This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.
Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.
NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.
DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.
ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!
This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.
Chasing the Dragon
by Madame Manga
Chapter Eighteen
"Sir, the Roadbuster is dead."
"What?"
"He died in surgery at San Francisco General Hospital. At a few minutes before eleven." Wo parked his car in the pool of light from a battery lantern and rolled the window up again, then got out. "I spoke to a nurse and came straight back. I thought you would want to know immediately. I informed all the numbers that I could reach on the way, but I couldn't raise your cell phone—I suppose because this garage is underground."
426 let out a long hissing breath, looking up from a glowing monitor set on a card table between a BMW and his damaged Mercedes S500. The computer was plugged into a generator powered by the car batteries. "He died of his wounds? Not some other cause? Of the wounds I gave him?"
"Yes, sir."
"I must make my ceremonial preparations very thoroughly, then," said 426 half to himself. "I didn't think it was probable...but if he is dead, his gui will be hungry."
"Sir?"
"Find my personal items, Wo. They are in one of these boxes—I packed in haste. I need the incense and the altar and the larger scroll. And go out to buy some candles and joss paper. I was going to the waterfront in any case, but I will need more supplies if the Roadbuster is dead."
"I'll begin opening them," said Wo in some dismay, aiming a flashlight at a solid stack of cardboard boxes four high and eight on a side, none of them labeled.
"Mmm," said 426, tapping away at his keyboard. Some distance away, through a wall, a voice wailed fretfully. 426 rolled his eyes and continued typing. The voice wailed again. "Wo. Go see why the child is complaining. I must have quiet!"
"Sir," said Wo, staggering under a heavy box.
"You put the other hostage in with her?"
"No, sir, I had them in separate—"
"Put them together! Tell Ms. Hopkins to keep that child silent!"
"Yes, sir." Wo took the keys from 426, ambled off to the wall of the garage and unlocked the door of a storage room.
"Hey!" a high voice yelled. "I need to go potty once in a while, you know! Gee-eez! I've been calling for five minutes!"
"I will take you there, Ms. Hopkins," said Wo with a sigh. 426 looked up at the ceiling with a give-me-strength expression.
"I'm hungry! What have you got to eat in this dump?"
"Um…instant noodles. Shrimp flavor."
"Yuck! I think the Warsaw Convention forbids feeding prisoners instant noodles! Especially shrimp flavor ones! Can I order a pizza? Pepperoni with extra cheese!"
"No, she can't order a pizza," said 426 through his teeth before Wo could repeat the request. "And she can't have a different pillow, and she can't take off the chains on her legs, and she can't call the bounty hunter to say she's all right! I need QUIET!"
"You are a real creep, you know that?" May stalked out into the garage, her fettered ankles impeding her stride, folded her arms and glared at 426. "I do NOT like you!"
"Take her to the toilet, Wo, and then put her in with the child. Madame Lum will be here soon and these infants will be off our hands for the moment!" 426 turned back to his Pentium.
"Who's an infant?" growled May, making kung-fu chops in the air. 426 ignored her. Another car came into the garage, the automatic door clanging shut behind it, and pulled up near the black Mercedes. The assassin rose and approached the car, a Rolls Royce Silver Shadow, and the driver emerged, opening the rear passenger door. A stocky Chinese woman with her hair wrapped in a bun stepped out, dressed in a dark brocade cheongsam and short fur jacket.
"Lum Huangling," said 426 in Cantonese, bowing slightly. "Thank you for coming so quickly."
"It is my pleasure, Red Pole," said Madame Lum, returning the bow. "I understand you wish me to take charge of your hostages?"
"Yes, if you would. I am afraid they are making a nuisance of—"
Madame Lum's eyes fell on May, and her brows went up. "Merciful heavens!"
"What?" 426 turned to look at May. "Are you acquainted with this young woman?"
"I should say I am! That's May Hopkins! She was one of the girls at Low Yang's establishment in Chicago a few years back. She was an excellent cash generator, by all accounts! And had many loyal and devoted customers—an exceedingly valuable asset." May smiled and bobbed a curtsey at the sound of her name. Madame Lum switched to English. "What are you doing here, May? I thought you had retired!"
"Yes, ma'am, I had." May pulled her dress tight over her abdomen, showing her pregnant belly. "See?"
"Heavens! Who's the fortunate man?" Madame Lum's tone was falsely confidential.
"Oh, you wouldn't know him!" May giggled.
"This young woman is the partner of the bounty hunter," 426 put in. "The woman I had you search at the pier, the night of the fire."
"Partner?" Madame Lum looked confused. "Why is she with child if her partner is—"
"Not like that!" said May, giggling again. "Well, maybe once or twice! I'm just such a horny little thing, you know! I'm in the bounty hunting business now, Madame Lum! But I guess I'm not too good at it, because I got caught!" She batted her eyelashes and waggled her bottom.
"Merciful heavens," said Madame Lum, smirking.
"At any rate," said 426 in Cantonese, "Ms. Hopkins and Brown's child are my prisoners. I will not go into the details now. Will you keep them for me? It will only be for a few days, I expect."
"Of course, 426. You have only to ask." Madame Lum looked speculatively at May, replying in the same language. "I will keep them at the Pink Pearl. There are a couple of empty cells at the moment. Hmm…it is possible she may be of use, even with a child in her belly. Her talents were legendary!" May seemed to be controlling her expression, a silly smile on her face, but her eyes flickered at the conversation.
"Make any use of her you please, Lum Huangling. I am in your debt." 426 bowed and gestured to Wo, who returned to the storage room and unlocked a door in a partition within it. He bent and picked up the occupant, who cried faintly. "This is Brown's daughter, Tiffany." Wo carried the girl over to the Rolls and put her in the back seat. She slumped on the upholstery, sobbing. May, her face working, made a move for the car, then stopped.
"Ms. Hopkins, you may go to her." 426 gestured and nodded. May looked at him and jumped inside, putting a hand on Tiffany's head and speaking softly to her. The child gulped and tilted her face up to May, her dirty cheeks streaked with tears. May hugged her.
426 turned to Madame Lum. "Very well. You may allow Ms. Hopkins to care for the child. And if she attempts to escape…" He raised his voice and spoke in English. "If she attempts to escape, you may punish the child." May gritted her teeth and held Tiffany closer.
"Excellent," said Madame Lum with an unpleasant smile. "I commend your good sense, 426." She nodded to her driver, who opened the front passenger door of the Rolls. "I doubt they will be much trouble for us—"
Someone opened a stairwell door and ushered another person into the garage. A tall, lumbering man, dark-haired and jowly. He and his guard walked up to 426, the guard speaking a few words in Cantonese. Manichetti bowed low and stammered, "Sir." In the crook of his arm, he held a teddy bear.
"What do you want?" snapped 426. "I have a guest." Manichetti looked at the car, his jowls wobbling.
"Sir…I just wanted to give this to her…" He held up the bear.
"What?"
"It's…her favorite toy. Just a toy. It was in the Roadbuster's car…"
"Manny?" called a small voice full of tears. "Is that Manny talking?"
"Yes, Miss," he replied, his face trembling. "It's Manny. I've got Baby Bear."
"Baby Bear! I want Baby Bear!" sobbed Tiffany.
426 took the bear and looked it over, examining its tiny dress and the contents of the pockets. "Hmm." He extracted a plastic doll mirror and held it between forefinger and thumb.
"Just a toy, sir," begged Manichetti. "Please…"
"Very well." 426 tossed it back to him. "You have done me some service, so you may give it to her. It may help keep her quiet in any case!" He walked back to his improvised office. Manichetti and his guard approached the Rolls, and Manichetti leaned down into the open rear passenger door.
"Here you go, Miss Tiffany. I got Baby Bear for you."
"Thank you, Manny!" she cried, grabbing the toy and clutching it to her chest. "I'm glad you rescued Baby Bear!"
May looked at him, and he bit his lip. "Hello, Miss May."
"What is it with Brown's old crew?" she said sarcastically. "They all join up with the Dragons sooner or later? When are you gonna try to run Rally down with a Range Rover?"
"Miss, I…" He put one hand on Tiffany's dark-blonde head. "It was the only thing I could do, y'know? If I hadn't told 426…um, what I told him, he'd have gone ahead and…you know."
May glanced at the child, who played happily with her bear. "Really?"
"Only thing I could do, Miss. I'm sorry."
"Whatever," said May, frowning.
"I got some news for you," he whispered low. "Bean Bandit's dead."
"What?" said May, her eyes widening. "Are you sure?"
"Yep. 426 sliced him up real bad. I saw him go in the ambulance. He didn't look too good…he'd lost a helluva lot of blood. Your partner was pretty upset—" Manichetti's guard tapped his shoulder as Madame Lum got into the Rolls and the engine started.
"But…Bean? He's not easy to kill, you know!"
"He died at the hospital. I heard it from the Dragons. I'm real sorry." Manichetti suddenly pulled Tiffany to him and kissed her cheek, his own tears wetting it. "'Bye, honey. I'll see you later."
"'Bye, Manny!" called Tiffany as the door closed.
"Bye," echoed May. She buckled Tiffany's seat belt, then her own. As the Rolls went up the ramp and out into the darkness, May stared out the window, her expression hardening. Tiffany snuggled up against her and held her teddy bear; May's arm went around her. "I'll take care of you, sweetie. Nothing like someone to take care of to distract your mind from your own troubles!" The street lights of a warehouse district moved past the tinted windows of the Rolls.
"But…oh, Rally." Sadness passed over May's face. "Bean's dead, and you might have really cared about him, and he might have—I'm so sorry. Because I'm afraid he was the only man who ever would have been able to prove it to you..."
Bean could barely stay upright, swaying heavily and nearly knocking her over as she supported him out of the car and up the hotel's back steps, carrying the bag with the remains of his jacket.
But Rally got him to the elevator and down the hall to the room without mishap, though half-hauling his stumbling weight left her muscles aching. May had changed the room assignment while she was out, and the desk clerk had told her the number and given her the key while Bean waited with the stolen Cadillac in a back alley.
Unfortunately, the new room was only five doors down from Roy's—obviously May had thought of that as an advantage at the time! No one was in the hall in the wee hours, luckily, and Rally leaned Bean against the wall and unlocked the door. She saw her suitcase standing in the closet when she switched on the light; May had apparently packed it and put it here for her.
Bean groaned with a hand to his stitches and she turned to him. He looked terrible, sweating and white, his eyes closed, and her heart suffered a pang as she put his arm over her shoulders and helped him inside. Such a strong man, so independent and incisive, and now he was as weak as a newborn, unwillingly depending on her. Rally had often considered herself the motherly type, sometimes treating May as a child despite being only one year older, and was looking forward to being an aunt of sorts for May's baby. She had already called Dr. Lansky and negotiated payment and a hotel house call, overriding Bean's feeble objections.
This was the second time she had taken care of Bean when he had been badly injured. He lived such a dangerous life and took such tremendous risks; he needed someone around to help him and get him out of trouble when he fell in too deep. The thought startled her slightly. Was she nominating herself for the post? Her lifestyle was nearly as dangerous as his! But at least she had a partner…
Rally got Bean to the bed and eased him down on the sheets after pulling down the spread. "Here, you can lie down now. You won't have to move again until you feel better! Can you roll to the middle? I'll cover you up." She fluffed a pillow and tucked him in. "There you go. Can I get you anything to make you comfortable?"
"Kinda thirsty," mumbled Bean.
"OK; just a sec." He probably ought to be drinking water for fluid replenishment while they waited for the doctor—Rally went into the bathroom and got him a glass. Coming out, she took a good look at the whole room for the first time. It was awfully small…and had only the one queen-size bed, which Bean occupied.
"What? Oh, no!" May had not reserved another double for herself and Rally. She'd gotten two singles, and the clerk had given Rally the key of the one assigned to her! On purpose or not? Either way, there was nothing she could do about it right now. She would have to share the bed with Bean, who took up most of the space on his own, or she would have to sleep on the floor.
Rally took a look at Bean, whose eyes were closed; he probably hadn't noticed the one bed, and might not be in much shape to care. But crawling into bed with him? That he would notice! When he saw they were in a single room, would he think she was teasing him again while he couldn't do anything about it?
"Sounds like the floor," said Rally to herself, and put another pillow under Bean's head to let him drink as they both held the glass. He gulped down the contents and let go of it. Rally refilled it twice.
"Got any beer?" he asked, looking a little better, but still pale and shaky.
"No, I don't! You shouldn't be drinking alcohol, anyway." Bean rolled his eyes, seemed to regret doing so with a queasy expression, and lay back again with a thump on the pillow. His gaze followed her as she opened her suitcase and quickly put her clothes away in the closet and dresser. Rally wadded up her clean panties and bras in her hand before taking them out, blushing slightly. "How are you feeling?"
"Like dogshit, lady," he replied, quirking a smile. Rally came over and put a hand on his forehead. "Whole room's spinning…feel like I'm gonna upchuck—damn..." Bean's eyes closed again and he made a face. She fetched the empty plastic wastebasket from the bathroom and set it beside the bed with a towel and another glass of water, then put her hand on his forehead again. Bean weakly moved his head under her touch. "Why are ya doing this?" he asked for the third or fourth time.
"Because you were hurt on a job I made you do, remember? That was really above and beyond the call, Bean." She smiled at him. "I think you truly care about that little girl! Even if she is Brown's daughter."
"Eh," said Bean. Obviously he was in no shape for conversation, and that statement wasn't one he was likely to respond to in any case. He shut his eyes. Rally stood over the bed for a moment, then retreated to a chair. Minutes ticked by as she watched Bean restlessly doze and wake and doze again.
She checked her watch. When was that doctor going to come? Bean was possibly out of immediate danger, but another transfusion would probably make the difference between rapid recovery and days of disability. He couldn't afford to be helpless, not with the Dragons, the FBI and the SFPD on his tail—but aside from his uneasiness with the favors she was doing for him, he didn't seem apprehensive any more. Though he might not like running up debts, she had the feeling that he didn't truly dislike her presence or her solicitude.
Rally waited a few minutes longer and got up to use her phone in the bathroom, closing the door to avoid disturbing Bean. She took the bloody jacket out of the plastic bag and put it in the bathtub, running warm water over it to thaw it all the way.
"Pete? It's Rally."
"I was wondering when the hell you were planning to call! Bandit vanished out of the hospital! You looking for him?"
"Uh, yes." She swished the jacket in the tub and watched the blood swirl through the water.
"Good—I asked Coleman where you'd gone and he just mumbled. I suppose he wouldn't mind if the guy turned up dead in a ditch—dead again, I mean." Smith let out a snorting laugh. "That is really one for the record books. The doctor's P.O.'ed that Bean split so soon—I think he wanted to write him up for a medical journal or something!"
"Um, yeah, probably. Is there any news about May? Or Tiffany Brown?"
"No. I'm sorry, but the signal from our tracer cut out after a while. That means one of several possibilities: it quit working, she's passed it through her system—unlikely this soon—or she's underground or otherwise shielded from radio transmissions."
"Underground?" Rally yelped.
"I'm talking about a basement or parking garage or something like that. You thought I meant buried?"
"It occurred to me!" She wedged the phone between jaw and shoulder, pulling out the money from the back of Bean's jacket. It was stuck together with absorbed blood. The smell was strong and metallic and rather nauseating, but she let the bills soak for a minute. "What's the plan to get her and May back?"
"No leads, as I say. We're keeping the frequency open. It may turn up again. We've got an army of agents calling in every favor and informant we have. In the mean time, we may have to wait for 426. He's not likely to let his captives go to waste. Probably working out what to do next."
"With Manichetti's help?"
"That SOB," Smith spat. "Bad as his boss. I am sorry I ever dealt for one moment with Sly Brown! We've got Mrs. Brown at UCSF for routine examination. Seems she wasn't molested, though. Recently."
"Recently?"
"The doc just told me she has…bite marks. Scars, some of them years old, some about a month new. All the same set of teeth, all in spots that wouldn't show in a bathing suit."
"Oh, my God."
"I told you Sly tried everything under the sun. Some of it on his wife, apparently."
Rally's stomach turned over. "Ugh." She had never been so glad that Brown's looks and money had not penetrated her defenses. She looked at the blood in the water. "Why does 426 now believe he's dead? Did…Manichetti tell him so? You remember how adamant he was that Brown was dead, until we forced him to say otherwise?"
"I do." Smith clicked his teeth. "And even after he admitted Brown had escaped the warehouse, he insisted he wouldn't show up for tonight's shindig, and he was right, obviously. I guess he convinced 426."
"I guess so, but I wonder how. If Manichetti has some kind of solid evidence, why didn't he tell us what it was?"
"I don't know. If it's good enough for the Dragons, it certainly would have been good enough for us, I'd imagine. But it might prove one thing, I think."
"That Manichetti took off because he knew he could save Tiffany?" said Rally. "You know, Pete, I think he might be all right." She took the doctor's card out of her pocket and looked at the writing on the back.
"That's as may be. We can thank God she's still alive as far as we know. 426 apparently needs time, but so do we."
Someone knocked on the door of the room. Rally opened the bathroom door and looked at Bean, who was asleep again. "I have to go, Pete. I'll call again as soon as I can."
"Something to take care of?" Smith's tone told her he had some idea of where she was, or at least of what she was doing. "OK. Talk to you later."
Rally put the phone away and opened the door. A man with a pair of large black cases stood there, looking rather sleepy. "Are you Dr. Lansky?"
"I am," he replied, hauling the cases inside. "Where's my patient?"
"Right there in the bed." Rally turned all the lights on. "He's been asleep or out of it most of the time."
"Hmm," said the doctor, opening one of the cases. "You have the money?"
"Yes. It's kind of…wet, though."
"Is it? Let's see it."
Rally returned to the bathroom and collected several wads of hundreds that floated in the tub, running some clean water over them to rinse them more thoroughly. They were still mottled with reddish-brown stains and smelled strong, but she patted the bills dry and brought them into the bedroom cradled in a hotel towel. "Here. Five thousand even."
"Good God," said the doctor in distaste at the blood-stained money, sitting on Bean's bed and listening to his lower abdomen through a stethoscope. "Well, I can't afford to be too picky, considering my clientele…hmm."
"How is he?" Bean looked only partly conscious.
"How much blood did he lose in all?"
"About ten units. He had transfusions of five units, plus three or four bags of other stuff—clear fluids?"
"All right, I understand. I've brought four units of packed red cells—that's concentrated blood, more or less." He pulled a small foam cooler from his case. "O-negative, since I couldn't get AB-negative—you realize that's the rarest type? Even this was not easy to buy, I'll tell you, which is why I'm a bit late."
"But doesn't he have to have the same type?"
"Not necessarily. O-negative is the universal donor, so he should tolerate it—as far as I know. It's not like I can do a complete antibody analysis here. Once we get this in him, he'll be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed."
The doctor set up the IV stand, snapped on a pair of gloves and fixed a shunt in Bean's chest, then hung the bag and started the transfusion. "Watch what I'm doing here, because you are going to have to change the bags. Warm the next one by putting it in a sinkful of not-too-hot water. Don't let air bubbles get in the lines, see?"
He gave Rally a quick nursing lesson and prepared an injection. "This is for his pain. I'll leave you three more ampules of Demerol. That slash on his neck must be agony. What's under this bandage on his right hand?"
"Three stab wounds. They missed the tendons, luckily."
"I see he's had a dislocated shoulder, from the bruises here. It seems to be back in the socket."
"Yes, he stopped a car all by himself—"
"No, don't tell me," said the doctor with a sardonic grin, injecting Bean's IV line. "I honestly don't want to know. That will have to heal on its own, though a sling for the arm might ease the discomfort." He took out a large square of white cloth and bound up Bean's left arm. "Well, his body's already working to replace the blood he lost, and the red cells will go a long way towards that. I can see he's got a good constitution, so he should be feeling fine in twenty-four hours."
"OK. What can I give him?"
"Whatever he wants. Lots of fluids, but avoid caffeine and alcohol. He doesn't have much intestinal activity at the moment, which is to be expected, but when he's hungry, feed him."
"How about, um…" She gestured at the bathroom.
"I didn't bring any bedpans. He should be feeling well enough to use the toilet in a few hours in any event." The doctor blotted the money with the towel and stuffed it in one of his cases. "All right, you're set up. Goodbye."
"That's it?"
"That's it." He snapped the case shut and picked up the other one. "The equipment's yours. Just snap the ampule into the base of the syringe to give him more painkiller. Dispose of the needles in a container, OK?" The doctor left.
"Oboy," muttered Rally, looking at the tubes and needles. "I am not trained for this..." Bean's eyes were open now, the painkiller apparently taking effect, and he blinked at her.
"Five thou for that?"
"I wasn't going to haggle at a time like this!"
"Why the hell not? 'Course, it ain't your dough…" He rolled his eyes.
"Sorry! Don't you think your health is worth a few expenses? You have plenty of cash left, anyway!"
"You know how much this damn trip is going to end up costing me?"
"How much?"
"Haven't added it up yet," Bean growled. "Probably gonna have a damn heart attack when I do!"
"You're the one who chased Brown out here."
"Yeah, more fool I." He looked at her. "And you're the one who chased me, Vincent. When you planning to give up?"
"Give up?" He meant something by that.
"Not yet, I guess." Bean sighed. "You're stuck with me for a little while longer, lady. I don't like it any more than you do, but if you think you owe me, you owe me. Well, soon as I feel like I can walk without fallin' flat on my ass, I'm off yer hands."
"Fine with me," said Rally, unaccountably stung. Of course he wanted to recover and be on his own, but he might have put it a little less bluntly. "OK, I have to get your clothes at some point. Surgical scrubs and bare feet might do all right for pajamas, but they'd attract attention as street wear! Where are your things?"
"In my car. You won't be able to get it, though."
"Why not?"
"'Cause I didn't leave it in a goddamn public pay lot, that's why. Guy that's got it won't let anybody but me have it. I told him that real clear."
"Oh. Well, I could go out and buy you some clothes—I guess I know your sizes…um."
"Uh… Where's the stuff from my jacket pockets?"
"Well, I'm working on that!" Rally returned to the bathroom and put a transfusion bag into the sink with warm water. The rest of Bean's possessions she scrubbed and soaped until they were presentable, and brought them to him, dumping a towel full of tools, wallet, headband and his soggy cell phone on the nightstand. Bean rose slightly to look at it and raised a brow at her.
"Well, gosh, everything was caked with blood! The phone should be all right once it dries. I'm still soaking the rest of the cash." She sat down by the bed, took each item and wiped it, shaking water from the wallet and cell phone. "Bleeding to death gets a little messy!"
"No shit?"
"Bean, according to the machines…you were dead." Rally looked at him as she wrung out a bandanna. "You certainly looked dead. What do you remember?"
"Remember? I dunno."
"OK, what's the last thing you recall?"
"Why?"
"Well…gee, I guess I want to know…where you were." While I was talking to you, thinking it was the last time. While I kissed you…
"Where? Thought I was in a hospital." He shrugged.
"No, I mean…did you hear what was going on in the room? I sat with you, you know. I, um, I touched you. When I thought you were dead. You know, I was crying and I—"
"Yeah?" said Bean noncommittally. "Guess I wasn't in shape to notice."
"OK, then did you see anything unusual? I've read about near-death experiences, and I wondered if you, um, met anyone from your past or went through a tunnel of light or anything like that…?" She trailed off; Bean was looking at her with mild contempt. "Uh, not to get all New Age fruitcake on you."
"Yeah, let's not," said Bean with positive emphasis.
"Are you feeling any better?"
"Starting to, yeah."
"You really don't remember anything? What about the ambulance? You were talking about all kinds of things while your blood supply was so low."
He rolled his eyes. "Doubt I said anything that made sense."
"It did make some sense. Not all of it…but I think it might have if I knew what it was about. Some of it sounded like things that happened a long time ago." Bean said nothing, picking up and examining his cell phone. "And some of it was about things that just happened this week. Like…" Rally picked up another item to dry and discovered it was a strip of packaged condoms. "Uh…" She dropped them into a fold of the towel on her lap, blushing. "Like the night we had…"
"Great." Bean lay back with an irritated expression. "Me and my big mouth!"
"Is it an intrusion to talk about what's happened? Don't you think we should?"
"I got a choice?" Bean looked at the IV line and transfusion bag as if it were a ball and chain.
"Bean…you…you said you'd wanted me for a long time. I…I think I felt the same way…about you." Rally knew her face was burning red, but she forged on. "I didn't realize it until today, not really. After you asked my forgiveness and I talked to May. It's, it's something I know isn't what we might think is convenient, or something we really ought to do anything about…but we did do something, you know, and…Bean, when I thought you were dead I felt—"
"What's yer point?"
"I…I don't know. I just wanted to talk…"
Bean finally looked at her, his eyes both eloquent and opaque. "Guess I ain't so damn stupid I don't know to steer away from a woman who says she just wants to talk! We did the nasty, OK? I know it, you know it, and I oughta know better by now! Can we drop it?"
Rally's chin wobbled. "I guess so. If you want. I only thought we should clear the air." She got up and put the towel on the nightstand. "I'll go check how clean the cash is…and change your transfusion bag, because it's getting low, and I guess I should call Roy to check in because I doubt he's sleeping right now anyway—"
"Sorry, I ain't a talker." He sounded a little apologetic, a little regretful, but mostly resentful. "Why jaw about somethin' that's settled anyhow? I know it ain't going to happen any more. You don't hafta keep reminding me!"
Turning on his side, he closed his eyes. Rally's throat constricted. It was like hearing steel doors clang shut between them. Was it just that he felt trapped and impotent, lying wounded and sick to his stomach in her room and her bed, poked and prodded and interrogated? She could sympathize; she had felt much the same way the first time Smith and Wesson had grilled her.
Or perhaps he kept thinking and dreaming about what had happened in her car—he had said so more than once, and not always in delirium—and if he didn't close the door on that memory as firmly as he could, something would escape. Something that Bean Bandit feared could break out from his conscious control must be frighteningly strong. Neither of them wanted that to happen. Did they?
With a rush of warmth to the surface of her body, Rally's heart went out to him. Bean's back was turned to her, his eyes shut. In a strange way his reserve was liberating. She didn't have to keep up her own defenses if he chose to close himself off, for safety's sake or whatever reason he had hit upon. If he would only speak to her, tell her how he felt about her, perhaps say something like what he had said that morning…
'I just want to know if you would've slept in my bed that night…Just that night?' Rally sat down on the opposite edge of the bed and looked at Bean. He thought she didn't want him again, that once had been more than enough for her, and he was wrong. Should she tell him? What could she say?
I can't help reminding you about it, because I can't forget it? She couldn't have him again—they did both know better by now—so telling him would only torment him. But she wished so much, against all sense, that it wasn't so.
Perhaps it was better that Bean hadn't wanted to talk, if what he might have said was cold or crude, but at that moment Rally longed to touch him, to hold him, to let him know he didn't have to be alone. More than anything, she wanted to lie down on that bed, in the dented, body-warmed space he had left behind him when he had rolled to the edge, and put her arms around him. She wouldn't do anything else. Just sleep in the same bed with him for that one night…
Rally didn't want to put a name to the desire, because she had to feel it as it formed, let it take its own path in her mind and body without twisting it to fit a label. Bean was her friend in need; that was all she really knew, and all that she could know unless he chose to tell her otherwise. And she knew very well that he never would.
"OK, Bean," she said, softly, in case he had fallen asleep again. The caressing tone in her voice seemed to come from a deeper source within her than she had known existed. "I understand."
"This is Baby Bear," said Tiffany. "Baby Bear, say good morning to May."
"Good morning, Baby Bear," said May. "I'm very pleased to meet you." She gravely shook hands with the teddy.
"See, Baby Bear has pockets," said Tiffany. "I can put stuff in them." She produced a tiny plastic baby bottle and a broken doll mirror. "I don't have my toys with me. I had to leave them in my old room. I'm glad Manny brought Baby Bear."
"I'm sure Baby Bear is glad to be with you," said May, smiling.
Tiffany smiled and sprang up from the cot they sat on. She did a little twirling dance with the teddy, a dance small in area, because the cell was only ten feet square and held two cots. "See? I'm a good dancer. I took dance lessons. My daddy wanted me to."
"Really?"
Tiffany stopped twirling. "I want my daddy." Her face fell. "I want to see Daddy. I wish he would come back from his trip and take me away from the bad people and bring me some more toys."
"Uh…well, I can see you're looking forward to that." May smoothed her crumpled dress and made both beds, then sat and combed Tiffany's hair with her fingers.
"I like toys," said the little girl after a few moments.
"I like toys too, sweetie."
"I was crying because I didn't have my toys. Manny asked me to stop crying, because it made him want to cry too. I tried to stop. I wanted my Playstation and my Barbies. Manny said he could get me some more, but not right now. We were staying someplace and I couldn't go outside or play loud or anything. He looked in his pockets for something for me to play with so I could stop crying. He found something really pretty. Want to see?" She plopped down next to May again.
"Sure."
Tiffany stuck a little finger into the teddy's dress pocket. "Look. Isn't it pretty?" She produced an oval object about an inch long, an earring in a diamond frame, and held it out on her palm. "Mama says it's a safire and it's too dark for her. But I like them. See, there's two of 'em."
May's eyes grew round. "A pair of dark blue sapphire earrings?"
"Uh-huh. See, I can clip them on Baby Bear's ears!" Tiffany did so and held the teddy in the light, turning it back and forth to let the sapphires flash. "Doesn't Baby Bear look nice?"
"Really nice, Tiffany." May shook her head with a smile. "Jewels are a girl's best friend, huh? So that's what happened to them!"
"Do you have any toys, May?"
"Lots! At home, mostly."
"Do you have any teddy bears?"
"Yep."
"Aren't you kind of big for teddy bears?" said Tiffany reprovingly.
"Uh…maybe. But I can give them to my baby!"
"Is there a real baby in your tummy?"
"You bet!" May patted her abdomen.
"Is it a boy baby or a girl baby?"
"A boy."
"Yuck," said Tiffany. "I like girls better. I want a sister." May laughed.
"Breakfast!" said a young woman outside, putting a key in the lock. "Are you in the way of the door?"
"Nope," said May, putting an arm around Tiffany. "Come on in, Pai Li!"
The door opened to admit the woman, a pretty Chinese in her middle twenties wearing a silk dressing gown and slippers. "I went to the kitchen to see if they had any milk for the kid, but no luck. Does she like congee?" Pai Li put a tray of dishes on the sole chair. "I did find some orange juice. Here's a couple of glasses!"
"What's congee?" said Tiffany, looking skeptically at a steaming bowl of white porridge.
"Chinese soft rice," said May. "It's good with sugar!"
"It looks totally gross," said Tiffany, wrinkling her nose. May and Pai Li laughed.
"I'll go shopping!" said Pai Li. "Nearly everyone here is Asian or Russian, so all we have is rice and eggs and Chinese sausages for breakfast."
May picked up a bowl of congee, sprinkled white sugar over it, and shovel-slurped it expertly into her mouth with the aid of a porcelain spoon and a quick twist of the bowl. "Yum! Good!" She rubbed her stomach and made a delicious face at Tiffany. "Though you might want to let it cool for a minute!"
"Gosh, honey," said Pai Li, sitting down on the other cot. "It's been years! It's so nice to see you! Even if you did get me fired from the Almond Club!"
"Sorry about that," replied May, slurping more congee and pulling a sad-puppy look. "I felt so bad about having to just bust Rally in to take care of the assassin! Didn't the police close the place down for a while?"
"Yeah, and for some reason the management blamed me! Oh, they were total jerks—forget it! I have a wonderful job here, and I'm moving up! The weather's so much nicer in California—I bet you wish you lived here!"
"Golly. You have all the luck."
"What a bummer you're all locked up and everything. I wish you could come hang out in the lounge with the girls before we open. I want all the Chicago gossip!"
"Mmm, I do have a lot of gossip!" giggled May. Tiffany smelled a spoonful of congee.
"But I'm afraid Madame Lum wouldn't like it if I let you out. She left strict instructions. She'd have a cow!"
"Don't you mean a water buffalo?"
"Ah-hah-hah-ha!" gasped Pai Li, turning pink. She and May giggled for a moment. "Oh, that's good! Unfortunately, I report straight to her—I'm the assistant manager, you know."
"Oh, you've got responsibilities?"
"You betcha! But I still take my regulars—I am saving SO much dough! You know, this is a high-rolling joint. Someone like you could really raise our profit margin—"
"Pai Li?" said another young woman in the corridor, speaking in a heavy accent. "Anastasia been doing crack again! You talk her? She be high as moon, and it only eight-thirty! "
"Oh, no! Madame Lum's going to send her to the minors!" sighed Pai Li. "'Scuse me, May! Have to take care of business!"
"Of course! Talk to you later?"
"Oh, honey! I'll see what I can do about this cell stuff! I mean, really, you are TOTALLY going to waste here! Talk to you later!" Pai Li patted May's head, got up and left, locking the door behind her.
"Is that lady really a friend of yours?" asked Tiffany, nibbling at a tiny bit of breakfast. "If you're nice to her, is she gonna be nice to us?"
"I think so…" May's eyes narrowed. "Though I might have to be a little nicer than I really want to be," she said low.
"OK. This tastes kind of different from Captain Crunch."
"Have some sugar on it," said May, sweetening Tiffany's bowl.
"Yes, about a twenty-six by thirty-eight—none in ordinary blue, huh?—and an extra-extra-large T-shirt—I guess black is the best choice out of those too, because neither purple nor orange is his color, and, um, I guess that jacket—that's a fifty-two long? Yeah, the charcoal grey one. OK, that's not too expensive, and it ought to fit."
Rally put a couple of packages of socks and underwear down on the counter of the Big and Tall store and pulled out a wad of Bean's damp cash. "Oh, geez, he needs a pair of shoes, too! I couldn't salvage his boots…"
"Doesn't he want to try some on himself?" said the slightly perplexed clerk, taking the jacket off the hanger. "It's hard to fit shoes by size alone."
"He's…well, he's sick. Bad cold! Can't come out shopping." Rally smiled and gestured at the shoe display. "Just give me a pair of those black Reeboks. Size fifteen regular."
"All right. I'll get the jeans too." The clerk went into the stock room for a moment and returned with a shoebox and a pair of folded black jeans. "Here you go. Shall I ring it up?"
"Sure. That's all I need for now."
"Wrecked all his clothes falling off a pier? Didn't he have a suitcase along on the trip?"
"Yep, and the suitcase is swimming with the fishes!" chuckled Rally. "He's kind of clumsy being so tall. Never saw the ocean before and he got a little excited. Ran right off the end and SPLASH! It's all gross and mucky on the bottom. Everything he was wearing is filthy and absolutely whiffs!"
"Oh, gosh, my boyfriend is JUST like that…" The clerk nattered on for a few minutes, scanning all the prices into the register. "Gee, this money got wet too? And he caught cold? Poor guy!"
"Uh-huh! Crazy vacation, huh?"
"Sounds like it! Good luck!"
"Thanks!" Rally took her purchases and went to look for a McDonald's. She'd spotted one on the way out from the hotel while moving the stolen Cadillac into another neighborhood, and didn't want to risk room service for two as long as Roy was staying in the same place and on the same hall. When she returned to her room schlepping the two big clothing bags, a drugstore bag and two from McDonald's, Bean was just waking and sitting up in bed. She put the bags into the entryway and closed the door.
"Good morning!" she chirped. "Did you see the note I left? Are you hungry?"
"Yeah, I guess." Bean looked around with a suspicious air. "This is a single room?"
"Uh, yeah…May changed everything around while I was out. I guess they didn't have any unreserved doubles on a Saturday." Rally unpacked the food and laid it out on the table.
"Here, I got a couple of pancake breakfasts and a couple of Egg McMuffins and hash browns and milk…if you want more, I'll go out again. I called Roy a little while ago and there are still no leads. May and Tiffany have been very well hidden! That's what I'm going to work on today. Oh, and I got you some clothes. Jeans—black ones, because that's all they had in your size besides brown and some kinda fruity acid-washed ones, and a T-shirt and a sport jacket and shoes. I tried not to spend too much, OK? They're in the hall closet. I'll put the razor and stuff in the bathroom."
She bustled around, putting the rest of the cash on the nightstand with the rest of Bean's things and unpacking the drugstore bag.
"Huh. So where'd you sleep?"
"In the armchair. No problem!" Actually, her neck was still a little stiff. "How are you feeling? You got all four units into you, so you should be doing better now."
"OK, I guess." He threw the covers off and stood, then swayed and sat down again. "Ugh…"
"Oh, not a hundred percent yet? Do you need some help? More painkiller?"
Bean dodged her proffered arm and got up again more slowly, removing his sling so he could use both arms. "Nah." Rally watched him work his way along the walls, leaning on one hand. He disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door; she shrugged and finished unpacking the food. The toilet flushed and the shower went on. In a few minutes there came a loud, sliding thunk and a curse from Bean. He muttered for a moment and fell silent.
"Bean? What was that?"
"Nothin'." His voice echoed oddly in the shower.
"OK." She didn't care for Mickey D's in the morning, but she had made the bed and nearly finished one pancake breakfast before beginning to wonder what was keeping him. He didn't take fifteen-minute showers!
"Bean?" she asked, rapping on the bathroom door. The water was still running. "Everything all right in there?"
"Shit…" she heard him say.
"Can I come in? Are you OK?"
"Goddammit…"
"I'm coming in, Bean." Rally opened the door part way; he was lying prone in the tub, naked and pale. "Oh, my goodness! Let me help you up!"
"Rrrr…"
"Did you hurt yourself?" Rally knelt down on the bath rug, turned off the shower and checked. Bean's browbone had a faucet-shaped blue bump. "Geez!" She fetched a cold cloth and put it on the fresh bruise. "It would be nice if you'd call me when you're having trouble! All you need is more injuries! Why didn't you let me help you?"
"I can take a goddamn piss on my own, Vincent!"
"Sure you can!" Rally rolled her eyes. "And you can fall and klonk your head on your own, too! Here, can you climb out of the tub?"
Bean started to roll over, then stopped and curled his legs up. "Gimme a damn towel!"
"Huh? OK, here you go." When she handed him a bath towel, he hastily wrapped it around his hips. "What's the matter with you? It's not like I haven't seen it all before, you know!"
To her surprise, Bean flushed and moved away from her hands, crawling out of the tub and collapsing on the bath rug. "I just got dizzy. I'm OK."
"Um…well, let's put you back in bed." She tried to put an arm around his chest, but he flinched and grabbed the bathroom door, pulling himself half upright.
"I can walk!"
"Fine, you can walk. Only problem is, I can't catch you when you fall! Either you let me hold you up, or you can crawl the whole way!"
"Just give me those clothes! I'll do it myself!"
Rally stared at the back of his head for a moment. That wasn't just humiliation at his accident—it really was modesty. Was he actually feeling…vulnerable? As if she might grab him and molest him in his weakened state? "Oookaayy… whatever you say." She got the bags from the closet and unpacked them on the floor. "I hope the shoes fit. I think everything else will…here's the socks and underwear—"
"Fine. Get the hell out of here!" Bean seized the T-shirt and pulled it over his head.
"All right! Don't bust all your front teeth out on the sink while you're shaving!" Throwing up her hands, she walked out and closed the door. He didn't want her to see him naked? Almost an complete turnabout from how they had behaved in the motel in Buttonkettle! Rally sighed and got out her cell phone.
"Pete?"
"This is Agend Wesson."
"Oh! Hi. Um, sorry about your nose! Could I talk to Pete?"
"Where have you god him?"
"Hmm? Got who?"
"Bean Bandid, thad's who!" yelled Wesson. "You snuck him oud of the hospidal, you little slu—"
"Uh-uh. Watch the language there, Agent. Are you accusing me of something?"
"Yes, I am!" he raged. "Thad man broke by nose! You knew damn well we were going to arresd him for—"
"Excuse me?" said Rally with dangerous sweetness. "Arrest him? Agent Smith made a formal promise not to do anything of the kind! Are you suggesting that he would break his word to me? Or that the FBI keeps promises only when convenient?"
"Uh…" No, he didn't want to admit he'd badgered Smith into it!
"Do you realize if I did something like that for Bean, he'd consider it a professional debt? That is not something I would do on a whim or out of pity. He would never have asked me for a favor of that kind. If I had offered to help him, he would have turned me down anyway, and if you ask me, I thought he should have stayed, especially since Pete promised not to arrest him. Bean's departure from the hospital was not my idea. Got that straight?"
Wesson let out a breath through his teeth.
"Good," said Rally. "Take a message, OK? I have an idea about where the Dragons might be hiding May and Tiffany. Ask Pete if the FBI has any contacts in the Triad-owned bordellos. Those places are always equipped for prisoners, and the girls would be glad to take care of a child for a little while. Sound plausible?" Bean came out of the bathroom, dressed in black jeans, black T-shirt and running shoes, walking slowly.
"Yes, id does." Wesson let out another, softer breath; Rally could tell he was consciously ratcheting down his anger. "I'm sorry, Ms. Vincend. I losd by temper, and I apologize. Of course I have no evidence thad you helped Bandit escape. I shouldn'd have assumed thad you were his accomplice." Bean lurched against the wall and caught himself.
"All right; apology accepted." Rally allowed herself a tight smile as she went to Bean and supported him with her free arm. Wesson wasn't convinced, but she had changed his certainty to doubt. "I don't think you'll be seeing him again in any case. He's paid off his debt to me, and I suppose he'll be leaving for Chicago as soon as he can."
Bean met her eyes as she took him to the bed and sat him down. "I can tell you he'd rather accept anyone else's help than mine." She moved all the food to the nightstand. Bean put his feet up, ate two-thirds of an Egg McMuffin in a bite and took a swig of milk.
"I…understand. Pede should be in soon. I'll ged on the, um, bordellos. I"m afraid there are quite a few of them in the area."
"I see. Hope the nose is better, Agent." Bean raised a brow. "When should I plan to get to the Federal Building?"
"Whenever id's conveniend, and yes, the nose is bedder, thank you. Actually, I have something for you as well. A tape."
"From Larry Sam?"
"No, something else. Hard to explain over the phone, but there's no big rush—I'll play id to you when you come in. Mr. Sam is checking oud of UCSF this afdernoon, by the way."
"Oh, that's good news! Thank you. I think I'll visit on my way over." Rally put the phone away and looked at Bean. He had finished the muffins and the first carton of milk and now dug into the pancake breakfast on his lap with a plastic fork. "You look hungry, all right! Are you going to want more than that?"
"Maybe," said Bean with his mouth full and a cake of hash browns in one hand. "That was Wesson?"
"Yeah. Sounds like he's figured out who helped you—apparently Roy didn't tell anyone, but Wesson isn't stupid. He's not dead certain, but he'll be looking for better evidence so he can hang me. I think Pete knows too, but he doesn't really care. He has bigger fish to fry."
Bean looked up. "I better get out've here quick, then. Small fish or not." He gave a wry smile and bit off a chunk of hash browns.
"Better not risk leaving in broad daylight! Even if Wesson manages to persuade Pete to put a stakeout on the hotel, if it occurs to him you spent the night in my room, they won't serve a warrant on me or anything. Stay put until nightfall and you'll be safe."
"Mm," grunted Bean, his eyes leaving hers.
"Clothes fit all right?"
"Yeah." He raised one knee to stabilize his breakfast. Rally admitted to herself that she had chosen the clothes with an eye to appearance as well as expense. In solid black, Bean looked even longer and slimmer, his face standing out by contrast, framed with his undisciplined hair like raven's wings. His shoulders spanned an easy half of the queen-size headboard.
"Still dizzy?" She felt a little dizzy herself. God, even pale and bruised, he was magnificent…
"Eh. Little bit."
"OK, then. Stay here until dark—consider it part of the health care package." Rally looked for the hotel TV schedule and put it on the nightstand next to him. "You'll feel better by then anyway. All right?"
Bean made a slight grimace, his lips compressing and brows going down. "All right." He finished the last few bites of pancake and drank the other carton of milk in one gulp, then put the containers aside and sat back with a sigh. Again his eyes sought her face. His look was guarded and sharp, as if he meant to gauge her intentions. Rally smiled back in a manner she hoped was matter-of-fact. Bean's eyes narrowed.
A little startled, she dropped her gaze for a moment, then slowly looked up again under her lashes. She grew aware that her lips were parted and that she had just licked them with a lingering tongue-tip, her fingers hovering around the scoop of her neckline.
Bean rolled his gaze away and ground his teeth. Rally gulped. She was looking at him like a cat salivating in front of a meat counter! He flushed again, a hand rubbing over his mouth.
For a moment, she let her imagination wander—Bean wasn't well, but he was getting better, and if she persuaded him to lie down and rest, she might give him a back rub for his sore muscles or something similarly stereotypically seductive, and perhaps he would turn his face and kiss her…then he might let her unbutton his jeans and stroke—
Rally slammed the thought shut. So he'd come back from death's door in a way that seemed to be just for her! She didn't have the right to impose something on him that he didn't want. Looking back at Bean, she tried to catch his eye again to apologize.
And nearly gasped; he had squeezed his eyes shut and was breathing hard, his fists clenched and slightly shaking. Something he didn't want? Something he wanted so much that he feared he was going to impose it on her! While he was barely able to stand! Rally whirled around to hide her own expression.
"Um…I th-think I'm going to go visit Larry Sam," she stammered, gathering up the fast-food containers and putting them in the wastebasket. "Apparently he's getting out of the hospital today. I don't know if he'll have any possible leads on May and Tiffany…"
Bean was silent for a moment. "You think they're in a Dragon cathouse?"
"Just a guess. It will have to get narrowed down a lot before anyone can take action on it. I'm really worried about them, even though Pete thinks they'll be kept alive. God knows what might happen. Besides, I'm…going to go nuts if I don't have some work to do."
"Yeah," said Bean with feeling.
"So, uh, I'll be back within a couple of hours with something for lunch before I go to the Federal Building. Is there anything you want before I go?"
"Yeah..." She could almost see his rueful smile. "…But it ain't important."
"Still hungry?"
"…Nah." He slowly rolled over and eased himself down on the spread.
"OK, if you say so." Rally fetched her purse and turned in the entryway. "I'll put up the Do Not Disturb sign so everyone will leave you alone. Try to get some rest, huh? And…please, Bean…"
"Huh?" He looked up from the TV schedule.
"Don't run off while I'm gone, huh? I'm going to…worry…if you do."
Bean didn't immediately reply, but as she closed the door, she thought she heard him mutter, "She's gonna worry about what might happen if I get OUT of her room…?"
"I will be supervising the Paradise tonight," said Madame Lum with a yawn. She looked into the open cell and smirked when May smiled and curtsied to her. "So the scheduling will be up to you, Pai Li. I have instructed that Anastasia be sent to the house in Burlingame. That will leave you somewhat short-handed, I fear."
"Um, yes, ma'am,' Pai Li replied. "Sunday evening has been picking up lately. Um, ma'am, Anastasia has a lot of debts and she won't earn even half as much in tips at the Green River—"
"Then she had better learn the virtues of obedience and hard work," snapped Madame Lum. She settled her heavy brocade dressing gown around her ample hips. "I will have no shirkers in this establishment! Only the best girls will ever make the grade here." Again she glanced at May. "How much did you say she earned in Chicago?"
"Well, you'd have to adjust for inflation and regional rate differences—"
"A great deal, at any rate. Very well. You may give her a trial tonight. Keep a close watch on her, however. 426 will not be pleased if she escapes."
"Four…426?" repeated Pai Li, going a little pale. "426 sent her here?"
"Yes, he did. That child is the daughter of Sylvester Brown, and May is the partner of a bounty hunter who was in pursuit of him."
"Mr. Brown? She doesn't look much like him! Well, I suppose her hair is kind of like his." Pai Li considered Tiffany's looks.
"No, she takes after her mother, I suppose. Of course, Brown's face was not entirely his own!" Madame Lum chortled and switched to English. "May, come here."
"Yes, ma'am!" May bounced up to the door and curtsied again.
"I am willing to let you out of this cell, on one condition."
"Anything, Madame Lum! I won't try to escape, I promise."
"Certainly you will not. You know the consequences to the child if you do?"
May's eyes narrowed. "Yes. He said so."
"I'm not speaking about 426's revenge, my dear. You must realize…I have a great deal of demand for all varieties of gratification in this establishment and many others under my jurisdiction. My condition for your having the run of the house is that you work for your keep and the child's. You understand me? If you escape, the child will have to work for her own keep."
"I…I understand, ma'am."
"You will be on provisional duty tonight. A backup in case of heavy demand. If Pai Li brings you a customer, you will service him. Some of your admirers from Chicago are in town, I believe—I will have to inform them you are available if this trial goes well. What is your answer? I do hope you are a sensible girl."
May looked a little pale, but answered steadily. "I'll work, ma'am."
"Good!" Suddenly Madame Lum was all smiles and pats and cheek-pinching. "I thought so. A consummate professional never truly retires. That belly of yours is something of an impediment, of course."
"Ah…I'm something of a specialist in the oral arts, ma'am."
"Of course you are. Well, earn enough that way, and we will not have to take any corrective measures."
"W-what?"
"You are about five months along? I have the option of sending you to the doctor for another month at least. But I do truly hope that won't be necessary."
May was shaking all over, going white and red, her arms tightly wrapping her round stomach. "It won't be, ma'am."
"And I can count on you to earn this little girl's room and board as well? Excellent. I am very pleased." She turned to Pai Li. "Allow them out. I commend your suggestion." Madame Lum swept down the corridor and up the stairs in a cloud of strong scent.
"OK, May, you are out of jail!" said Pai Li happily. "So come to the lounge! Bring the kid too! Oh, everybody's going to be fussing over her!"
"Because they don't have any children of their own…" murmured May.
"Of course not! We have our own doctor, you know. Oh, don't look like that! She's not going to make you get rid of it unless you do something really stupid! I know you're not stupid!"
"Sometimes I wonder about that," said May. She led Tiffany out of the cell, the child clutching her teddy bear. "Hey, sweetie. There are lots of ladies who live here! They really want to meet you, so come along!" Tiffany took Pai Li's hand and smiled up at her.
May hung back slightly as they went up the stairs, her hands going to her pregnant belly again. "Oh, Kenny. I'm really sorry about this. I know you'll understand that I had to do it…but am I ever going to be able to forgive myself?" A tear ran down her nose. "This is for you, Junior. Mama's going to keep you safe no matter what, and she's got to keep Tiffany safe too. She's only a baby like you…"
"Larry…would you have any idea why 426 might like to kill children? In preference to adults?"
Larry Sam looked up from his acupuncture treatment with a grimace. "That's true, he has killed a number of children. Mostly to extort money from their parents. But a preference?"
"I heard it from someone who said it was street talk. That he might get off on killing children."
"No…I don't think so." Larry shook his head; he looked nearly normal, his face having regained its ordinary tan color and the black eye having faded. The drain tubes in his wounds were gone; only the taped surgical incisions remained, and they were no longer inflamed. "That's not something that would turn him on in a sexual sense. He likes young men, and young men only."
"OK. You are definitely the expert here."
He rolled his eyes. "I suppose I am. To my regret. But no, although he certainly enjoys killing, he likes it best when the subject takes a long time to die. That tends to translate to strong men." The healer began to take the needles out of his chest.
"Wow. You know, he talked about doing that to Bean. Nearly did kill him, though not slowly!"
"What? I heard Bean was dead!" Larry sat up and pulled on his white pajama shirt, then the armored vest the FBI had issued him. "I was waiting for you to tell me so I could—um—I wondered why you hadn't said anything! He's alive?"
"Yes. How do you know he was injured?"
"I wanted to be kept posted on the rescue operation last night. Pete Smith told me Bean had died, but he didn't call back after that. What happened?"
"Well, he was clinically dead for a while. It was a little strange…I sat with him for twenty minutes and he never took a breath. He was so cold…" Rally shut her eyes for a moment, remembering her grief and regret over Bean's body. She was beginning to have a horror of hospital rooms.
"Really?"
"Uh-huh. Then I, um, touched him, and he…revived. The last I saw him, he was doing all right, though not on his feet yet."
To her surprise, Larry shuddered. "Brrr."
"What's the matter?"
"Oh, nothing. Superstitious, I guess."
Rally blinked. "What's scary about him not being dead?"
"Guang Si," said Larry half to himself. He rose from his bed and put on a dressing gown, although the room wasn't cold. The healer chattered at him in Cantonese and he replied.
"I don't speak Chinese, Larry. May's the one for that."
"That's what they're called. There's no English for it, because it's not like European folk tales." He shrugged dismissively. "Superstition, as I said. Bedtime ghost stories. Want to go out into the garden on the terrace? I could use a short stroll. Not up to a marathon yet."
"Sure." Rally followed Larry out the door, past the four FBI agents guarding his room.
"Hey, Sam," called one. "You want an escort?"
"No, thanks," Larry replied, winking. "I have all the protection I need." A couple of agents laughed and looked significantly at Rally. She and Larry walked through the waiting area and out through a sliding glass door to a large, sunny outdoor raised terrace shaded with small trees and ringed with planter boxes and round metal tables.
A staircase ran down to the ground-floor courtyard on one side and a wheelchair ramp on the other. Larry didn't move quickly and had to take her arm, but seemed reasonably vigorous for having been shot through the chest six days before. A few patients and visitors sat at the tables or walked between the planters. Larry took a deep breath and looked at the sky with a smile. "Sometimes it is enough just to be alive."
"Yes," said Rally, knowing what he meant.
"I got a little too close to death for such a nice guy." He turned to her, his handsome face sobering slightly. "I'm glad you came to see me. We've never been truly alone together before, you know that?"
"Oh…really?"
Larry pressed her hand as a man in a wheelchair creaked slowly by. "It's wonderful just to look at your face, Rally. When I was shot, I remember lying there bleeding and wondering if I ever would see you again. Vanessa told me that you asked about me, and I swear that was what pulled me through." He took a deep breath and looked at the hand he held. "Rally, this is going to sound—"
"Aw, shite—" The man in the wheelchair had hung up on the corner of a planter and swore quietly, rolling back and forth slightly to dislodge his stuck wheel.
Rally took a glance at him; he had only one leg, the left one amputated above the knee, and was supported in a kind of sling that buckled around his waist and thighs instead of a standard seat. A hooded sweatshirt covered his head and large surgical dressings hid his nose and cheeks. Poor man—he'd been in some terrible accident!
"'Scuse me, Larry. I think that guy needs help." She started to move toward him, but Larry turned and walked over.
"Sir? May I be of assistance?" The man let out a short bark of a laugh and made a gesture of assent. Larry took the wheelchair's handles and lifted it to a new heading. The man rolled over to the terrace railing and looked down into the courtyard. Larry returned to her, obviously annoyed that their conversation had been interrupted, and Rally quickly chose a new tack, not wanting to get back on the same subject.
"Is 426 superstitious?"
"Why?"
"Well…ghosts, I guess. I'm interested. Tell me about this."
He made a slight face. "All right, if you want, but I'm not sure how it's relevant."
"I don't know yet. Humor me, Mr. Encyclopedia!"
"Oh, boy. Bean called me something like that, didn't he?"
"Uh…I guess so."
"Chinese aren't only interested in books! You know, I'm a distance runner and a windsurfer? I even have girlfriends, believe it or not!" He seemed upset, but quickly tamped it down. "Sorry. I don't think you mean to stereotype me."
"I can believe you have lots of girlfriends, Larry. I'm sorry."
Larry smiled, a little oddly. "So Bean's alive and well."
"Yes…"
"Well, it would be ungracious of me to say more on that subject…" He walked over to a planter box by the wall and sat down. "You want to know about Chinese folk beliefs on ghosts? As well as what I've been telling you about the Triad vice businesses? It's a grab bag of subjects today."
"Yes. What does 'Guang Si' mean?"
"The way you just pronounced it, nothing at all." He laughed. "But it means a reanimated corpse. Someone who died, but is now up and about."
"Oh, like a zombie?"
"Something like that. But the idea of a Guang Si is more variable. Sometimes, it's a person who died away from home and who needs to get back for a proper burial in his ancestral village. A traditional Chinese can't rest without that. A Taoist priest would raise him with a spell, shepherd him home, and then he could have his funeral."
"That doesn't sound like a monster or anything."
"No. But a Guang Si can also be someone who died violently, with unfulfilled purposes and a lot of sins on his conscience. Carrying bad karma. He descends into hell and sees all its horrors and is transformed into a demon by dreadful tortures. Then his spirit comes back and re-inhabits his body…and carries out his purposes."
It was Rally's turn to shudder. "My God."
"Look, it's not like I believe this stuff!" Larry threw up his hands. "About as much as you believe in Count Dracula or the Mummy's Curse!"
"OK, yeah, but I can see why what happened to Bean would make you shiver! I mean, I know he's not a demon, for heaven's sake, but it fits a little too well. He's thousands of miles from home, and as for carrying bad karma, well, the less said about what Bean carries, the better. 426 gave him some terrible wounds and kept him from carrying out the operation—Bean tried really hard to save Tiffany Brown, and he failed. If he had really died, he'd look like a good candidate for this curse or whatever it is."
"426 is the one who killed Bean? Almost killed him?"
"Oh, yes. None of the other Dragons could touch him. 426 could have taken all of us out by himself, if he hadn't been more concerned about getting away with the hostages. It was amazing, if it hadn't been so scary. How does he do that? I couldn't hit him with a sniper rifle from twenty feet!"
"Yes, he's an incredible fighter. He trains every day and he was taught by a famous master. Some people say he does it by magic."
"Huh?"
"Something called Hac Tao—Black Taoism. Necromancy and poisons and so on. It bears a relationship to mainstream Taoism, in a sense, as Satanism does to Christianity. As I say, I don't believe it for a second. If I sound like I do, it's just one of those cultural memory things. No one can help feeling the resonances of some deep-rooted superstitions."
"Yeah, I can recall a few moments when I actually thought I was feeling ghosts around me!" But Brown hadn't even been dead, and Huang wasn't her victim, so it had been nothing but her imagination. "Poisons, huh? I think 426 had some strange mixture on his throwing stars—the hospital couldn't figure it out right away. Does he hold traditional beliefs or really practice this Black Tao? I heard him say something about Brown being haunted by his family's ghosts."
"I honestly don't know about the black magic. It's not the kind of thing he would tell people about, even me! The rumors would help his reputation in any case. But he is pretty traditional in many ways—I think I mentioned he's a true believer in Confucian social hierarchy. Since you ask, I think it's possible he believes in ghosts and Guang Si. Even an ordinary ghost—a gui—can be very bad for a person who killed him."
"How so?"
"The gui is hungry, if he was murdered or died before his time. He will be restless and angry. But he can be propitiated and exorcised—it's something every traditional Chinese family does for their ghosts no matter how they died. We send candles out on the water in little boats and burn incense and fake paper money and so on."
"Ceremonies and things? And for an enemy, rather than a family member, it would be even more important?"
"Yes." Larry's face changed. "A child's ghost…doesn't need a lot of ceremony. A child's ghost doesn't have a weight of karma on it, and passes easily to the next life. It won't haunt its murderer. Not like an adult…"
"I think you may have got it, Larry."
"I think I may have. God."
"I'm sorry to bring these things up." Rally put a hand on his shoulder.
"It's OK. I've been talking to the FBI about him anyway." Larry put his hand over hers. "Lin Shaoqi is only a man, not a demon. Speaking his name doesn't summon him."
"Lin Shaoqi? Pete Smith told me that name. How do you pronounce it?"
"Not like that," said Larry with a smile. "You just called him a fishing boat."
"Oops. OK, what was wrong about it?"
"Well, let's start with a discussion of tonal sounds…" Larry went off into linguistics for a few minutes and Rally began to glaze over slightly. She repeated the name a couple of dozen times until Larry was nearly satisfied with her pronounciation. "You have to kind of scoop that syllable. Start high, go lower, and up again. Then the next is rising tone, which sounds like you're asking a question. Once more, and…"
"I see you are getting tired, Larry. Here goes. Lin Shaoqi."
"Good! Not bad at all. Yes, I'm ready for lunch. Want to go in?"
Rally consulted her watch. "I should leave soon—it's getting late." If she stayed much longer, Bean would wonder what was up…assuming he was still in the room. "Thanks for filling me in on the vice establishments—I'll relay your info to Smith and Wesson. I'll walk you back to your room. Is your family coming to help you?"
"Yes, Mom is supposed to be here with Vanessa and the kids right after lunch. You can't stay?"
"Nope, sorry. I have places to go." They got up and moved across the open area, walking towards the sliding glass door. As they passed a clump of small trees in a planter, the man in the wheelchair rolled back from the railing, where he had sat since arriving, and deftly spun around. Something about the quality of the movement caught Rally's attention, and she touched Larry's arm.
"What?"
"Get away from me. Over there, behind the tables. NOW!" she shouted, for the man had reached into the saddlebag that hung over the back of the wheelchair. Rally drew her CZ75 and leveled it at him, expecting him to release the harness and spring from the chair with two intact legs. Instead, he brought out a .45, braced it in both hands, and fired.
Rally's shot went off almost simultaneously. The man's shot zipped past her and struck Larry's upper chest, his armored vest taking the bullet. Larry staggered and fell to the ground. Rally's shot hit the attacker dead center and he grunted. Bullet-resistant vest too, of course!
Larry scrambled on hands and knees for one of the metal tables, knocking it over and making a shield of it. Again two shots went off almost simultaneously, one whizzing past Rally's head close enough to feel the breeze, one hitting the attacker's lower torso.
"Oof!" he grunted, grabbing his stomach. The wheelchair rolled slightly backward with the recoil of the .45 and the impact of the nine-millimeter Parabellum. Rally dove behind the table with Larry. Patients and staff were running and screaming in every direction. SPANNGG! A .45 hit the metal table and caromed off. Who was the attacker? It must be O'Toole. He was unrecognizable under the facial bandages, but if his injuries were real, they would accord with the motorcycle crash!
"He just does NOT give up, does he?" muttered Rally, aiming for his head. KRAK! O'Toole spun the chair and evaded the bullet. "Oooh! I wish I had my ten-gauge! That would fix him!" They exchanged fire again. The .45, hitting square, penetrated the table and chipped the concrete between her and Larry.
Larry gritted his teeth in pain, still gasping from the impact of the .45, but didn't panic; he glanced at her for a moment, conveying his confidence in her ability. Apparently he was getting used to gunfire by now! Rally smiled back and fired at O'Toole. This time she caught his good knee and he yelled, squeezing off shots.
The table sprang another hole and the other slugs whined away after hitting the edges. Nine-millimeters answered, striking the chair and O'Toole's left arm and hand.
"AAGGHH!" he screamed, rolling towards them as the four FBI agents burst through the sliding glass door, service automatics in hand. "Yeh nigger bitch!"
"There he is! The amputee in the chair!" yelled Rally to the agents. "That's O'Toole!" Two of them aimed and fired; the other two ran to block the wheelchair ramp down to the courtyard. O'Toole did a quick reverse and spin, his bloody hands yanking at the wheels. He was heading for the stairway instead!
O'Toole leaned far back and launched, grabbing the central rail with one hand and yelling in pain as the chair jolted and slid down the steps, but didn't overturn. The agents at the ramp sprinted to catch him as he reached the bottom and sped off.
Rally left Larry and ran to the railing, aiming at O'Toole. But the courtyard was filling with staff on lunch break, and she could not get a safe shot. People yelled and lost their cafeteria trays as he raced by in the wheelchair, slipping through an open door and into the ground floor of the hospital. "Damn!" She pointed out the door to the agents, who slid down the stairs in pursuit. Rally returned to the overturned table. "Larry! Are you OK?"
"Yeah…fine…" he got out, smiling at her as one of the agents supported him. "Just a bruise on the breastbone. Thank you again."
"You're very welcome. He was going for both of us this time. Two birds with one stone!" Obviously the Dragons had sent him, since he had shot at Larry first.
"Uh-huh. 426 wants me dead. He won't stop until he's dead himself."
"Oh, Larry…" Rally hugged him and he put a hand on her head, pressing his face to hers. "I'm so sorry about this!"
"Don't be." He looked into her eyes, his clear brown irises lit with an emotion that made her blush and lower her gaze. "You're amazing. If all this hadn't happened, I would never have met you."
"Oh…uh…"
"Give us more of a description here, Ms. Vincent," said an agent with a walkie-talkie. "They've lost him inside!"
"Not like a guy in a wheelchair stands out in a hospital! OK, he's short and muscular and has red-brown hair and yellow-green eyes. Broken jaw, old bullet hole in right wrist, left leg off above the knee and it looked like a broken pelvis…man, there is not going to be anything left of him in another week if he keeps this up! I shot him in the right knee and the left arm and hand, but it wasn't bothering him much. He must be up to the eyes in painkillers in order even to move."
"All right, got it." The agent spoke into his radio. "We'll find him!"
But no one could find O'Toole, who had apparently gone out a side entrance and been picked up by a vehicle, and eventually the search was called off. Rally greeted all the Sams when they arrived and sat with Larry for a while, then looked at her watch. She was very late for lunch! What would Bean do? Decide to leave? She couldn't call the room; he wouldn't pick up the phone. Suddenly her own cell phone rang.
"Rally Vincent here."
"Hey," said Bean's voice.
"Oh! Just a sec—" Rally bowed her way out of Larry's room and put the phone to her ear again. "I'm just heading out of the hospital—something happened to delay me. You're never going to believe who I just saw!"
"College boy, I gather."
"Um…well, yes, but I mean O'Toole."
"Him? What, in a morgue drawer?"
"No, he's alive! A real mess, one leg gone and confined to a wheelchair, but he can still shoot! He tried for me and Larry and he got away. Larry got shot, but he was wearing his vest, so he's OK, and I wasn't hit."
"No shit."
"Well, I'll be back in a few minutes with lunch! Are you doing all right? Any more dizziness? Are you drinking a lot of water?" She got in the elevator to the garage.
Bean let out a sigh. "I'm still here. Watching the tube and bored out've my skull. Did some calling for ya. I was gonna tell you something I found out."
"Oh! What is it?"
"At least one local Triad got a call from a madam or something. Your partner's open for business, they say."
"Huh?"
"They got her in a cathouse, and she's up for sale. Guess she's got quite a rep in the trade and they decided to make some dough off her. I couldn't find out which one she's in."
"Oh, my God!" Rally's mouth dropped open. "May!"
"Yeah."
"Jesus! This is terrible! I was worried before, but…God!" Rally opened the door of her Cobra and sat down hard in the driver's seat, hand over her face. "Thank you, Bean. How much did you pay for that information? I'll reimburse you."
"Nah. I'll swallow it."
"But, Bean—"
"Yer takin' a hell of a risk keeping me here, you know? Ol' Coleman was knocking on the door about a half hour ago. Didn't go away for a while. I thought for a minute he was gonna jimmy the lock. Lucky for him he didn't."
"Uh-oh."
"Don't think he's going to let it pass twice, lady. He might just go ahead and arrest you and me both if he can manage. So I'll pay my rent while I'm here, got it? See ya." He clicked off.
Rally unpacked foil pans of Armadillo Willy's barbecue from a cardboard box. "I got three dozen baby back ribs, OK? And lots of cornbread and stuff. That sound good?"
"Sure." Bean picked up a pan and ripped the lid off. "Man, I'm starving."
"How are you now? Tell me the truth. Any more dizziness?"
"Nope." He sat and tucked in, bones crunching and squeaking between his teeth.
"Good! Well, I'm going to run off to the Federal Building in a few minutes—they'll want to hear about O'Toole and everything, and Larry gave me a lot of interesting information. Like, 426 may be afraid of ghosts. And of course I have to tell them what you told me—I won't say where it's from."
Bean grunted.
"Oh, I was going to get May's stuff from her room and keep it here—back in a sec." Rally went to the door, checked the hallway, and walked three doors down to May's single. Her suitcase had not been unpacked and her photos lay on the table. Rally picked everything up and took it back to her room, checking the hallway again. If Roy had been investigating earlier, he was nowhere to be seen now. Rally put the suitcase in the closet and took the photos to the table where Bean ate.
"What's that?" he asked.
"May's vacation shots." Rally stacked them up and picked out an envelope. "All Disneyland and things like that." She extracted a picture of May and herself, taken with the timer, and examined it for a few minutes. "Oh, honey…" Rally murmured. "I hope you and Junior are OK…" Her eyes began to well up and she blew her nose on a paper napkin.
Bean finished a rack of ribs and ate two large chunks of cornbread. "Missing the squirt?" he said quietly.
"Uh-huh." Rally bowed her head. "We'll find her. I know it."
"Sure."
"I guess I should eat something…I'll feel better." She took three ribs and some coleslaw. Bean glanced at the pile of photos, wiped his fingers and began to look through them. "Be my guest. It's all me and May and roller coasters! Might stave off boredom for two or three minutes!"
Bean raised a brow and she saw that he was looking at the shot of May with Mickey and Goofy. "She liked that one! Said she'd give an enlargement to Ken! Silly, huh?" Rally laughed to cover up sniffles.
"Huh. She takes some good pics." Bean picked up another one and studied it, his face changing.
"You interested in photography?"
He shrugged with a half smile and put the pictures down, slipping the one he had been looking at under the stack, then rose to get himself a glass of water. Rally picked up the stack to put them in order again, knowing May preferred them that way, and discovered that the one he had been holding was of her, her windblown hair stroking her face as she smiled and tried to brush it back. May had liked it too.
A twinge went through her and as Bean returned from the bathroom she put the picture back where he had left it. As the room was growing warm, he opened the sliding doors to the balcony, sat down again and resumed eating.
A light breeze blew through the curtains, stirring them aside. It lifted her napkin, carrying it to the other side of the table. When she lunged to retrieve it, Bean simultaneously reached for the barbecue sauce and their faces nearly touched. Rally lost her footing and slipped, catching herself with a hand on the table. Bean sat back with his ears red and looked away, jaw working.
"I…I think I'd better go now," said Rally, leaving her half-eaten meal and looking for her purse. Bean stood as well, his body blocking her path to the door for a moment. Rally could smell him, warm and masculine and smoky.
She looked into his face. His eyes were on her lips, his mouth twitching slightly, and for a moment Rally was positive he was going to lean down and kiss her. All that she could predict of her own response was that she was unlikely to stop him, no matter how far he wanted to go; her body already curved toward his of its own accord and her lashes veiled her eyes. She wet her lips.
"'Scuse me," said Bean, and moved past her to the balcony door to shut it again. The glass slid into place and the room was silent. Rally turned to the entryway to leave, and Bean's hands took her shoulders from behind. She twisted around into his arms.
His mouth burned against hers, both of them moaning. Rally joined her hands in Bean's hair and pressed her breasts into his chest, Bean cupping her bottom in one hand and cradling her head in the other. He didn't feel weak or shaky in the least.
He released her, stepped back and breathed hard. "Sorry." Chagrin and self-reproach contorted his face. "Shouldn't've done that. Sorry."
"My fault too," said Rally, and fled the room.
In the hall she stopped to catch her breath, cheeks flaming. If she came back in the evening and he was still here, nothing would stop them; she might strip and pull him down on the bed with her the moment she arrived. They couldn't do this for all kinds of reasons, but she couldn't think of any of them at that moment.
"Rally," said someone, and she turned to see Roy emerge from his room. "I see you've come out again fairly quickly, so he must be doing all right." His voice was brittle and sardonic; her cheeks flamed hotter. "At the very least, his appetite's back—that certainly was a big order of barbecue you brought. Is that all he's hungry for?"
"You've been watching?"
"You think I wouldn't?"
"He'll be gone by tonight, Roy. He'll leave when it's dark."
"Let me put it this way, girl. Agent Smith promised not to arrest him for twenty-four hours after the operation terminated last night. I understand he was prepared to break that promise because Bean assaulted his partner. I'll keep it for him, for your sake. But only that long. If I see that man—anywhere—after ten tonight, I will call 911."
"That's fair."
"I'm glad you think so, Rally. You've been a whole hell of a lot less than fair to me."
"Roy…"
"I'll go with you to the Federal Building. Let's take your car."
"All right." He took her arm and they walked to the elevator.
"You're old enough to make your own decisions. You don't have to do what I tell you, for God's sake. This is your business. But please, let me say something. Before you make what could be the biggest mistake of your life."
"I'm not going to go criminal just to hang out with Bean Bandit, Roy. Do you really think I would?"
"No…no, I don't. But what has been going on for the last week has got me very, very worried about you. I can't decide if you deliberately told me untruths about your relationship with Bean, or if you honestly didn't know the score. When I learned you had made love with him…" He turned his head away and looked through the passenger window.
"You thought I'd lied to you."
"Why didn't you tell me?" said Roy, quietly. "What did you think I was going to do if I knew?"
"Oh, Roy… I didn't want you to think…exactly what you and May ended up thinking. And…I was afraid you'd be disappointed with me. The way you are now. Obviously keeping so much to myself didn't end up accomplishing a thing." She pulled into the Federal Building's garage and looked for a space.
"Kid…you're remembering what I said about how you should be careful around him? Had you already made love with him then?"
"No. We'd done some heavy petting, that's all." Rally sighed. "I'm not going to marry him, Roy. I'm not even going to be his girlfriend—I promise you that. It wouldn't be safe for either of us in Chicago if we were known to be attached. We just…well, now that I think about it in hindsight, we've always had a major case of…sexual attraction. No more than that. We have nothing in common otherwise."
"Only your entire way of life, girl!" Roy looked incredulous. "That's the reason I was afraid for you! He's…the perfect counterpart to your professional specialty. It seemed so obvious. Like two puzzle pieces about to fall into place and complete a picture. And you just told me you two have the serious hots for each other! Are you honestly saying Bean's not compatible with you?"
He stopped. "I sound like I'm trying to sell him to you here. Of course I'm not. I'm just trying to make you see what's plain as day to everyone else around you. Nearly everyone. If you don't recognize what's going on, there's nothing you can do to fight it!"
Rally looked at the dashboard as she parked. Yes, everyone who had seen them together over the last week came to the same conclusion, though with entirely different reactions. Larry Sam, Sly Brown, Roy, May, Pete Smith. "I'm not going to do something based on what everyone else thinks about my relationship with Bean. As you just said, I'm old enough to make my own decisions. I know how I feel. He is only a friend, Roy, and that is the truth." So far, it was the truth. After tonight…
Roy sprang from the car, his face contorting. "Rally...I saw the composite drawing you helped them with. I...I...he looks like that to you?"
"Why?"
"Holy Mother of God, girl!" Roy jammed a thumb on the elevator button. "I don't know. Maybe it's because I know you better than Smith and Wesson do. They didn't see anything odd about it—what about the artist? What'd he say?"
"It was a woman who did the drawing."
"Oh, no kidding..." The doors opened and they went inside. "What did you tell her about him? Is she ready to chuck it all and run off with the dashing Roadbuster? If the bastard was really that good-looking—"
"Is that what you think I'm going to do, Roy?"
"Christ, I don't know. I mean, when the Dragons caught you, here he comes back to save the day, and from what Agent Wojohowicz told me, he had no concern for his own safety when that kid was in danger. I accused him of...well, you know." Roy's face flushed.
"I honestly thought I was right, and I'd have shot him to demonstrate my sense of holy outrage. I would have killed him if I could have persuaded God to let me try, and I couldn't have been more wrong." His head drooped. "I'm a little shaken up, you know? I'm not at all sure of my own judgment right now. I don't know if I can tell right from wrong any more."
"Of course you can, Roy." Rally patted him softly on the shoulder as the doors opened. "You're the rightest guy I know."
"Thanks, kid." He put his hand on hers. "Uh...they have something to show you. Wesson's office. They want you to listen to a tape." They stopped at the break room door. "I need a cup of coffee…and a crate of whiskey."
"Yes, Wesson mentioned a tape. Do you know what that's about?"
"No, it's something of theirs...I don't know what it is. It's for your ears only, apparently."
"All right," she said, puzzled. She put her hand on Roy's shoulder again and walked down the hall. The radio in the break room hummed softly.
…And that boy's just
a walkaway Joe
Born to be a leaver
Tell you from the word
go, destined to deceive her
He's a wrong kinda
paradise
She's gonna know it in
a matter of time
That boy's just a
walkaway Joe…
To Rally's surprise, Wesson's manner was cordial and even friendly. Still speaking a little indistinctly through his broken nose, he smiled and offered her a cup of coffee and a doughnut. He attempted a joke about his highlighted hair that came close to not falling flat and complimented her initiative in chasing 426's car, apparently quoting Wojohowicz. He even made a point of telling her Smith had her SIG 551 in safekeeping.
Rally blinked and decided to take it at face value for now. Smith had seemed like a thoroughgoing jerk when she had first met him—he had his character flaws, to be sure, but she truly liked him now. Wesson was his partner. Might he also have some undisclosed good qualities? She recalled one other man she had disliked on sight and come to appreciate.
If Bean could harbor the passion and tenderness and heroism she had seen, couldn't Wesson simply be reserved and slow to warm up? Maybe. She told him everything she had heard from Bean and Larry Sam including the ghost stories, and he took careful notes.
"They're going to use her in one of their houses? Good God."
"That's the scuttlebutt. At least she's been a pro in the past, but I know she's loyal to her boyfriend, and if they do that to her… It occurs to me that Tiffany may be in danger of that as well."
"Those bastards." Wesson shook his head. "Thad could be 426's idea of revenge on Brown."
"Possibly. Where's Pete, by the way?"
"He's been in and oud today. We've been working straighd through since Monday withoud much sleep, so I think he's pretty tired." Wesson smiled sympathetically. "He's almosd at mandatory retiremend age, you know. He's been in the Bureau since 1972."
"I heard him mention Hoover once."
"Yes, thad was the lasd year of Hoover's tenure," said Wesson. "I'm afraid the Bureau will never live him down!"
"Which part? The secret files on everyone, or the evening gowns?"
Wesson laughed, though it sounded a bit forced. "This is 1999. Things have changed."
"Yeah, now it's just Waco and Ruby Ridge…"
"Er-hem."
"Sorry. Cheap shot. So to speak."
Wesson compressed his lips. No, that tight manner was a lot more than simple reserve…
"Well, in any case, we have a tape for you to listen to," said Wesson, attempting a smile. "I believe id will be of great interesd to you."
"OK. What is it?"
"Id's fairly self-explanatory, but id was made on Friday, two days ago. Led's go to the audio lab." They rose and walked down the hallway to a dim room full of sound equipment. "Here you go," said Wesson, entering a time marker on a large console and handing her a pair of headphones. "This is id. Ms. Vincent, I'd suggest you listen to this very carefully. For your information, id has nod been altered in any way. If you doubt ids authenticity, ask Detective Coleman. His is the other voice you hear on this tape."
"Other voice?" Rally put the headset on.
"The primary voice is thad of Bean Bandid. This is the conversation thad took place when he stopped your car as Coleman drove id on the decoy operation. The occasion on which I, Pete Smith, and two other agends failed to arresd him, and he inflicted serious injuries on us." Wesson touched his cheek slash, partly hidden under the splint on his broken nose.
"Oh?"
"Id'll become clearer as you listen. This took place jusd after Mr. Bandid threatened to throw Coleman into the Pacific Ocean. Thad's immaterial ad the moment. I wand you to hear whad Mr. Bandid says aboud you among other men. Keep in mind thad my partner and I were there, as well as Gonzales and Bui. This was in public, for all practical purposes."
"All right," said Rally, her fists clenching. "I'll listen."
There was a sizzling noise, then Bean's voice came in loud and clear. "She wasn't just willing. She was crawling all over me and BEGGIN' me for it!"
"You lying bastard—" That was Roy, his voice furious but somehow uncertain.
"Gospel truth, Coleman. She wanted it bad and I let her have what she wanted. I played it cool for a while and then I jumped her. She got down on her knees to pray and it took me only half a minute to baptize her tonsils. I spewed like a fountain, man, and she swallowed! She was afraid I'd shot my whole wad—not a chance, not with that randy lady pantin' for more! So I finger-fucked her and I ate her out—man, she's a sweet screamer—and then I rammed it so far up her juicy little pussy she was thinking she had a stuffy nose." Rally stiffened, outraged embarrassment coloring her cheeks. So this was what Bean had said to Roy! This was what had upset him so much!
Someone coughed and cleared his throat simultaneously, and someone else whistled low. "Shut up..." moaned Roy. "If you've got any sense of honor..."
"Oh, yeah. But I ain't in love with her, AM I? What a hot little angel she is, and it was only her first time. A fuckin' heavenly lay, lemme tell ya. Great bod, gorgeous tits, and does she love cock!"
"Stop! Shut your vile mouth! How can you say this in front of them!"
"You oughta see her eyes light up when she gets a look at a—well, at mine, anyhow!" Bean chuckled. "No, she never let ol' Coleman into her drawers, did she? That what's really eating you?"
"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! That girl's like a daughter to me—!"
"Yeah, I knew a guy used to mess with his daughter." Bean laughed with a coarse snigger. "Though he don't do it any more since I found out! Well, lucky for you, you ain't her dad, copper, but you ain't ever going to pick that sweet dark cherry, 'cause I got there first!"
"Oh…my…GOD!" gasped Rally, jamming her hands to her contorted mouth, her eyes so wide open they stung. Wesson stood back with a suppressed smile.
"KEEP YOUR FILTHY MOUTH OFF HER! HOW DARE YOU! I'm going to KILL YOU!"
"Why? 'Cause you know I'm tellin' the truth? I wasn't the one who started it, but I got to say I didn't mind gettin' the invite! She told me to fuck her good, and I fucked her real good! I worked it hard in that slick box—she's so nice an' tight I was seein' crosseyed, but I kept it going 'til she sang like a choir, and she was prayin' for more! I gave her all the cock she ever dreamed of gettin'! Took it on top, took it on the bottom, wrigglin' and humpin' all the way—"
"Yee-owza," said a voice she recognized as Smith.
"Oh! Ohhh!" Rally moaned into her hands, trying to muffle her voice. She turned away from Wesson's malicious smirk, shaking. This was what Bean meant by 'so sweet'? The act she had believed had touched something deeper in him was nothing but a sleazy screw? This was how he thought of her? A mindless piece of ass who drooled over his bloated manhood? A horny little tramp whose virginity he gloated about stealing? Whom he had told Roy flat out that he didn't love?
The vicious, heartless, foul-mouthed, conceited son of a bitch! He was saying it just to drive Roy around the bend! Obviously he'd never realized that his words might someday have the same effect on her!
"God damn you to hell..." Roy sobbed.
"Oh, I was in fuckin' paradise. I thought my cock was gonna explode and my head along with it. Never got so blue-steel rigid in my life, I don't think, and that sweet lady drove me out've my fuckin' mind. And somewhere in the middle of it—"
"Mmm, well, I have to apologize for my partner," murmured Wesson, stopping the tape. "You heard me in the background, and Agent Gonzales. Mr. Bandid wend on in this vein for a little while longer, and then he escaped arresd."
"Well," said Rally with boiling fury equally allotted to Bean and to Wesson, "how very interesting. Do you always get your jollies making women listen to things like that? Or do you breathe heavily into phones instead?" She ripped the headset off and threw it on the floor.
"Ms. Vincend, thad's uncalled for. This tape—" In the dim room, face half covered with the splint on his broken nose, he looked uncannily like Brown.
"I recall someone I recently met whose mind worked just about like yours, you jerkoff! God, the resemblance is a whole lot more than skin deep! OK, I'm mad at Bean for saying those things. But you are about ten TIMES worse than he is for REPEATING it to me! No WONDER Roy wouldn't tell me! And I swear, you think it's FUNNY, you scum—!"
"I would remind you, Ms. Vincend—"
"Of what? That I am beholden to the FBI? For not arresting me for a killing I didn't commit? For bringing in a better informant than Sylvester Brown would ever have made? For making me sell out a man who with all his faults can tell the truth a hell of a lot better than you can? I don't think BEAN would have concealed that ballistics report from his OWN PARTNER!"
Wesson was shaking with anger. "So thad IS whad happened to my copy! You're going to regred that, Ms. Vincend! I hear your partner hauls around enough illegal explosives to throw her in the pen for a decade. We'll ged her back all righd, and then we can CHARGE her! Possession of destructive devices and theft of FBI property! How would you like thad little girl to end up—"
"You sure are fond of that riff, Bob," said a dry voice from the doorway. "I think Miss Rally here has a point."
Wesson turned around slowly, his face going stiff. Smith leaned against the doorjamb, flipping through a short document with photographs of magnified bullet striations. Light from the hallway streamed in behind him. "Very interesting report. Even more interesting that I had to call the lab to get a copy when you said you'd never seen it, and was told that you had put a gag order on it. I had to get the SAC's OK to overrule that order." Smith glanced up from the ballistics report, his steel-blue eyes resembling glacier ice. "What's the deal here, Bob?"
"I…I was going to talk it over with you." Wesson licked his dry lips. "We couldn'd just—"
"Let her off the hook? Yeah, you wanted to keep her pretty badly, didn't you, Bob? She was doing so well, you said. Cutting through the shit like a hot knife through butter, when we government bums spent a year and seven months swimming upstream. Couldn't lose that kind of talent. And you knew DAMN well I would have told her about this the moment I knew it. Which I just strolled down the hall to do."
Smith handed the report to Rally and walked forward. "By the way, Miss Rally, you have an FBI voice recorder in your car, under the dash. It's been there since Wednesday evening, because my partner here didn't think you were trustworthy." He stopped in front of Wesson, face inches from his, and spoke as quietly as she had ever heard him. "Come with me, Bob. Now. The SAC said he wants to have a word." She watched, silent, as Smith and Wesson left the room.
"I am going to kill him, kill him, kill him…" Her voice trailed off into the darkness of her mind as the Cobra raced through the streets. "How could you talk to him like that? How could you say something so awful to Roy? HOW DARE YOU!" Tears were streaming down her face, her eyes stinging so much she could barely see to drive.
She parked crookedly in the hotel garage, not knowing what she was doing. She would call the police and let them arrest him, she would spit in his filthy face— Rally wiped her lips, remembering how Bean had kissed her an hour before. It was only three-thirty, the sun high, and he would be waiting for her until nightfall at least, thinking she wanted him again. She had wanted him again—oh, she had wanted him so much! Down the hall she ran, tears of pain and fury dripping from her chin. Unlocked the door, threw it open, burst through the entryway.
"Bean, you—" Rally broke off. The room was empty, the bathroom door stood open. He was gone.
