Burn (17 page)

“Something wrong with the coffee?”

Heather glanced at him, then shook her head. “No, nothing. Never mind. I just get cranky every time I see this stupid thing.”

Andrew looked at the television. On the screen, he saw one of those late-night infomercials.

“What's that?”

“You mean besides a good way to put yourself in traction?” Heather snorted again. “That's probably the dumbest idea my father ever had.”

Andrew squinted at the screen. “The what?”

“The Abdominator, good God. I don't know what he could have been thinking. We lost Greg over this, you know. I don't blame him, either. I wouldn't have let anybody use
my
name to help sell that piece of garbage.”

Andrew said, “Who's Greg?”

Heather frowned at him over her coffee mug. Suddenly, she seemed to remember that Andrew wasn't, in fact, a friend of the family after all.

“Gregor, ” she said. “Gregor Tavlin.”

Andrew nodded. “Ah.” He thought:
You mean the guy your brother smeared
He didn't say it.

“I'm starting to believe that you don't know my brother, ” she said, “because if you did, you'd know that there's no way on earth he could hurt anybody.”

“You're right, ” Andrew said. “I don't know your brother.”

Heather brushed quickly at an eye with the back of one hand. She blinked and set her jaw.

“David and Greg may not have seen eye-to-eye on everything. They may have butted heads a time or two. But David respected him. I think they basically even liked each other. Business is business, fine. But I knew Greg. And I know my brother. He didn't kill a human being.”

“Then where is he?” Andrew could see that she was having a rough moment, and he didn't particularly enjoy
making it rougher, but he was too tired to continue dancing around the topic. “Look, I said I didn't have any reason to bullshit you. The fact is, I don't care what your brother did. But let's say you're right. If he's innocent, why disappear?”

He didn't verbalize the obvious flip side to the question, that wherever her brother went, perhaps it wasn't by choice. That perhaps he wasn't coming back at all.

Heather rummaged in her purse and took out a cellular phone. She turned it on, punched a couple of buttons, leaned forward, and handed the phone to him.

“What do you want me to do with this?”

“Just listen.”

Andrew did. He heard a generic recorded voice announce a message received today, early this morning. He waited. When the message finally played, Andrew immediately recognized what he was hearing.

You say it's your birthday.
The Beatles, right off
The White Album. My birthday too, yeah.

Andrew turned off the phone and handed it back to Heather.

“Ever since we were teenagers, ” Heather said, “David would wake me up playing that song. Even after we moved out of the house. Every year, bright and early, I'd start my day by answering the telephone and hearing that on the other end of the line.”

Her eyes glistened, but her voice didn't falter.

“My brother didn't disappear. He's right here in town, or somewhere near. Don't bother asking me how I know that. I just know. He doesn't want me to know where. He blocked the number when he called; he's trying to protect me, the idiot, but he wants me to know he's okay.” She made a quick fist in her lap and released
it. “But he's not okay. And I'm going to find him if I have to … dammit, I don't even know what. But I'm going to find him.”

Andrew sat quietly for a moment. He sipped his coffee, watched her take her own mug up in her hands again. After a minute, she leaned forward, picked up the remote control, and turned off the television.

Then she looked at him and waited.

He told her a war story.

It only took a few minutes; now that he finally found himself telling it, Andrew was surprised at how quickly it all went. After he'd edited the tale to its pertinent points, there really wasn't much to it. Simple.

Heather sat for a long while after he'd finished. Andrew expected her to begin with a question, but he didn't expect the question she chose.

“You worked for Uncle Cedric?”

Andrew laughed before he could check himself. It was a reflexive response, involuntary, the first thing that came out of his mouth.

“Uncle
Cedric?”

“Yeah, ” she said. “That's what we always called him. He used to come visit every couple of years. This was before Mom … it's been a while. He'd spend a week or so in the summer. He and Dad would play golf, stay up talking all night long.”

Andrew couldn't think of a single thing to say. The image of Cedric Zaganos in golf cleats overloaded every mental circuit.

“What did you do for him, anyway? No offense, but you don't seem like the corporate type.” He must have been looking at her strangely, because she leaned back and said, “What?”

“How much do you really know about your uncle
Cedric? I mean, what exactly is it that you think he does?”

“What? For a living?” Heather shrugged. “Businessman, same as my father. I guess we never really asked. We were kids, what did we care? He was fun. But I haven't seen him in years. How is he?”

“Uncle Cedric?” Andrew couldn't stop shaking his head. “Oh, he's just dandy.”

Last night, as he'd sat with Larry Tomiczek drinking bourbon at the counter just a few feet away, there had come a point when Andrew had finally recognized that his old friend hadn't come to collect on a favor at all. Larry had put himself in the shithouse with Cedric Zaganos; he'd been given a chance to work his way out again. All of that may have been true.

But the job didn't require a face-to-face. Larry hadn't been asking a favor, he'd been performing another one. He'd been delivering a warning.

Suddenly, so many things began to make sense that Andrew found himself unable to absorb them all at once.

“Listen, ” he said. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but …
shit!”

Heather jumped at the sudden bleat of his voice. She started to say something, but Andrew was already on the move.

Coffee flew as he launched himself out of the chair and charged across the hardwood, heading for the sliding glass door to the deck. The face he'd just glimpsed there pulled back and disappeared.

Andrew nearly hauled the door off its track as he barreled through. He could hear fast footsteps beating a retreat around the side of the house, loud on the planks.

He went after them.

Just as he rounded the corner, Andrew heard a bright,
splintering crack. He ducked and sat tight out of reflex. A male voice cried out in the darkness, then faded away in a sudden thudding tumble that began at the top of the stairs and descended all the way to the bottom. From where he crouched, Andrew could feel the vibrations through the soles of his shoes.

By the time he identified what he was hearing, he'd figured out exactly what must have happened.

The intruder had hit the cracked top step full speed ahead, and the weakened tread had finally given way. Andrew sprang up and poured it on.

He reached the stairs to find the front half of the fractured step hanging like a broken hinge; the intruder had already made the gate down below. Andrew's eyes still hadn't adjusted to the night. He couldn't make out more than a silhouette.

“Hey!”

The intruder left the gate swinging open behind him. Andrew took the steps down three at a time. He heard a car door, an engine, the squeal of tires. As he hit ground level, he heard another long screech of rubber and a bawling horn blast from the southbound lane of the highway.

He didn't even hear Heather come up behind him. When she spoke at his shoulder, he jumped.

“Who
was
that?”

Andrew looked at her. He looked across the highway, at the taillights in the distance, speeding north. He cursed under his breath. Then he turned and stormed back up the stairs.

He was pacing the floor when Heather joined him inside again. Without a word, she walked past and into the kitchen. She took the liberty of rummaging through drawers until she found a towel. Andrew watched her
take the towel back into the living room, kneel down, and sop up the puddle of spilled coffee from the wood floor.

Heather returned to the kitchen with her purse, his empty mug, and the sodden, brown-stained towel. She put the mug in the sink and rinsed out the towel under the tap. She wrung out the towel and draped it over the edge of the countertop.

Then she grabbed his keys from where he'd left them on the breakfast bar and walked directly toward him.

“Here, ” she said. “Let's go.”

“Go where?”

“To see my father, ” she said, and pressed the car keys into his palm hard enough to make his fingers close around them.

When he just stood there, Heather took the keys back.

“Snap out of it, ” she said, already heading for the stairs down to the garage.

“I'm
dead.” Denny spoke over the murmuring water jets. These were the first words he'd managed in more than two hours. “I'm dead, and this is heaven.”

On the other side of the tub, Rod leaned back and forced a grin.

He was not comfortable being naked in the Jacuzzi with Denny Hoyle. But they were alone for the moment; the girls had gone off to freshen up, freshen their drinks, no doubt snort up again. Rod didn't see how he could rightly blame them. Lord only knew, after the hour they'd just put in, they surely needed it.

“I'm glad you're having a good time.”

“A good time. I'm in love.”

Rod chuckled. “They're something, all right. I'll give you that.”

“I didn't even know a person could hold their breath that long.”

Rod closed his eyes. There: one more image he'd have to find a way to purge from his memory.

“Damn.” Denny rested his head back against the edge of the tub and smiled at the ceiling. “You sure know how to live.”

“Hey. They say life is short? I say it's way too goddamned long if you don't know how to have a little fun.”

“Amen to that one, ” Denny said. “So, okay. Don't take me wrong, man, I ain't complaining. But what's all this about?”

“How do you mean?”

“Rod, no offense, but you never exactly invited me to your place before. Didn't think you really even liked me all that much, tell you the truth.”

“Listen, Denny, the crazy shit that's been going on … what can I tell you? I've been a little rough on you lately. I know that. But the fact is, you might just be the one guy I know I can count on in a pinch. Don't think I don't appreciate it.”

Denny seemed to take this load of crap to heart. “Well, hey. I mean, no sweat. I guess I don't know what to say.”

“You don't have to say anything, ” Rod told him. “I take care of the people who take care of me.”

“Luthe ain't
even
gonna believe this.”

Rod figured this was as good an opening as any. He took it.

“What?” Denny said. “What'd I say?”

“Forget it.”

“No, seriously. What? You want me to, like, not mention this or something?” Hoyle brought his hand to the corner of his mouth, made a twisting motion, and threw away an imaginary key. “Say no more, boss. That's totally cool.”

“Denny, I'm not your boss. You can say whatever you want to whoever you want. I just… nah. Never mind. Help me finish this bottle.”

But Hoyle's brow had creased. He reached across the water and took the half-empty bottle of Cuervo that Rod had just found tucked behind the outboard filtration unit.

“Denny. Forget it, okay? This is a party. Bottoms up.”

“Yeah, ” said Denny. “Sure.”

“Okay, okay, look, ” Rod said. “I hate to lay this on you when you're feeling so good, but I'd be a son of a bitch if I didn't. Man to man, I don't think Luther Vines is the friend you think he is.”

Denny sat up straighter on his side of the tub.

“Personally, I'd just as soon you never knew how close you came to losing your job this afternoon, ” Rod lied. This was too easy. It wasn't even fun. “But the way it's going around that snake pit lately, I figure you deserve a heads-up. A guy can watch his back better that way.”

Denny let the tequila bottle loll in the foamy water, but he didn't seem to notice. Rod leaned across and took the booze off his hands before it submerged entirely.

Denny said, “The crap you talking about?”

“Todman let me know about it this morning, ” Rod said. “Don't worry, I straightened that shithead out but quick. But there you have it. That's the real reason I wanted you to come up here tonight. Like I said, you deserve to know.”

“You say they were gonna fire me?” Denny couldn't seem to comprehend it. “How come?”

“Bad moon rising, good buddy. This whole thing with the big guy's kid? Cops and reporters crawling all
over the place? Don't kid yourself, this is putting the hurt on. Investors are shitting their pants.”

“So they're gonna start cuttin’ people loose already? Just like that?”

“Every department manager has slash-and-burn orders, ” Rod said. “That's straight from Todman himself.”

“No.”

“The way I hear it, your good buddy Luther stretched you out on the chopping block without shedding too many tears. Not that he'd admit it if you asked.”

Denny took the entire preposterous fabrication as if absorbing a blow.

“Luther? Nah.”

“Just the way these bastards do business, Denny. Better get used to it.”

“I don't buy it, ” Denny said. “I mean, Luthe's an asshole and all, but we're buds. He wouldn't do me like that.”

“Hey, I'm sure it's nothing personal. But think about it. You've got a full salary with benefits. They can keep five or six jerk-off college part-timers for the price of a Denny Hoyle. But tell me any one of those cro mags would get in their car in the middle of the night and come in here ready to tee off on some nutcase stalker or burglar or whatever the case with an iron bar if it came down to it.”

“You said there was trouble.”

“And you passed the test, ” Rod said. “Not that I had any doubts. You make me glad I fought for you. Where do you think old Luther is right now while you're here, off the clock, helping me fend off two sex-crazed airheads who obviously are prepared to do just about anything to get their pretty mugs on TV?”