Alarums. Part 43

'Are you all right?' he asked.

'I hated lying to him.'

'He doesn't need the truth. Not right now.'

She shook her head. 'It'll really knock the wind out of his sails.'

'Wait a few days.'

'That won't make it any easier.'

'I know.'

'He's in for a world of hurt.'

'When he finds out what his wife and Harrison did to him, he might not be all that upset they're dead.'

'Just a different kind of pain.'

'He wouldn't have had to go through it if he'd stayed in his coma. Better this way, isn't it?'

'Yeah.' A smile tilted her lips. She looked at Bodie. 'A lot better this way.' Her hand tightened in his. 'I'll have to stick around for a while, though. He'll need me.'

'I know.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Summer break is coming up. In the meantime, I'll come every weekend. If you want.'

'Of course I want.'

'Don't let anyone else change those bandages. They're mine.'

'Whatever you say, sir.'

'It'll be a fine summer.'

'We'll go to the beach.'

'Let's go to the beach, now,' Bodie said.

They stopped at a corner and waited for the traffic light to change.

Bodie felt a little sad. He knew he would be leaving Pen in a few days and he knew there would be some hard times ahead for both of them - pain and sorrow and loneliness.

But they were together for the moment. She was with him, a missing part of him that had been found and must never be lost.

The light changed.

The traffic stopped.

Bodie waited on the curb, holding Pen's hand, and looked both ways to be absolutely sure it was safe. Then he stepped off the curb with Pen at his side and they started across.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.

At the intersection of Crescent Heights and Sunset Boulevard, Phil Danson stopped for the red traffic signal. He looked both ways. Not a car was in sight, so he gunned the Jaguar XKE and sped across Sunset.

It gave him a little rush.

A small risk, a small rush.

Keeping the gas pedal to the floor, he shifted and picked up speed. The road up Laurel Canyon was steep and twisting. He took the curves fast, grinning at the way the low car hugged the road. The quick turns pushed him from side to side. If he'd had the safety harness on, he wouldn't have felt the force so much. That's why he had it off.

Ahead of him, a traffic signal turned red. He kept his foot on the accelerator as he approached it.

Not much of a risk. It was two o'clock in the morning, after all, so what were the odds of a car swooping down from one of the sides and nailing him? Slim to none. Phil hoped for a spurt of adrenaline as he shot across the intersection against the red light. He didn't get it.

He crossed the center line.

Oh yes.

His heart quickened, his stomach knotted.

'All right,' he gasped.

This is good, this is fine.

Hands slick on the steering wheel, he sped up the downhill lane.

'Bat outa h.e.l.l!'

He killed the headlights. Enough light came from the street lamps for him to see the road ahead. Almost. The pavement was a vague runway bordered by dark slopes, curving and twisting upward.

He steered around a bend one-handed as he turned on the radio. 'This is KLFC bringing you mellow sounds from midnight till dawn.'

's.h.i.t on it.' Phil turned the k.n.o.b and got Bruce Springsteen. 'The Boss!' he yelled, and twisted the volume high.

A ghost of light swept across the darkness ahead. With a whoop, Phil flicked the steering wheel. The Jaguar lurched to the right as the glare of headlights. .h.i.t his eyes. A horn blasted. A Mustang flew by, very close but missing.

Phil laughed.

He had a green light at Mulholland. He shot beneath it so fast that his tires left the pavement when the road dropped away on the other side.

The road down from the crest was wide and, he knew, often heavily patrolled. He turned on his headlights and slowed down to t speed limit.

The fun was over. He still felt a little light-headed and shaky, and he held onto the good feelings for a while by thinking back to his wild trip to the top and his close one with the Mustang.

It had been b.i.t.c.hin', definitely b.i.t.c.hin'.

When he reached the intersection with Ventura Boulevard, he turned the radio off. He waited out the traffic signal, then made a left and drove to Earl's Body Shop.

He swung into the driveway, stopped in front of the closed double doors of the garage, and honked his horn.

Moments later, one of the doors rolled upward. Earl, the stub of a cigar jutting from a corner of his mouth, waved him in.

Phil pulled the Jaguar forward. Behind him, the door rumbled down. He shut off the engine and climbed out.

Earl squinted at the car through a gray screen of smoke. 'Looks like a beauty,' he said.

'She is a beauty,' Phil told him. 'Handles like a dream.'

Earl walked around the car, puffing and nodding. 'You were gonna have this to me last week.'

'Don't sweat it, Earl.'

'I ain't sweatin'. It's only just I told the guy he'd get it, know what I mean?'

'Well, now you've got it.'

'Takes time, the paint job, changin' the serial numbers, all thata'

'Takes time,' Phil retorted, 'finding a Jag in mint condition.'

'Thought you had one all lined up.'

'I did. I had the baby. s.n.a.t.c.hed it over in Beverly Hills, but it was raining like s.h.i.t and some old fart walked right out in front of me and I creamed him. Creamed him real good, and I think some gal saw me nail him so I had to bail out. Who needs that kind of heat? Not me. Hey, this is a better car, anyway. That other one didn't have brakes for s.h.i.t.'

end.