Drawn Together (26 page)

* * * * *

Rory fought the urge at every off-ramp to turn back, to run to Yamane and keep running, staying on the road till Amelia died or lost interest. He knew that right about the time he was thinking that, Yamane would be finding his bed empty and putting the pieces together. His pride would be shredded and his doubts would be growing until he realized that Rory didn’t believe he could protect Yamane, and that he’d rather go alone than watch Amelia kill him, no matter what it cost him.

He recalled the Yamane he’d found hiding under the table at their dreadful Las Vegas motel and winced again that he’d been the author of such a terrible sadness. He would make it up to Yamane, first by ridding the world of Amelia, then by spending the rest of his life proving how much he loved him.

The light rain that had threatened the day before was turning into the beginnings of a storm now, and Rory had seen on the Weather Channel that it might be a bad one. There was a hurricane sweeping across the gulf, and it was due to make landfall by Saturday evening. Probably it would be downgraded by then to a tropical storm, but that could still dump a lot of water very fast, and Rory hoped to have his driving wrapped up by then. In the meantime, the bluster around the storm would make driving wet, and he was glad again he had the truck and not his little Corona.

Amelia, ready or not, here I come.

* * * * *

Rene Chanfreau was having fun, although he should have been acting his age and being serious about his job. Still, it was a good opportunity to flex his muscles and drag out his old skills and teach his deputy, Anthony, some new ones. From Amelia’s history, it seemed she liked to improvise, so he hardly knew what to expect, but sooner or later, if he watched Euphonia’s house, he’d bet something would turn up.

“I got a call from the hospital today,” he told Ethan, who for reasons of his own was participating willingly in the stakeout of the Delaplaines’s home. “The slow boy, Jeff, didn’t make it. The damage from the stroke was too widespread. I’m sorry.”

“I was afraid of that,” said Ethan.

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“We’ll get her,” said Rene. “Tomorrow, Rory will call me from New Orleans. As soon as he gets there, Anthony will drive up there to meet him, and when he arrives in St. Antoine’s Parish, hopefully Amelia will make her move.” The young deputy, Anthony, smiled at this. “I hope she does,” he said. “I don’t think we’ll ever get a better chance.”

“She will,” said Ethan. “I think she’ll probably call me; she needs information. She’ll want to know what you know, and I’m the only one she knows who can tell her.”

“Are you sure she’ll call you?” asked Anthony.

“She’ll call me.”

“Does she know you’re talking to us?” asked Rene.

“Probably, but she’ll figure she still has enough leverage to keep me from lying to her.

Besides, up till now, anyone would tell you I go wherever the pay’s highest.”

“Develop a conscience, did you?” asked Anthony.

“I don’t know; I doubt it. I just always figure you don’t kill your own, especially if they’re loyal. That’s a deal breaker, even for me.”

“For what it’s worth,” said Rene, “he knew you would never have let him down. He told me when we found him.”

“Thank you, but I did let him down,” said Ethan.

“Not willingly. He knew that, Ethan.”

“What next?” asked Anthony.

“Let’s see what we can do about bugging the Delaplaines house. While we’re at it, let’s put in some cameras. Think of it as a training exercise, Deputy. I don’t think it’s necessary, but how often do you get to do it?”

“You are having way too much fun, Rene,” said Ethan.

“This beats all hell out of bees,” Rene replied, opening the trunk of his car and removing several black cases.

“You use all this as the sheriff of St. Antoine’s Parish?” Ethan asked, his voice a little awestruck.

“Oh, hell no.” said Rene. “This is just my private stuff. All I need here in town usually is a can of Raid and a roll of duct tape.” The men all laughed as they went to work.

* * * * *

Rory pulled into the driveway of his parents’ house in New Orleans -- their trailer really -- at four thirty in the afternoon on Friday. He was pretty certain when he headed there that his mother and stepfather would still be at work at this hour of the day, and he knew that often they had dinner out on Friday and did more than a little drinking. He entered the place his parents called home. As always, it had that fabricated plastic smell, and 158

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even though it was large enough for his parents, Rory always felt outsized and claustrophobic when visiting. He took out his cell phone and reached into the refrigerator for a beer he knew he’d find there. He dialed Rene Chanfreau.

“Chanfreau,” Rene answered.

“It’s me, Rene, Rory. I’m in New Orleans, at my folks’. I left Yamane stranded like we talked about.” He felt sick at the thought.

“Good man,” said Rene. “Did you bring the items we discussed?”

“Yeah.” Rory sipped his beer and closed his eyes. “I have them in the truck.”

“Good. Then meet Anthony where we decided, and I’ll see you tonight. So far everything’s quiet on this end, but as soon as you show up, I think Amelia will too. She’s been watching your grandparents’ house pretty closely.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I have too.” Rene laughed and hung up.

Rory sighed. He wished again that, like Chanfreau, he could see this as an adventure.

The sheriff seemed delighted to finally have a real criminal in St. Antoine’s Parish. Rory wondered what Yamane would think when he saw this tiny town for the first time.

Thinking about Yamane made his body react predictably. He wondered if the man would ever trust him again. Probably not, he thought. He finished his beer and left five thousand dollars in cash for his mother and stepfather, along with a note saying he’d had some luck in Vegas. As he left, he looked at the progress on the ruins of what had once been his family home and saw that it was coming along nicely. Just now it was covered over in plastic tarps, as the contractors were no doubt expecting rain.

Rory walked to the building under construction and looked into the bare hole that had once been the window to his room. No trace of his existence remained there. It was as if the storm had washed him away with this little house and all the other little houses around it.

In that room, Rory had hung pictures of rock bands and Rebecca Romijn as Mystique in the X-Men movie. He had dreamed what sex might feel like, and then actually had it right there in a bed that was no more. He’d read his first manga and become entranced with the Snoggs, and later Princess Celendrianna, there. Nothing he’d experienced in that little room prepared him for where his life had taken him now. He still had hope. It was a slim hope but he held it in his heart. He had a passport and would drop everything and run if Yamane would simply ask it of him.

Rory called Sheriff’s Deputy Anthony Laforge on his cell phone. It was all arranged. At six, Rory would meet Anthony at a motel about thirteen miles north of St. Antoine’s Parish.

* * * * *

Yamane firmly felt he had not one tear left to cry. Sooner or later, he’d have to figure out what to do. It was not lost on him that he was a very famous professional artist who was Drawn Together

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stranded in a ghastly motel in a small town where no one knew him as anything but just another oddly dressed, eccentric little man. He needed a cigarette and found it more than a little sad that Rory wasn’t there to ride him about smoking it. He lit up, contemplating what options were open to him. Rory had taken his cell phone, so he couldn’t just pick it up and call someone, but he wondered if he could call his agent on the hotel phone. It had a series of instructions for credit card calls, but he had none, thanks to Rory. As he smoked, he realized he needed to eat, and he had a friend, he thought, in Skeeter. He decided to walk over and see what Skeeter had in the smoker.

Skeeter gave his little friend Yamane a pulled pork sandwich, made Carolina-style with a vinegar-based sauce and a pile of coleslaw on top, chips, and a pickle, and kept his glass filled with bourbon. Every so often, Yamane’s eyes would glitter with tears, and he’d make some offhand remark, usually negative, about the weather or the mud in the road to cover them up. The rain was beginning in earnest now, Hurricane Fred coming in from the south and destined to weaken into a tropical storm before it made landfall. Odd spates of rain fell, but nothing nerve-wracking, and Skeeter was content to make his trips outside to the smoker under the eaves even if it meant getting a little wet. Yamane had discovered greens the day before and was wiping his bowl with a piece of corn bread from Skeeter’s late wife’s famous family recipe when another customer came in.

Skeeter saw Yamane notice the new customer immediately; it was rare to see a man in so fine a suit in his place, and a handsome one at that. The man shook water droplets from his silver and black hair as he walked to the other end of the counter where Yamane sat. He ordered a brisket sandwich and a Michelob, and as his striking green eyes swept the almost-empty restaurant, they rested speculatively on Yamane. His eyebrows went up.

“What are you looking at?” asked Yamane, who was already drinking to forget.

“I beg your pardon,” said the man. “Don’t people look at you all the time?” Yamane snorted and looked away. Skeeter gave a low laugh he hoped no one heard.

There wasn’t anyone in the restaurant right now, partly due to the rain and partly due to the fact that it was three thirty and the real crowd wouldn’t start coming in until later when the first folks got off work in the small medical building across the street.

“My name is Tucker,” said the man, still trying to make conversation with the elusive Yamane. “Mike Tucker. I’m a rep from Walker Pharmaceuticals. The medical center over there is on my circuit. Call me Tucker.” He held up his card. “I have to say, I’ve never seen anything like you before.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“Well, you’re really quite --” Mike Tucker swallowed.

“What?”

“Testy.”

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“You got that right. Back up unless you have a cell phone and you’ll let me call Japan on it.” Yamane flung his hair. Skeeter chuckled again.

Tucker pulled his cell phone out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and slid it along the bar till it skidded to a stop in front of Yamane’s glass. “Be my guest,” he said simply. “I’m already dazzled; I don’t care if you call the moon.”

“Not happening. Can I still make the call?”

“Sure. You can’t blame a guy for trying.” He shrugged and bit his lip to keep from laughing. “And you also can’t stop him from trying as many times as it takes.” Tucker slid his food over to sit next to Yamane, resting his head on his hand. Skeeter watched with interest while Yamane spoke in frantic Japanese for fully ten minutes. Yamane finished his call and handed the phone to Tucker with a dazzling smile. Skeeter worried that he would fall off the bar stool just from looking at it.

“Oh, my word,” said Tucker.

“What?” Yamane looked behind him to see what Tucker was talking about.

Tucker lightly reached out to touch the padlock neck chain that Yamane wore. “You need a bell on that so you can’t sneak up on people.”

“Do they teach that in southern boy school?” Yamane went back to his sandwich.

“Yes, they do, but I rarely get a chance to use it.”

“I’ll bet you say that to all the desperate Amerasian queers you meet at barbecue joints.” Yamane held up his lighter and cigarette to silently ask Skeeter if he could light up.

Skeeter nodded, giving him permission. He wasn’t about to let the show move outside.

“Please,” said Tucker, producing his own lighter. “Allow me.” At this, Yamane put his head down on the counter and cried. Tucker turned surprised eyes toward Skeeter, who shrugged.

“Hey, don’t cry, sweetheart.” Tucker frowned, patting Yamane’s back. “Don’t cry.

Whatever it is, I’ll try to help. Why don’t you tell me all about it?” Skeeter, who watched this exchange with a kind of detached curiosity, worried a little bit how he’d tell Rory it hadn’t taken Yamane a whole sandwich to make another helpless conquest. As he watched the two leave together in Tucker’s expensive two-seater sports car, Skeeter felt a little sorry for Rory, whose princess had just left with another prince.

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Chapter Twentysix

Rory sat in his truck with Anthony, eating the hamburgers and fries they purchased.

Rory had known Anthony most of his life, as the deputy was only a little older than Rory himself, and they’d run around together in a gang of kids who spent the summers with their grandparents in the small town. They’d chased girls, drank too much, and both had been driven home in the former sheriff’s patrol car a time or so when Rene’s dad was on the job.

“What’s Rene the third like?” said Rory, just making conversation. “On the job, is he a hard-ass like his dad?”

“Nah,” said Anthony. “He pretty much turns the other way when the shenanigans are harmless. He doesn’t like drunk driving or drugs, and nobody can go around bullying people.”

“That’s good, I guess.” Rory took a sip of the beer Anthony brought him.

“He thinks your Grandpère Claude is a riot. He treats him like a national treasure or something. It about killed him to arrest him and see his face so sad.”

“I’ll bet. I heard Miss Euphonia wasn’t fooled for a minute.” Rory smiled.

“Oh, no sir, she wasn’t. You can’t put anything over on Miss Euphonia.” Anthony grimaced. “I wouldn’t dare try.”

Rory sat quietly and watched his childhood friend. His heart was heavy, like after a funeral, when people mill around a cold buffet together and talk. “What happens next?”

“We wait,” Anthony told him.

Rory fished another fry out of the sack and ate it. “Thanks for the food.” Anthony glanced over. “Are you scared?”

“Hell yes. That woman had me beaten and thrown off a pier into the ocean to drown.” 162