The Next To Die Part 30

Now Dayle felt stupid for having such blind trust in him. She'd barely slept last night-uncertain about the man just down the hall from her bedroom. Any tolerance points he'd earned protecting the notoriously gay Gil Palermo laid in the balance. Dayle still hadn't received a call back from Gil's friend, Jonathan Brooks. She'd left him another message this morning.

Dayle stared at Ted and the driver. She closed her script, then pressed the b.u.t.ton to lower the divider window. Ted looked over his shoulder as the gla.s.s part.i.tion descended. "I was just thinking, Ted," she announced. "You don't need to stay with me tonight. I'll be okay with the extra guards in the hall and the lobby."

He shook his head. "You need someone in the apartment with you."

"Well, I'd like some privacy tonight. I'd rather be alone."

"You hired me to guarantee your safety, Dayle," he said, a bit patronizing. "Sometimes that means I have to be a pain in the a.s.s. Let me do my job tonight. I'll make sure you have the breathing s.p.a.ce you need."

"Of course you will." Dayle gave him a pale smile, then pressed the switch to raise the part.i.tion. "Thanks, Ted."

"You're just nervous, that's all," Hal a.s.sured him.

Tom's aim had been miserable for the last half hour. He'd gone through nearly fifty bullets trying to hit ten lousy bottles off the ranch house railing.

"Isn't there some show business saying?" Hal continued. "'Bad dress rehearsal, great show'? You'll do fine tomorrow."

"Thanks," Tom muttered. He shot at another bottle and missed. "Guess I'm still worried about getting past her bodyguard. Is he good?"

"Oh, yes, and he's an excellent shot too. But quit your worrying, Tom. He's with us-one of our best men, Ted Kovak." He sighed. "Some of the triggermen in SAAMO aren't exactly Rhodes Scholars. Like our late friend Lyle, they're dedicated, but ignorant. Still, we need these bottom-of-the-barrel types for certain jobs. But Ted Kovak is good, top of the heap. He's the one shooting you with blanks tomorrow."

Hal patted Tom on the back, then pointed to his fake mustache. "You need more glue on that lip warmer. It's starting to peel off."

Tom wiped his brow, and pressed on his upper lip to secure the fake mustache. "Will I need to wear this disguise for the plane ride tomorrow?"

"You're probably better off without it." Hal kicked at the dirt. "Have you made a decision where you'd like to go?"

"Yes, Rio de Janeiro." Just saying that made Tom feel better.

"Good choice. You'll be on your way in twenty-four hours. We'll supply you with a pa.s.sport. We'll take care of everything."

"Won't you need a picture of me for the pa.s.sport?" Tom asked.

"Right you are. Remind me later, okay? Now, try that target again."

But Tom couldn't get his mind off tomorrow. Hal had gone over the a.s.sa.s.sination of Dayle Sutton several times-down to the smallest detail. Tom knew what to expect-until the moment his "corpse" was carried into the fake ambulance. Then the plans became vague, and he didn't like that uncertainty.

He aimed at the bottle, carefully squeezed the trigger, and missed.

"Cut!" yelled the a.s.sistant director.

Dayle's character, struggling with alcoholism and middle age, sat through her first AA meeting at a "town hall" set. About thirty extras surrounded her. With her gray tweed suit and a matronly makeover, Dayle perched on a folding chair and listened to speeches. Tomorrow, they would film her turn at the podium-a long, very emotional speech, Best Actress Oscar bait.

While they set up another shot, Dayle headed for her trailer. Dennis stood by the door. He gave a long look at her middle-aged makeover. "Here you go, Mom Mom," he said, handing her a bottle of Evian.

"Thanks," she muttered, not smiling at his Mom crack.

"You okay, Dayle?" he asked. "All morning long, you've been on edge-"

"I'm not okay," she sighed, pausing on the steps to her trailer. "Nick Brock was killed on Friday."

"What?" Dennis seemed genuinely stunned. "You're kidding."

"Someone set fire to his hotel room. He burned to death."

"My G.o.d, Dayle," he murmured.

"I'm trying to figure out how this hate group knew where to find Nick. Did you tell anyone that he was in Opal?"

"No, of course not. Shouldn't you talk to the police about this?"

She shook her head. Dennis seemed so concerned and earnest. Was it just an act?

"I don't want to involve the police yet," she said steadily. "A cop shot Hank and Bonny. They could be part of the conspiracy. I can't trust the police. I can't trust anybody." She opened the trailer door.

Dennis gave her a wary glance. "Even me?"

"Even you," Dayle said.

"You G.o.dd.a.m.n idiot," Avery muttered to himself. He never should have turned off Highway 95. But on his map, the rural route looked like a quicker way to Opal. But he'd been on this road for an hour now, and still no Opal, just a long, deserted, snaky highway without any markings. For all he knew, he could be driving away away from Opal. The fuel needle hovered near empty. On the radio, just static. He couldn't get anything on his cellular phone. No surprise, he was outside a roaming zone. from Opal. The fuel needle hovered near empty. On the radio, just static. He couldn't get anything on his cellular phone. No surprise, he was outside a roaming zone.

Avery sat at the wheel of a six-year-old Lincoln Town Car. It was like steering the t.i.tanic t.i.tanic, the thing felt so big. But it had been the only car with snow tires at Merv's E-Z Auto Rentals.

Avery had first noticed the car rental sign last night-half a block from The Spokane Red Lion. Merv's didn't open until 9:30 in the morning, and it looked like a fly-by-night outfit. But Avery figured they might not be so particular about who he was once the credit card cleared.

They had a room available at the Red Lion Inn. No one at the front desk recognized him. The eleven o'clock news didn't report any sightings of Avery Cooper at the Spokane airport. But the warrant for his arrest was one of the lead stories. He telephoned Sean, and they arranged to meet tomorrow in the lot outside the Opal post office.

In the morning, he called Glenhaven Spa for a progress report on Joanne, but then he remembered his status with the law, and hung up.

At Merv's E-Z Auto Rentals, the puffy, middle-aged man behind the counter didn't seem to recognize him. After climbing inside the Lincoln Town Car, which smelled of stale coffee and cigarettes, Avery glanced at the rental paperwork. The salesman had filled in his name as Andrew O. Cooper.

The snow tires were a good call. Compact snow, slush, and ice covered the road. With white knuckles, Avery clutched the steering wheel and wove through the mountain pa.s.ses. Along the way, he drove by several abandoned cars that had spun out and stalled in ditches. Finally, the highway dipped to a lower alt.i.tude and straightened. No more snow-at least for a while.

Then he'd decided to try this shortcut.

The short cut to h.e.l.l, was more like it. Except for an occasional farm house in the distance, there was no sign of civilization. Up ahead, he saw more mountains-more snow and ice. He checked the fuel needle again. He'd pa.s.sed a service station about an hour ago on Highway 95; perhaps this gas-guzzler could make it back. At least he'd know where he was headed.

With a sigh, Avery slowed and made a U-turn. He heard gravel grinding beneath the tires as he swung the Town Car around. After a few minutes, the road beneath him began to feel b.u.mpy. It sounded as if something was dragging along his right front tire. The car listed to one side. "Oh, G.o.d," Avery whispered. "Please, don't let it be a flat. Not here...."

He pulled over to the roadside and climbed out of the big car. He could see his breath as he walked around to inspect the tire. It was totally deflated, with the hubcap digging into the gravel. "s.h.i.t," Avery growled. He kept spitting out the word-again and again. He went back into the car, threw on his sweater, then checked the trunk for a spare tire. He wasn't sure Merv's E-Z Auto Rentals would have one. But they did.

What they didn't have was a jack. "G.o.dd.a.m.n IT!" he bellowed. He kicked a dent in the car door. He let a few more expletives fly as he searched for the jack: in the trunk, under the seats, in the front hood. He was still searching in vain when he spotted in the distance another car down the road, coming his way.

Avery started waving for help. He caught a better look at the approaching vehicle, a Corsica. Along with the Ford Taurus, it was the automobile of choice for the "rental mentals." He stopped waving for a moment. The Corsica slowed down. Avery saw only one person in the front seat. It looked like a woman. The car crawled to a stop and she rolled down her window. The driver was a brunette in her late twenties. She had a long, thin, pretty face, and wore a red sweater. "Are you okay?" she called.

"I didn't think anyone would come by," Avery said, starting toward the car. "I have a flat. This is a rental, and there's no jack...."

As he stepped closer, she inched her car forward a bit. She looked apprehensive, so he stopped in his tracks. "Um, if you have a jack, I could fix this tire in a few minutes. I'd really appreciate it."

"I'd like to help," she said, wincing in an apologetic way. "But my husband doesn't want me stopping for strangers...."

Nodding, Avery managed to smile at her. "I understand. But-well," he pointed to his car. "I'm kind of stranded here. I really do have a flat...."

He made the mistake of approaching her car again. The Corsica lurched forward. "Tell you what," the woman nervously called to him. "I have a cellular. I'll phone the police for you. It shouldn't take more than an hour-"

Avery automatically shook his head. "No, not the police, I-I-"

The woman glared at him. She quickly rolled up the window.

"No, wait!" Avery shouted over the Corsica's screeching tires. He watched her speed down the road. At this moment, she was probably describing her would-be attacker to a 9-1-1 operator.

"You G.o.dd.a.m.n idiot," Avery muttered to himself.

At first, Sean hardly noticed the woman coming out of the video store with her two children. Even when she saw them go into the post office, Sean ruled out the haggard-looking mother as a candidate for PO Box 73.

All morning long, she'd been sitting in her Chevy rental, parked in the minimall lot. With the video store, U-Pay-Less Shoes, Pizza Hut, Sheer Delight Hair Stylists, and the post office as its main attractions, the little mall did a brisk business. Avery still hadn't shown up. Occasionally, Sean started up the car to get the heater going, or she'd step out to stretch her legs. Three times, she'd ducked into the post office to make certain Box 73 hadn't been cleaned out, three false alarms.

The mailboxes in Opal's post office were the old-fashioned kind, bra.s.s with numbers on little windows. Box 73 was crammed with several large manila envelopes-along with some bills. Anyone emerging from the post office with a bundle like that was an immediate suspect.

Sean drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. She watched the woman come out again with her kids-a thin, dark-haired, preteen boy, and a chubby little urchin with her blond hair in braids. The kids fought, not just pushing and shoving, but with fists swinging. Their poor mother tried to break it up without getting coldc.o.c.ked. The sallow-looking blonde wore a pink down vest over her white turtleneck, and a pair of jeans that didn't flatter her pear-shaped figure. She was screaming at her kids, and clutching a big bundle of mail-several manila envelopes and some bills.

Sean climbed out of her rental, and she could hear the woman: "I'll tell Daddy about this when he comes back from California. You'll be sorry. You know how he gets when he's angry...." She prodded them toward a brand-new station wagon, which bore two b.u.mper stickers: MY FAMILY, MY COUNTRY, MY GUN MY FAMILY, MY COUNTRY, MY GUN, and JESUS CHRIST: NOW MORE THAN EVER JESUS CHRIST: NOW MORE THAN EVER. The woman was still screaming and threatening her kids when Sean ducked into the post office.

Box 73 was empty.

Sean hurried back out the door, across the lot toward her rental. Suddenly, something came at her. Tires screeched. She spun around and almost collided with the from fender of an old-model blue Chrysler LeBaron. She reeled back, momentarily stunned.

Sean couldn't see the driver past the sun's glare on the windshield. But she noticed a pair of fuzzy dice dangling from the rearview mirror. Whoever sat behind the wheel didn't yell or honk. Catching her breath, Sean waved at the driver and stepped aside.

She glanced over her shoulder at the mother. The frumpy blonde stood by her station wagon, staring back at her.

Sean quickly looked away, then walked up to a beige Tempo that wasn't hers. She paused by the driver's door, then pretended to search through her purse for the car keys. After a minute, the woman climbed into her station wagon, pulled out of her s.p.a.ce, and started toward the lot exit. Sean ran back to her rental car, jumped inside, and gunned the engine.

She caught up with the station wagon at the stoplight by the mall exit. The woman swiveled around to swat at her kids in the back. When the light changed, she turned left. Sean followed, keeping about three car lengths behind her. They drove by a McDonald's, then past Debbie's Motor Inn, where Sean once again glimpsed the police tape in the parking lot. She checked her rearview mirror. An old lady in a Buick was behind her. Sean didn't notice the next car back. She didn't see the blue Chrysler LeBaron that had almost run into her a few minutes ago.

Somebody was coming, but at this distance, Avery couldn't tell if it was a police car. He'd taken out the spare tire and leaned it against the fender to advertise his predicament. In the past forty minutes, only three people had driven by; and none of them had even slowed down for him.

The approaching vehicle came into view. Avery noticed the police lights on the hood. He stepped in front of his disabled rental and waved. The squad car slowed to a stop about a hundred yards in front of him. Avery couldn't see what the cop inside was doing, but figured he'd better not move. He stood there for at least two or three minutes.

"Raise your hands above your head and turn toward your vehicle," the cop announced over his speaker.

Avery nodded, then did what he was told. He thought about what had happened to Dayle's chauffeur and her stand-in. He heard the car door open, then the patrolman approaching, pebbles crackling underfoot.

"I've been stranded here with a flat for an hour," Avery called. "This is a rental car. They have a spare tire, but no jack." He glanced over his shoulder. "This woman stopped earlier. I must have scared her. She might have called you. Anyway, I'm glad you showed up."

"Oh, really?" the policeman finally replied. He sounded all congested. "This lady told us you didn't want her calling the police."

"I didn't want her bothering bothering the police," Avery said. "All I need is a jack to change this tire." the police," Avery said. "All I need is a jack to change this tire."

"That sure looks like a flat to me. You can lower your arms, sir."

"Thank you," Avery sighed. Hesitating, he turned and managed to smile at the patrolman. He prayed the guy wouldn't recognize him.

The officer tipped his hat, then pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. Avery guessed he was around thirty, and with a cold in full bloom. Against his pale complexion, his nose was almost as red as his neatly trimmed hair, and those blue eyes were bloodshot. He stood about six feet tall, and had a solid build. He sneezed loudly.

"G.o.d bless you," Avery muttered.

"Thanks." The cop moseyed over to the flat tire. "Where are you from?"

"California," Avery said. "I'm headed for Opal, but I think I took a wrong turn. My aunt lives there. I'm spending Thanksgiving with her."

"That's nice." He blew his nose again, then squinted at Avery. "Say, anyone ever tell you that you look like that movie star, Avery Cooper?"

Avery shrugged. "I don't follow the movies much."

The cop studied his face for another moment, then cleared his throat and spit. "Yeah, well, Opal's about two hours from here. I have a map in my squad car. Sit tight for a second, and I'll show you how to get there."

Avery watched him start back toward the patrol car. "If you have a jack," he called, "I could change this tire in no time...."

The policeman didn't look back at him, but waved, then ducked into the front seat. Avery strained to catch a glimpse of him through the windshield's glare. The guy must have had a hard time finding his road map, because he was in there at least five minutes. Finally, Avery started toward the patrol car. "Um, excuse me?" he called.

The cop climbed out of the front seat. He let out a guttural roar to clear his throat and spit once again. "I can't find the stupid map anywhere."

Avery smiled. "Hey, listen, it's okay. I have a map in my car. If I head back to Highway 95, I should find Opal pretty easily." He glanced over his shoulder at the lopsided Lincoln Town Car. "You know, if you have a jack I could borrow for a few minutes, I'd be on my way."

The policeman took a deep breath that puffed out his chest. "No, I'll tell you what you're gonna do here. You're gonna lean against this vehicle and put your hands behind your back."

Bewildered, Avery stared at him. "What?"