there and
took it with me." My voice sounded out of control. I could hear
it myself. I drummed my fingers on the icy glass of the phone booth
and told myself to calm down.
"I don't know if he killed him, Karen," I
said after a time. "Maybe it was meant to look that way. Maybe
whoever broke into my apartment planted the license to incriminate
Lonnie. I just don't know."
"What the hell has he gotten us into?"
Karen said in a stricken voice.
"I don't know,"
I said again. "But it's pretty goddamn awful. "
***
I told Karen I was going home--to get some sleep. She
asked me if I thought that was a good idea. And I didn't know what to
say. If my place had been searched for drugs, if Jenkins had been
murdered because of the same drugs, then going back to the Delores
probably wasn't safe. The trouble was that I didn't know if anyplace
was safe anymore. The only person who could tell me that was Lonnie.
And he was either completely out of his mind, or on the run, or dead
too. Carved up like Jenkins had been and dumped in the river.
One thing was certain. Someone had been very pissed
off at Claude. Unless you were crazy, you didn't make the kind of
example that was made of Jenkins because of a grudge. You did it to
set a mark, to scare other people into toeing the line, to make sure
that mistakes didn't happen again. Unless you were crazy.
I let Karen talk me into spending what was left of
the night in her hotel room. It was less risky than going home. And I
figured I was going to need some sleep before facing whatever was in
store on Saturday. Besides, part of me wanted to spend the night with
her, even if it was in separate beds.
It took me another thirty minutes to drive from
Fairfax to the Clarion. I parked in a garage across from the hotel.
Maybe it was paranoia, but I was damn careful about walking over to
the Clarion lobby. To be doubly safe, I took the lobby elevator to
the floor above Karen's, then walked down the stairwell to her room.
She'd apparently remained awake after my call,
because she answered my knock immediately. She was wearing a terry
robe, and she smelled, beneath it, of night sweat and nerves. Her
pretty face was leaden with fatigue. Her long brown hair, undone for
the night, fell to her shoulders in an uncombed tangle.
"Excuse the way I look," she said
nervously.
She ushered me through the door. Her robe parted
slightly as she waved me in, and I caught a glimpse of the tops of
her breasts, white as snow where a bathing suit had shielded them
from the sun. She smiled ruefully when she realized I was staring at
her, and closed her robe gently with one hand. "It's a funny
time to be thinking about that. "
I nodded. "Funny is not the right word."
I walked over to the far bed and sat down heavily on
the mattress.
"You look wrung out," Karen said, sitting
down across from me on her bed.
"I am wrung out. This has been a very bad
night."
"Poor Harry," she said with genuine
sympathy. "You don't deserve this."
I agreed with her.
Karen dropped her eyes to the floor. "What are
we going to do?" she said with a hopeless look. "I mean,
about Lonnie?"
"We're going to find out what happened to him,"
I said confidently, although I didn't feel much confidence.
"How?" Karen said.
"He must have some other friends here, in town.
Old hippies. Ladies. Dope friends. Somebody. Tomorrow, we'll go
looking for them."
"I think I remember a few people," she
said. "But they might not be around anymore. It's been fourteen
years." She folded her legs, Indian style, and tucked the robe
in tightly beneath her. "Maybe we ought to get in touch with
some of Lonnie's old friends in St. Louis. He might have made some
contact there, before coming here."
"He did have that bus ticket," I agreed.
"We'll check it out."
I took off my coat and started to unbutton my shirt,
as if I were at home, alone. I stopped and glanced at Karen. She was
staring at me. It wasn't exactly an inviting look, but it wasn't
uninterested, either.
"I
took it with me." My voice sounded out of control. I could hear
it myself. I drummed my fingers on the icy glass of the phone booth
and told myself to calm down.
"I don't know if he killed him, Karen," I
said after a time. "Maybe it was meant to look that way. Maybe
whoever broke into my apartment planted the license to incriminate
Lonnie. I just don't know."
"What the hell has he gotten us into?"
Karen said in a stricken voice.
"I don't know,"
I said again. "But it's pretty goddamn awful. "
***
I told Karen I was going home--to get some sleep. She
asked me if I thought that was a good idea. And I didn't know what to
say. If my place had been searched for drugs, if Jenkins had been
murdered because of the same drugs, then going back to the Delores
probably wasn't safe. The trouble was that I didn't know if anyplace
was safe anymore. The only person who could tell me that was Lonnie.
And he was either completely out of his mind, or on the run, or dead
too. Carved up like Jenkins had been and dumped in the river.
One thing was certain. Someone had been very pissed
off at Claude. Unless you were crazy, you didn't make the kind of
example that was made of Jenkins because of a grudge. You did it to
set a mark, to scare other people into toeing the line, to make sure
that mistakes didn't happen again. Unless you were crazy.
I let Karen talk me into spending what was left of
the night in her hotel room. It was less risky than going home. And I
figured I was going to need some sleep before facing whatever was in
store on Saturday. Besides, part of me wanted to spend the night with
her, even if it was in separate beds.
It took me another thirty minutes to drive from
Fairfax to the Clarion. I parked in a garage across from the hotel.
Maybe it was paranoia, but I was damn careful about walking over to
the Clarion lobby. To be doubly safe, I took the lobby elevator to
the floor above Karen's, then walked down the stairwell to her room.
She'd apparently remained awake after my call,
because she answered my knock immediately. She was wearing a terry
robe, and she smelled, beneath it, of night sweat and nerves. Her
pretty face was leaden with fatigue. Her long brown hair, undone for
the night, fell to her shoulders in an uncombed tangle.
"Excuse the way I look," she said
nervously.
She ushered me through the door. Her robe parted
slightly as she waved me in, and I caught a glimpse of the tops of
her breasts, white as snow where a bathing suit had shielded them
from the sun. She smiled ruefully when she realized I was staring at
her, and closed her robe gently with one hand. "It's a funny
time to be thinking about that. "
I nodded. "Funny is not the right word."
I walked over to the far bed and sat down heavily on
the mattress.
"You look wrung out," Karen said, sitting
down across from me on her bed.
"I am wrung out. This has been a very bad
night."
"Poor Harry," she said with genuine
sympathy. "You don't deserve this."
I agreed with her.
Karen dropped her eyes to the floor. "What are
we going to do?" she said with a hopeless look. "I mean,
about Lonnie?"
"We're going to find out what happened to him,"
I said confidently, although I didn't feel much confidence.
"How?" Karen said.
"He must have some other friends here, in town.
Old hippies. Ladies. Dope friends. Somebody. Tomorrow, we'll go
looking for them."
"I think I remember a few people," she
said. "But they might not be around anymore. It's been fourteen
years." She folded her legs, Indian style, and tucked the robe
in tightly beneath her. "Maybe we ought to get in touch with
some of Lonnie's old friends in St. Louis. He might have made some
contact there, before coming here."
"He did have that bus ticket," I agreed.
"We'll check it out."
I took off my coat and started to unbutton my shirt,
as if I were at home, alone. I stopped and glanced at Karen. She was
staring at me. It wasn't exactly an inviting look, but it wasn't
uninterested, either.
"I
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