69
Rune Alignment
Chapter 21
"All done?"
"Yes. Did I eat enough for you?"
"You did well. Come on, why don't you take a nap while I clean up?" He took her by the hand and led her back to the bedroom.
"Will you take a nap with me? Hold me like last night? I would like that."
"You lie down and I'll clean up the kitchen. Ok?"
"Alright." Gleason was buzzed and that made her agreeable. She sat on the edge of his bed and he bent to take off her shoes. "Wait, which side is your side of the bed? I don't want to take over here, you know. Don't want to be pushy."
He had to smile, she was kind of cute drunk, not that drunk was ever a good thing – but she was kind of cute. "You just lie down and rest."
She lay down on top of the coverlet and rolled onto her left side, away from where he stood. "Can I have that cover from the living room?"
"Of course." Bobby gathered up the throw and brought it back. Gleason was asleep. He gently laid it over her, put one hand on the headboard, leaned down and kissed her head softly.
Martin did a system search for other prints of similar make up. The results showed a few; he examined those and read the narratives, none referenced anything comparable to what they had from the professor's caller; mostly voices on drugs, angel dust or PCP. Martin was eager to get the disc to Huang for his take on the calls. Bet this guy is one loony, he thought.
"Let's head out, what do you say?" Jerry asked Martin. "We've put in a full day; at least I have," he continued with a smile. "Want to go get a beer?"
"No, I need to get home. Let me close things up and I'll walk out with you."
They walked from the lab, trying to think of more euphemisms for "shining the barrel."
Bobby finished in the kitchen, took the disc of cell phone messages from his coat pocket, and walked into the living room. He inserted the disc into the CD player tray, shut it and plugged in the earphones. He sat down on the sofa, elbows on knees, fingers laced under his chin, and began to listen to the messages.
He tried to listen clinically, separating the caller from the role of Gleason's antagonist. He listened for anything that would give him a clue as to who was making the calls. It was repulsive, listening to the man masturbate. In his mind, Bobby tried to ignore the sounds of sex, tried to focus on the words he could make out. Louise in transcription, the best at snatching words from a storm of noise, was never going to be able to make sense of this, he thought, even if she doesn't refuse the job when she learns what she's hearing.
He stopped the player, took off the earphones and got his portfolio from the table beside the door. He returned to the sofa, replaced the earphones, pushed 'play,' and opened to a clean page. He began to write what he was able to decipher.
Eames soaked in lavender scented bathwater. I should do this more often, she told herself. She thought about Sledge. He was tall, good looking and not enough of a jerk to put her off completely. He was one hell of a detective, she saw this afternoon. Still, he wasn't Bobby.
Bobby was . . . taller, maybe not as good looking as Edward, but better built. Bobby was . . . probably the smartest man she had ever known, even though his intelligence rendered him a little odd. However, his oddness was endearing in a way. Edward was smart, no doubt, but not in the ways Bobby was smart. Bobby was . . . a true, old-fashioned gentleman. Edward was a modern man, a "let women get there on their own" kind of guy. Not that there was anything wrong with that, being the modern woman she was; but, still, it was so nice when a man did such a little thing like open the door. If men only knew.
Well, Edward is coming and Bobby is not, she told herself. She ran her hand up her leg and looked for the shaver.
"Darling, where are you?" he shook the umbrella closed as he entered the flat. "Are you home? I've brought you something."
Gleason froze when she heard him come in. Thunder seemed to announce the coming doom. She covered her mouth with both hands to smother the mewling. Don't be afraid, don't be afraid. He won't do it if you're not afraid. Pretend everything is normal.
The knob turned on the bedroom door, "Here you are! You are not hiding, are you love? What a pretty blouse, is it new? The color is just right for you. Why don't you slip it off for now? I have something for you." He held out a small bag and continued, his voice darkening, "Take it off. Do it! Take that goddamn rag off your back." He moved behind her, grabbed the blouse by the neck and ripped the shirt from her body. He did the same with her camisole and she stood naked from the waist up.
Gleason awoke with a start and a gasp – that dream, that same dream. She looked around and did not know where she was. Nothing looked familiar; oh God, where am I, what have I done, she shouted in her mind. She looked at the throw covering her, this is not mine, she thought. Slowly, quietly she got up from the bed and looked around. On the dresser, she saw a gun in a hip holster, a set of keys, money clip and a badge. Bobby's. This is Bobby's flat. I took a nap, that's right.
She left the throw on the bed and walked down the hall. She stopped at the living room, but didn't enter. Bobby was on the sofa, wearing earphones with his portfolio opened on his left thigh. She watched him lean back with eyes closed. He grimaced and rubbed his eyes with his right hand. Then he uttered a sound of disgust, sat up and wrote something in the notebook. She stood perfectly still, he didn't notice her.
He's listening to the calls, she figured. He's listening and writing down what was said. She continued to watch Bobby. He set his pencil on the notebook, sat forward, elbows on knees, and covered his face with his huge hands. She heard him mumble something like, 'Jesus Christ.' He took up the pencil and scribbled something. He's trying to figure out who made the calls. He is trying to help me, protect me. He is good.
"You look terrific," Sledge said standing at Eames' door. "Wow! You clean up nice."
Eames had to think a moment about that last comment, "Thanks, I think. Where are we going?"
"We have reservations at nine at Bordegona, an Italian place on 67th. I thought we might take a carriage ride and stop for drinks beforehand. So few New Yorkers do the neat New York things. If that's ok with you. You do like Italian, I hope." Sledge looked at her expectantly.
Eames looked at him like he was from Mars. "Uh, yes, yes on both. Let me get my purse. Come on in." She turned back into the room; Edward followed her in and shut the door. "I'll be right back," she said and headed for her room. She shut the bedroom door and stood in front of the mirror. Who the hell is that? she asked herself, Certainly not Edward Sledge. And Bordegona? that place is booked a month ahead. A carriage ride – that is the most romantic thing ever. She checked her face and returned to the living room.
Edward stood as she entered the room. "Ready?" Edward opened the door, stepped aside and followed Eames through.