Scorpion (14 page)

“
Yeah, him.”

“
Sounds like a mortician.”

“
Used to be a newspaper reporter, now he’s working with Chandee, helping him modernize the police force. Comes from a good family. Big bucks,” Warren said. Broxton smiled. Despite his wealth, Warren still thought like a middle class kid from Long Beach.

“
She knew him from before?” Broxton asked.

“
She was his agent.”

“
He wrote a novel?”

“
No, he wrote that book defending the Hezbola. Said it was their right to take hostages. Claimed they had just as much right to torture and kill their captives as those early American terrorists had dumping tea in the ocean. His words, not mine.”

“
I remember now, he was on all the talk shows. The guest everybody loved to hate.”

“
That’s him. Only he’s not that guy you remember from television. He’s tamer now, talks like a scholar.”

“
I remember him on Cross Fire. He seemed more like a rabid dog than a college professor.”

“
That was all Dani. Theatrics to sell his book. Remember how she used to be?”

“
Yeah.”

“
She spent a lot of time with him in Lebanon, helping him with the second draft. I think the book was as much Dani as it was Underfield,” Warren said.

“
I didn’t know that,” Broxton said. He’d lost touch with her during his marriage. While she was making her mark on the world, he was wallowing in a dead end job with a woman that wanted his boss more than she’d wanted him. Dani was making her fortune while he wrote bad copy for bad ads touting bad products.

“
He can’t write. Dani can. His thoughts, her talent. It was a controversial book. Did well.”

“
I read it,” Broxton said. “I thought it was a load of crap.”

“
Yeah, well I guess I did, too, but one good thing came of it.”

“
What’s that?”

“
After that horrible book tour was over Dani lost all interest in making money. She sold the agency and came to work for me in Washington.”

“
National Security Advisor to the President of the United States,” Broxton said. “Pretty important job.”

“
Yeah, well I was kind of tired of it. My heart problem was a good reason to walk away.”

“
Big job to walk away from.”

“
Not when you don’t see eye to eye with the boss.”

“
I thought you two got along great.”

“
We did, we do. He listened to everything I said. Then most of the time he went and did the direct opposite.”

“
He’s the one that has to answer to the voters.”

“
So he’s told me. More than once.”

“
You going back?”

“
Next year, but not in an official capacity. I’ve had my fill of that. I’ll just sort of hang around and nag at him when I think he’s screwing up.”

“
You can do that?”

“
Probably not. He wants me for State in the second term.”

“
You’re shitting me?”

“
No.”

“
That’s pretty official.”

“
If I take it.” Warren slowed the car and turned up a circular driveway and parked behind a red Porsche convertible. The porch light was on, the front door was open and the light inside the house framed Dani in the doorway. She was wearing a white silk blouse and faded Levi’s. She wasn’t wearing shoes.

“
We have company,” Warren said.

“
Billy Boy,” Dani squealed.

“
Dani,” Broxton said, and she was in his arms, squeezing tight. She gently bit into his neck, as she used to do when they were children, and he answered her squeeze with a bear hug of his own, pulling her off the ground and twirling her as if she was still a little girl.

“
No Kevin tonight?” Warren said, after Broxton had set her down.

“
He bought me a car.” She pointed to the Porsche.

“
Kind of fancy for the proletariat,” Warren said, kidding, but she wasn’t laughing anymore and Broxton looked into her eyes, clear as cut glass, and shivered. For an instant he thought he caught a glimpse of wild desperation. Then it was gone and she looked hard, old beyond her thirty-six years. Tiny crows feet crinkled out from those eyes, long eyelashes adorned them, a hint of baby blue eye shadow covered their lids. She’d been driven when she ran the literary agency, but never desperate. She’d been ruthless, but in a soft kind of way, never hard.

“
It’s been a long time, Bill” she said.

“
Almost two years,” he said, relaxing as her stare mellowed into a welcoming smile. This was the Dani he knew, the Dani he loved.

“
A lot can happen in two years,” she said.

“
I saw the television commercial for Save the Children. I was proud of you.” He wondered if that was it. Sure, he thought, seeing all those poor kids in those poor countries would harden anybody. His heart went out to her.

“
Thanks, I enjoy helping out and it’s made Daddy proud of me.”

“
I’ve always been proud of you, dear,” Warren said.

“
Not always,” she said, and Broxton thought of her literary agency.

“
Always,” Warren said. “You proved you can be a success in a tough field. What father wouldn’t be proud? Then you gave it up and came to work for me and made me even prouder. I’ve always felt like I’m the luckiest man alive.”

Her smile toward her father was warm and genuine, her eyes now a window to the Dani of old. She was a little girl pleased that her father was proud, then something happened, her eyes appeared to glass over for a second, like her mind was elsewhere. He sensed that she wanted to be somewhere else, that she had other plans, that he was interrupting, intruding.

“
I’d love to sit up and talk the night away, but I’ve been up for the last twenty-four hours. I’m about to pass out.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but he wanted to give Dani time to adjust to his being in Trinidad and he needed time to adjust to Dani engaged to someone else.

“
Of course,” Warren said. “Your room is at the end of the hall.”

“
Wait,” Dani said, sharp, quick, almost a shout. Broxton stopped, set his bag down and met her eyes. “Not that room,” she said.

“
Why not?” Warren said.

“
I think he’d be more comfortable upstairs with us. Not down here like a guest.”

“
But I am a guest,” Broxton said.

“
No you’re not. You’re family.”

“
It’s a better room,” Warren said, “with a bigger bath.”

“
No, Bill should stay upstairs, with us, not in the stuffy guest bedroom.”

Warren shrugged, looked at Broxton and smiled. It was a good sign, Broxton thought. She wanted him upstairs, close to her, not on the opposite end of this big old house.

“
Upstairs is fine, as long as it’s got a bed. Who needs a large bath anyway?”

“
Then it’s settled. Follow me, Bill.” She spun around and started for the staircase.

“
She always gets her way,” Warren said.

“
She always has.” Broxton picked up his bag and followed her up the steps and then into a large bedroom with a king-sized bed.

He set his bag at the foot of the bed and peered into the attached bathroom. “This is about the size of my apartment in D.C. and you say the one downstairs is bigger. I’m beginning to feel slighted.”

She laughed and he enjoyed the sound. Now she appeared open and vulnerable. He wanted to ask her about the story in the newspaper, but he was afraid that it would spoil this moment between them.

“
It’s good that you’re here, Bill,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”

“
I’ve missed you, too,” he said.

“
Look, I’ve got some things I have to do tonight that I can’t get out of, so why don’t you get some rest and tomorrow maybe we’ll go sailing.”

“
Sounds good to me,” he said. Then she was gone. He looked over at the bed. He was tired. He felt the mattress, firm, comfortable. He stretched out on it without removing his clothes. He’d only intended on a few minutes rest but in seconds he was asleep, dreaming of Dani, the ring in his pocket, and the desperation in her eyes.

Chapter Nine

Earl woke to the smell of his own sweat in the tall grass. Shivering, he brushed an unseen insect off his neck as he sat up. He looked to the sky, now covered in clouds. It was either very late or very early. He checked his watch, 5:30. He felt a sharp pain at the base of his skull. He ran a hand back there and found a large bump. It wasn’t cut, and for that he was thankful, but it hurt.

“
Are you okay, mister?”

He turned toward the sound of the voice.

“
I thought you were dead, but I felt your neck pulsing, like they do on TV, and I knew you weren’t.”

The insect was this boy’s finger searching for life.

“
That’s good,” the boy said, “’cause I sure didn’t want to get the police.”

“
Why not?” Earl asked. He was cold and wet. His body ached from the thrashing it had taken in the river. His head felt like it was being used as a snare drum, and he had to piss like a pent up storm, but he’d been too many years a cop. He wanted to know what a child was doing out by the river, so far from town, alone.

“
I’m running away from home,” the boy said.

Earl’s skin crawled and he shook with the cold. “Not very warm out,” he said.

“
Don’t I know it,” the boy answered. “It rained while you were asleep, but the sun will come back. It always does.”

“
Your parents must be worried.”

“
They’re getting a divorce. They don’t care about me.”

“
How long do you think you can live out here?”

“
Oh, a long time. I got a two man tent and a sleeping bag over there.” He pointed toward the falling sun peeking through the clouds. “I got enough canned goods for a couple of weeks and I got friends that’ll sneak me more when they run out. I can stay hidden forever.”

“
It sounds like you’ve thought of everything.”

“
I’ve been planning a long time,” the boy said. Then he added, “Are you hungry?”

“
Powerfully,” Earl said.

“
I thought you would be. I saw you climb out of the river. Then you crashed. I thought you might be dead.”

“
I’m not dead,” Earl said.

“
My name’s Mick,” the boy said. “My mom named me after Mick Jagger. He’s in the Rolling Stones. That’s a rock band.”

“
I’ve heard of them,” Earl said, smiling despite his suffering body.

“
Can you get up? Can you walk?” Mick asked.

“
I think so,” Earl said, and he pushed himself to his feet.

“
Okay, follow me. We’re having hot dogs for dinner.” The boy walked with a self assured swagger. He was at home by the river and Earl guessed that he was a veteran of many camping trips with his father.

He groaned when he walked, but the boy didn’t look back. He ran a hand over a pain in his side and winced when he remembered slamming into a rock. He flexed his fingers, then his toes, then ran his head in a circle. Everything ached, but everything seemed to be working.

“
You got a nasty cut over your eye,” the boy said without turning around. Earl reached up and felt the scabbing wound. “And a bad bruise on your chin,” the boy said, with his eyes still forward. Earl moved his hand to his chin. He put a little pressure on it and grit his teeth against the tenderness. “I can imagine what the rest of your body looks like,” the boy added, as he moved into a clearing.

“
Nice place,” Earl said, admiring the tent and the small cook stove in front of it. “Nobody would ever find you out here.”

“
That’s the plan,” Mick said, then he crawled on his hands and knees into the tent, the flap closing behind him. In a few seconds an eight pack of hot dogs appeared out of the flap, followed by a hand that quickly vanished back inside. Then came the buns sitting on top of a plate. Then butter, mustard and ketchup on another plate and a quart of orange juice.

“
Pretty good, huh?” Mick said, crawling out of the tent.

“
How do you plan on keeping the meat fresh?”

“
I don’t, it’s only for today. From tomorrow on I’m eating out of cans.”

“
How about water? That juice won’t keep.”

“
Come on, there’s a whole river down there,” he said, pointing. “You should know that.”

Earl watched while the kid lit a can of sterno. The boy was an experienced outdoorsman, the kind that only another who loved living out of doors and camping could appreciate. Earl pulled off his wet shoes as Mick smeared some butter on a fry pan and set it on the stove. He was taking off his socks as the boy cut the wieners in half and dropped them in the pan. The sizzling meat had him salivating in seconds. He was hungry and the boy was cooking up the best dinner possible, fried hot dogs, out-of-doors, nothing better.

After he’d eaten his fill, he lay back and closed his eyes. He faded off to a quick but restless sleep. Random thoughts turned into short dreams and faces kept flashing beneath his eyelids, Johnny Lee, Maria, Old Loomis and most of all, Jackson. Then finally he sank into a deep sleep, where his only dream was of the flowing river. The dark river. The dream turned into a nightmare when the river grew hands, clear water dripping hands, reaching for him, tugging at him, pulling him under. He screamed himself awake.