Hooligans Part 31

She rose up an inch or so, a tousled head peering through tangled hair with one half-open eye.

"Wha' time is it?"

"Past eleven."

"You have to call the office at this time of night?"

"I have terrible hours."

"Ridiculous. Besides, it's too early to leave."

"You've got a husband, remember?"

"I have a husband in Atlanta for the night," she said. She looked up at me and smiled. There wasn't a hint of remorse on her face. She looked as innocent as a five-year-old.

"He may call."

She snuggled up again.

"Uh-uh. Out of sight, out of mind. Besides, he trusts me."

I didn't feel like dealing with that. I didn't feel like dealing with any of it. Guilt gnawed at my stomach like an ulcer and it had nothing to do with Harry Raines. I kept lying to myself that it had been inevitable. I shifted again and reached for my clothes. She sat up, leaning naked against the bulkhead, her tawny form outlined by the dying moon.

"More," she whispered, and it was more of a demand than a plea.

A new fire ignited deep in my gut, but the old devils were creeping back: guilt, frustration, jealousy, distrust.

I threw the Windbreaker over her.

"Give me a break," I said, squeezing out a smile.

"You never asked for a break before," she said, putting a hand as soft as chamois on my chest.

"I was in training then."

"Please come back," she said as I started to dress.

"I never know about later. I could be on my way to Alaska an hour from now."

"No."

I laughed. "No? What did you mean, no?"

"I waited all these years for you to come back. You are not going to just up and leave, not again."

She closed her eyes and put her head back against the side of the boat. "I went crazy inside when I saw you at the restaurant yesterday and then at the track this morning," she said. "It all came rushing back at me. Like a tidal wave inside me." She opened her eyes and looked at me. "It happened, and it wasn't one of those things you question. Do you know what I mean?"

Instant replay: rampant fantasy from the past. For months after Chief had written his good-bye letter, fantasies had infested my days. Uncontrollable, they were like panes of gla.s.s, separating me from reality. the fantasies were impossible dreams that she would show up at my door in the middle of the night to tell me she couldn't live another instant without me; that I would find her waiting in the corner of some restaurant. I looked for her everywhere I went, in supermarkets, in the windows of other cars as I drove down the highway. I bought a pair of cheap binoculars so I could scan Chief's box at Sanford Stadium on football weekends. Even a glimpse, I thought, would help. Finally I accepted the danger of fantasies. They sour into nightmares and vanish, leaving scars on the soul. Tonight could not change that, even though the fantasy was becoming real again.

I could feel the armor, like a steel skin, slipping around me.

"Don't go away again," she said. "Not for a while, at least. Give it a chance."

I let some anger out, not much, just relieving the pressure for a moment.

"That isn't exactly the way it played," I said harshly.

"It was Chief. He never understood how we really felt about each other."

"He understood all right."

She looked away, fiddling with a strand of cotton raveling from her dress.

"Hey, Jake, you know Chief. He always made whatever he said sound so . . . so, right. n.o.body ever argued with Chief."

"Maybe somebody should have."

She stared at me for several seconds before saying, "Why didn't you?"

I didn't know how to answer that properly.

What I said was "Pride," and let it go at that.

She nodded. "Beats us all, doesn't it."

"Well, it's a little hard, coming to grips with the feeling that you're a failure at twenty-one because you have bad ankles. It made me readjust some of my values."

"Jake," she said suddenly, changing the mood entirely. "I want to hear about Teddy."

"I wrote you all there is to know."

"I want to hear it from you."

"Why, for G.o.d's sake?"

"So I'll know it's true and I can forget it, once and for all."

"It's true, believe me. I won't replay it, Doe. It's not one of my favorite images."

It had been so long I had almost forgotten the lie. It was heroic, a real Greek tragedy, that much I remembered.

"Time you laid Teddy to rest," I said softly. "Forget the war. That wasn't reality, it was madness. Remember him the way he was the day you pushed him into the bay. That's what he'd want."

Then she started to cry, very softly so you would hardly notice it.

"He'd like it, that we're together here. He was all for us, Jake."

"I know it."

She went on, ignoring the tears. "When I think back, I think of all of us together. Such bright promises, and all of them broken. Everything seemed to go bad and stay bad. They kept taking things away from me. First you, then Teddy, then . . . oh, just everything."

"Then what? You started to say something, finish it."

"Lots of thens. I have this horse, a beautiful stallion, Georgia-bred. He had real promise. Chief gave him to me when I turned thirty. He said Firefoot-it was a silly name but he had this white splash on one foot, jet black only he had this white streak, so I called him Firefoot-anyway, Chief said Firefoot and I would stay young together. I wanted to race him, oh, how I wanted that. But Harry got involved with this racetrack thing. I guess inheriting Dunetown from Chief wasn't enough. It wouldn't look right, he said, the racing commissioner's wife racing horses. So Firefoot's up for stud now. When I go out there, he runs across the meadow to me with his head up, so proud . . . he wanted to race; it's what Thoroughbreds are all about, Jake, they're born to run, to prove themselves. He really deserved the chance. He deserved that. An animal like that, it has rights."

She stopped and bit off another strand raveling from her dress, wiggled it off her fingers, then turned back to me.

"It's been that way ever since you left. Everything went bad."

"I'll buy that," I said bitterly.

"It just seems like n.o.body's what they appear to be," she went on angrily. "At first Harry reminded me of you. He was fun and he laughed a lot and he made me laugh. Then Chief decided to retire and Harry changed overnight. It was business, business, business!"

"That went with the territory."

"I didn't know he was so ambitious. Suddenly Findley Enterprises wasn't enough. Next it was politics and then the track. It's always something new. He's like a man on a roller coaster; he can't seem to stop. I didn't want that. There's no reason for it. We've got more than we'll ever need."

For a few moments I felt sorry for Raines, because I understood that drive. Harry Raines had to prove himself. He couldn't be satisfied with the role of Mr. Doe Findley, and for that I respected him. I wondered if I would have done the same thing. But I didn't say anything, I just listened. I had very little respect for his political aspirations. In my book, politicians usually rank one step above bank robbers and child molesters. That was my prejudice and my problem to deal with, of course, but I had met d.a.m.n few of them I either liked or trusted.

"I love Harry," she said. "I'm just not in love with him anymore. He's not Harry anymore, he's already Governor Raines."

"Maybe he's got troubles," I said, b.u.t.toning my shirt.

"Tiger by the tail, that's all he keeps saying."

"More like a two-ton elephant on a piece of string."

"Is it that bad? Is he in trouble?" she asked.

"I don't know. Is he honest?"

"Chief believed . . . believes in him."

"Oh, so Chief picked him out," I said. It was a cruel comment. I was sorry I'd said it before all the words were out of my mouth.

She stood up, her back as straight as a slat, smoothing her dress. "I picked him out," she snapped.

"Sorry," I said. "Anyway, I'm not interested in what Chief thinks, Doe. What do you think?"

She pulled on the dress, but didn't b.u.t.ton it, and gave me back my Windbreaker.

"I don't think he could be dishonest."

"That's a nice vote of confidence."

"I'm trying to be honest myself. Are you here because of something to do with the track?"

"h.e.l.l, I'm not sure of anything," I answered. "I'm new in town. Can I use the phone up at the house?"

She opened a metal box on the wall of the boathouse, reached in and took out a wall phone, handed me the receiver, and leaned back against the wall, staring at me.

I dialed the war room and Dutch answered.

"Where are you?" he bellowed.

"With friends," I said. "What's up?"

"You got a weird phone call about an hour ago. Kite fielded it. He says a guy wanted to talk to you real bad, but he hung up when Kite tried to press him. Thing is, Kite says the guy didn't exactly sound like Mary Poppins. The reason I'm calling, before Kite put it together he told this guy he might be able to reach you at the hotel. So you might want to keep your eyes open."

"Thanks. Maybe we ought to have breakfast and do a little catchup."

"I'll pick you up at nine," he said. I told him that was real civilized of him and hung up.

"More trouble?" Doe asked, anxiety in her voice.

"I don't think so."

"Please come back."

I played it tough. "Sure," I said, and leaned over and kissed her. As I started to leave I felt her hand on my sleeve.

"Jake?"

"Yeah?"

"What did they do to us?"

"The hyenas got us," I said. "The b.a.s.t.a.r.ds never let up."

When I got back to the car, the light was still on in the upper bedroom. Then I remembered that that was Teddy's old room. I wondered if the light was left on permanently, like the eternal torch at Arlington.

I drove as fast I could back to reality.

35.

WESTERN UNION.

A gray Olds blundered on to me a couple of blocks before I got back to the hotel and followed at a respectable distance. The driver was pretty good. I did a couple of figure-eights, trying to throw him off, but he didn't panic and he didn't close the gap. He stayed a block or so behind me all the way to the hotel.

I parked in front and let the doorman take the car. The Olds pulled in half a block away and sat with the lights out. I checked the desk. Then I walked across the lobby and ducked behind a small forest of ferns and ficus trees near the elevators.

A medium-sized man got out of the Olds and drifted across Palm Drive, acting like he wasn't in a hurry. I got a better look at him in the light of the lobby. He was neither tall nor short, fat nor thin, old nor young. He was decked out in a nondescript gray business suit, no hat, and his chiseled features might have been handsome except for the deep acne scars that pitted his cheeks. Once he got inside, he picked up his pace, his deep-set eyes darting back and forth, perusing the lobby. He headed straight for the elevators and speared the up b.u.t.ton with a forefinger.