safe. There might be a haven for it, though. He stuck the folder and photograph inside the pillowcase and stretched out, laying his head on the pillow. For now, he’d sleep on it.

M
ORTARS
exploded. Men screamed.

Charlie whirled, looking for where the attack would come from. “Stay low! Stay—”

He cracked open an eyelid. Thunder rattled the window frame. Rain pelted the glass. The hotel room. “Just a storm,” he heaved out in a breath. Not bothering to change clothes, he slipped on his pea coat. He retrieved the folder from the pillowcase and stuck it in a pocket.

T
HE
restaurant wasn’t large. On the left side was a wall-length wooden counter and register stand. Glass-doored cabinets displayed a variety of glasses and cups. Blue seat covers on chrome pedestals bellied customers up to the soda bar. Against the wall were tables for two. Down the length of the center of the room were similar tables with four blue chairs with beige backs positioned at each side. The wall by the tables was dark blue tile to shoulder height, then yellow wallpaper to a white ceiling stained orange by tobacco smoke.

The smell of cigarettes and cigars crawled up Charlie’s nose before the bacon, eggs, potatoes, and fresh coffee settled in.

A middle-aged woman with dark hair wound in a coil on top of her head, wearing a pale blue dress, yellow apron, and sneakers zipped past him, coffeepot in hand. “Set yourself anywhere you can, doll. We’ll find you.”

He scanned the tables but didn’t see an empty chair. Two men in overalls and gray polka dot caps rose from a wall table. They picked up metal lunch pails and lanterns and headed for the register. Charlie grabbed a seat.

A younger version of the first woman grabbed up the empty plates, then returned with a wet rag and swabbed down the table. She produced a pad and pencil from her apron. “What’s buzzin, cuzzin?”

Charlie leaned back and looked at her, unsure what she meant.

Her left nostril flared, and her tone softened. “What’ll you have, sugar?”

“Coffee. Black.”

“Coming up.” She faded into the crowd of men eating, smoking, and talking. The din of unintelligible conversations and clinks of silverware on plates only served to annoy him. She reappeared with a mug of brew. “Just leave a dime on the table. Need anything, holler out.” She skittered away to other customers.

Charlie pulled out the pack of Luckies, lit one, and rolled the paper’s ash off in a small glass ashtray. He exhaled over the top of the steaming coffee.

“Good morning, Gabe. Full house. Want us to bring over something instead of waiting for a seat?” a woman’s voice called out over the ball of jagged sound.

Charlie looked over the top of the mug. The hotel manager stood in the doorway.
Gabe
. Hadn’t heard his name mentioned before. He raised the mug and moved it slowly back and forth. The manager’s eyes shifted to his right. Charlie motioned to the empty chair. Gabe nodded and walked over.

“Welcome to join me.” Charlie took another drag off the cigarette and blew it over the top of the coffee before taking a cautious sip. It was hot, but good.

“Want me to take your coat? I’ll put it in the back with ours.” The offer came from the younger waitress.

Gabe unbuttoned and slipped off the wool knee-length black coat and draped it over her extended arm. He carefully removed his hat with both hands, lifting it straight upward, then handed her the fedora as well. The dark blue shirt appeared pressed and starched.

“Usual?”

He patted the sides of his hair. “Yes. Thank you, Cathy.” She darted off. Gabe pulled out the chair and sat, straight and proper. A whiff of Aqua Velva sat with him. “Thank you, Mr. Harris.”

Charlie blew out another cloud of smoke. “Not a problem. Figured I owed you breakfast, at least, for what I put you through in my room.” He watched the man carefully over the top of the mug he was hiding behind.

Gabe’s cheeks flushed rose. A hand went up to the hair and patted the top. Charlie quirked a corner of his mouth. The man’s sculpted black hair looked like a magazine ad for barbers. So did the face, shaved so not a hair dared show a tip. There wasn’t any visible nose hair either.
What? You trim that too?
The gaze of the pale gray eyes under perfect brows lowered to the table. Gabe busied himself adjusting the salt and pepper to an equidistance from the chrome napkin holder. Apparently satisfied with the placement, he placed his hands in his lap.

“You don’t have to buy me breakfast.”

Charlie swallowed another swig. “Want to.”

“No, I mean, breakfast comes with the job.” The cheeks flashed crimson. “The Larson family owns this place too. I get breakfast for free.”

“Really? Nice job.” He hit the cigarette again and blew the smoke over Gabe’s hair. The manager reached up and smoothed the hairs that hadn’t so much as jostled.

“You always do that?”

Gabe looked up. “Do what?”

“Check your hair.”

The cheeks went directly to maroon.

“You’re not wearing your vest or a tie. Off today?”

Gabe fidgeted in his seat. “I have weekends free. Normally I spend them out of town, but my plans changed.”

Charlie gulped down the coffee and set the empty mug on the table. Time to go for broke. If he had a shot at trusting anyone in this town, it would be the hotel manager living a life of secrets. “I need a favor.”

The manager’s left eye twitched.

Charlie pulled the leather photo protector from his coat pocket and set it on the table. “I’d appreciate it if you’d put this someplace safe until I ask for it back.”

Gabe stared at the object but didn’t make a move to reach for it, so Charlie pushed the pocket-sized parcel of dynamite toward him. “Take a look. It won’t bite.”
Much.

The man picked it up and peeled open the leather cover. His jaw nearly fell into his lap.

Charlie stood and dropped a dime on the table. It spun and rolled, then fell still. He looked down at Roosevelt’s face. “Heads. She wins.” He tossed another dime, a tip for the waitress, onto the table, then looked at Gabe as he retrieved the tossed coin. “Yeah. It’s who you think it is.” He took a step forward and leaned over to Gabe’s ear. “And the one with his back to the camera is me. Appears you and me have something in common. Call me Charlie.”

He walked out the door into the morning molasses of fog.

Chapter 8

L
OGIC
was a hula hoop he couldn’t get hold of circling his brain. Gabe snuck another peek at the photo, then slapped the cover closed, looking around the room for prying eyes. He concentrated and forced his fear-paralyzed lungs to work. There were movies about pictures like this. People got killed because of pictures like this.

Alfred Hitchcock would kill a dozen people over a picture like this.

He bolted out the door. A shadow faded into the gray soup. Gabe ran after and around it.

“Charlie. Do you know what this is?” he asked, holding up the folder. He saw his trembling hand, grabbed it with the other. Now both hands shook.

Charlie grinned. Gabe sighed. The man had a great grin. “Yeah. I was there. I know exactly what it is. It’s a picture of two men who were in love.” His voice lowered. “And I think somebody wants to get their hands on it. That’s why I gave it to you.”

Gabe clamped his knees together and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He really needed to pee. Fear filled bladders too damn fast.
Somebody wants it
? The trembling moved into his empty stomach. “Why do you think somebody knows about this picture? Have you told anyone about it?”

A figure broke through the curtains of mist, hurrying past. Gabe grabbed Charlie’s lapel and pulled him into a doorway. “Did something happen?”
Charlie’s leg
. The fresh bruises. He held up the photo binder. “Did you get that injury on your thigh because of this?”

Charlie’s hands pushed Gabe’s down. His bushy brows dipped and converged into a singular line of forestry. “Would you mind putting that away somewhere? I didn’t give it to you to show everybody on the street.”

Gabe’s face burned his embarrassment. “Sorry.” He slipped the packet into his back pocket, behind his wallet.

Charlie’s shoulders sank in visible relief. “No. That night cop, Austin, paid me a visit. Thought I might be a threat to the mayor.”

Gabe swallowed hard. “Are you?”
What are you doing? Give him the picture back and get as far away from this man as you can.

Charlie turned slightly and spoke over his shoulder. “Do you have a car?”

“No.” Gabe chewed his lip.
Walk away. Now!
But his tongue wasn’t listening to his brain. “I can get a car.”
Oh, Lord. Now you’ve done it.