A Pretender fanfic
by Maggy
Please do not archive without permission
CHAPTER 6: Room Service
Three hours after her telephone had first woken her, Miss Parker was on the train to Chicago via Philadelphia. In Philly, she enjoyed a leisurely lunch, after which she eluded the sweeper team Raines had set to follow her, watched Lyle head purposefully off to Chicago, and managed to board the train to Penn Station. From New York, she changed to the subway, and rattled out to New Rochelle, whence she caught a cab to Stamford, Connecticut. She'd stayed there often, as a halfway point between home and Ben's place in Maine. At the Stamford Marriott, she paid cash for a deluxe room. By then it was nearly eight p.m. Twelve hours to go.
The first thing she did was rip open the seal on the mini-bar
and check the quality of the Scotch. Lousy. Then she called Room
Service and ordered a bottle of her preferred brand. She managed to
resist the urge to have them send up a carton of cigarettes as well.
Nearly thirty minutes passed, during which she stared
at the city-bright landscape outside her window, watching the traffic pass
on Route 95. So many people traveling to so many places... Soon
she would have no reason to travel except for pleasure, leisure, or her own
whim. She would be able to do what she wanted to do, when she wanted
to do it. She would be free.
Yet somehow, a future without the Pretender to lead her
to peculiar towns off the beaten track seemed extraordinarily unappealing.
A knock at her door interrupted her brooding.
"Room Service!"
She verified the uniform and nametag before opening the
door. "Sean" the redhead's tag read. No surprise there.
He wheeled in a serving cart bearing silver-domed serving plates and a chilling bottle of champagne.
"Wait a second. I didn't order--"
"I know, Center-lady, but if you're gonna drink a whole bottle of Scotch, you'd better have some food in your belly." The man's nasal voice was irritatingly familiar. "When was the last time you ate, anyway?""What--" For the third time she reached for her missing gun.
Mr. Argyle smiled behind his scruffy red beard. "Argyle at your service." With a flourish, he removed the silver cover from a Waldorf salad. "Your favorite."
"How do you know-- and what the hell are you doing here? I thought we were going to meet at the Empire State Building tomorrow morning."
"A little change in plan."
"You'd better have a damned good reason for--"
"There you go with the cursing again. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"
"Leave my mother out of this, weasel." Picking up one of the table knives, Parker glared at him through slitted eyes. "Did the Centre-- how did you find me?"
"Calm down. Calm down. It was in the note." Mr. Argyle's own voice was anything but calm as he gave her a rabbitty once-over. "Well, the J-man said you were a knockout, but-- whoa."
In spite of herself, she was momentarily distracted. "Jarod said I was a knockout?"
"Well, technically speaking, his precise exact words were 'Tall brunette with an icy stare and great legs. And her bite is actually much worse than her bark.'"
Parker's lips curved into a reminiscent smile for half a second before hardening back to the present. "What do you mean, it was in the note?"
"He said you'd know they were following you, so you'd probably sneak out here because you come here a lot."
She ground her teeth together. The labrat had Pretended her.
"So, you're early. Give me the damned box and get out of here."
"Not so fast." He looked at the knife curiously. "Where's your gun? The note said you would have a gun pointed up my nose by now."
"My gun?"
"Yes, your gun. Your gun. You carry a big silver gun. I want to see the gun you shot him with. I want to see the gun that killed my best friend."
She shook her head in protest, startled by the change of subject. Was she actually dealing with a lunatic after all?
All at once there was a movement from under the skirt
of the dinner cart. She loosened her stance, preparing to fight.
To her amazement, a form pushed its way out from under the linen tablecloth--
--and gave a sharp bark. In a moment, a small white
dog of mixed terrier breed was wagging its tail at Argyle's feet.
"OK. OK," Mr. Argyle said. "Jarod was my best human friend."
Apparently satisfied, the dog bounced over to where Parker stood, and jumped up at her, sniffing. She leaned down, then gave in and dropped to her knees to pat it.
"Well, Centre lady? Where's the gun? You gonna shoot old Argyle and Hero-Dog here in cold blood, like you did with J-man?"
"Not unless you threaten me," she said.
"Why? Jarod didn't threaten you, did he?" When she didn't respond, he went on. "Tell me, how could you do it? How could you hate someone like him so much?"
"It had nothing to do with hate."
"No way. No way! Don't you tell me 'it wasn't personal' because I ain't buyin' it. How could you just shoot somebody like that? Somebody like him?"
Parker kept her fingers buried in the dog's fur, and heard herself say quietly, "It was an accident. I didn't mean to."
For some reason, her answer incensed Mr. Argyle.
"That's Oscar Mayer baloney! Baloney! J-man said you're a crack shot."His agitation communicated itself to the dog, who gave a noisy bark. She petted him again, trying to calm him.
"You don't have to believe me," she said.
"Yeah, well, you got that right, Centre-lady. You've been hunting him like an animal, and for what? All he wanted was to find his Mom and Pop-- and every time he got close to them, you got in his way."
Parker raised her eyes to Mr. Argyle's reddened face, but said nothing as his frustrated grief washed over her.
"And what did he do? Did the J-man fight back? No. Did he hurt you? No. Did he run off and take all his secrets with him? No, he didn't. While he was searching for his family, he was helping you, too. Every time he found out something about your mother, he--"
Parker found her voice. "I said leave my mother out of this.""No, I don't think so! No way. J-man told me your mother is the key to this whole thing. And before I give you this package--" Argyle picked up a heart-shaped red velvet box: "I need to hear you say you're sorry. Tell me you're sorry you killed the best friend Hero-Dog and me ever had. Tell me you're sorry you killed the best friend you ever had. Then you can have this. I hope it's worth it."Parker tore her eyes away from the familiar red package, frowning as his meaning became clear. This little man was demanding something from her -- but was she willing to give it?
She let go of the dog and rose, facing the traffic out the window once more. She sighed. What difference now? Still, she would not give in so easily
."Sorry?" She managed to inject a healthy measure of her usual venom into her voice. "Sorry? You bet your freckled ass I'm sorry, Mister Argyle. I'm sorry for a lot of things. I'm sorry I ever got up that morning. I'm sorry Sydney didn't kill Raines in that alley in Boston the day Jarod almost met his mother. I'm sorry I didn't actually kill my brother the day I shot him. I'm sorry I didn't turn the gun on Willie the day that Jarod--" She paused suddenly, her anger spent. Her voice lowered to a whisper as she went on, "But most of all, Mr. Argyle, I'm sorry I didn't change the ending of the story the way he wanted me to on Carthis."
Silence fell in the room, except for the sound of the dog's panting. After a moment, she heard Mr. Argyle take a deep breath of his own.
"OK, Centre-lady. Thanks," he said quietly. "I left the box. Come on, Dog."
She didn't move immediately to acknowledge his departure. In a moment she heard four paws padding across the carpet, and then the door closed after them.
But she wasn't alone. Reflected in the window, as if he were standing behind her, was the image of the one person she wanted-- needed-- most to see.
Jarod.
She closed her eyes against the hallucination of her heart, and rested her head against the cool surface of the glass.