Trumps of Doom (21 page)

“Hold on a minute,” I answered.

“What?” Meg asked me.

“Uh - I want to visit the rest room first,” I said.

“Good idea.
 
I’ll do the same.
 
Meet you in the hall here in a couple of minutes.”

The place was vacant, but I took a stall in case anyone wandered in.
 
I located Fiona’s Trump in the packet I corned.
 
Moments later, I reached Fiona.

“Listen, Fi,” I said.
 
“Obviously, no one’s going to show.
 
But the rest of the evening promises to shape up nicely, and I might as well have a little fun while I’m here.
 
So thanks for your help.
 
I’ll just wander on back later.”

“I don’t know,” she said.
 
“I don’t tike you going with a stranger, under the circumstances.
 
There may still be danger around there for you, somewhere.”

“There isn’t,” I replied.
 
“I have a way of knowing, and it doesn’t register for her.
 
Besides, I’m sure it was a fellow I’d met here and that he gave up when I trumped out.
 
I’ll be all right.”

“I don’t like it, “ she said.

“I’m a big boy.
 
I can take care of myself.”

“I suppose so.
 
Call me immediately if there are any problems.”

“There won’t be.
 
You might as well turn in.”

“And call when you’re ready to come back.
 
Don’t worry about waking me.
 
I want to bring you home personally.”

“Okay, I’ll do that.
 
Good night.”

“Stay wary.”

“I always am.”

“Good night, then.”

She broke the contact.

A few minutes later we were on the dance floor, turning and listening and touching.
 
Meg had a strong tendency to lead.
 
But what the hell, I can be led.
 
I even tried being wary occasionally but there was nothing more threatening than loud music and sudden laughter.

At eleven-thirty we checked the bar.
 
There were several couples there, but her date wasn’t.
 
And no one even gave me a nod.
 
We returned to the music.

We looked again a little after midnight with similar results.
 
We seated ourselves then and ordered a final drink.

“Well, it was fun,” she said, resting her hand where I could cover it with my own.
 
So I did.

“Yes,” I replied.
 
“I wish we could do it more often.
 
But I’m going to be leaving tomorrow.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Back to the center of the universe.”

“A pity,” she said.
 
“Do you need a ride anywhere?”

I nodded.
 
“Anywhere you’re going.”

She smiled and squeezed my hand.

“All right,” she agreed.
 
“Come on over and I’ll make you a cup of coffee.”

We finished our drinks and headed out to the parking lot, pausing a few times to embrace along the way.
 
I even tried being wary again, but we seemed to be the only people in the lot.
 
Her car was a neat little red Porsche convertible with the top down.

“Here we are.
 
You care to drive?” she asked.

“No, you do it and I’ll watch for headless horsemen.”

“What?”

“It’s a lovely night, and I’ve always wanted a chauffeur who looked exactly like you.”

We got in and she drove.
 
Fast, of course.
 
It just seemed to follow.
 
The roads were deserted and a feeling of exhilaration swept over me.
 
I raised one hand and summoned a lighted cigar from Shadow.
 
I took a few puffs and tossed it away as we roared over a bridge.
 
I regarded the constellations, which had grown familiar to me these past eight years.
 
I drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.
 
I tried to analyze my feelings and realized that I was happy.
 
I hadn’t felt that way in a long while.

A mess of light occurred beyond a fringe of trees up ahead.
 
A minute later we rounded a curve and I saw that it came from a small apartment complex off to the right.
 
She slowed and turned there when we reached it.

She parked in a numbered slot, from whence we made our way along a shrub-lined walk to the building’s entrance.
 
She let us in and we crossed the lobby to the elevators.
 
The ride up was over too soon, and once we reached her apartment she really did make coffee.

Which was fine with me.
 
It was good coffee, and we sat together and sipped it.
 
Plenty of time .
 
.
 
.

One thing finally did lead to another.
 
We found ourselves in the bedroom a bit later, our clothes on a nearby chair, and I was congratulating myself that the meeting for which I had returned had not come off.
 
She was smooth and soft and warm, and there was just enough of her in all the right places.
 
A vise in velvet, with honey .
 
.
 
.
 
the scent of her perfume .
 
.
 
.

We lay there, much later, in that peaceful state of temporary fatigue on which I will not waste metaphors.
 
I was stroking her hair when she stretched, turned her head slightly, and regarded me through half-lidded eyes.

“Tell me something,” she said.
 
“Sure.”

“What was your mother’s name?”

I felt as if something prickly had just been rolled along my spine.
 
But I wanted to see where this was leading.
 
“Dara,” I told her.

“And your father?”

“Corwin.”

She smiled.

“I thought so,” she said, “but I had to be sure.”

“Do I get some questions now? Or can only one play?”

“I’ll save you the trouble.
 
You want to know why I asked.”

“You’re on the ball.”

“Sorry,” she said, moving her leg.

“I take it their names mean something to you?”

“You are Merlin,” she stated, “Duke of Kolvir and Prince of Chaos.”

“Damn!” I observed.
 
“It seems everybody in this shadow knows who I am!
 
Do you all belong to a club or something?”

“Who else knows?” she asked quickly, her eyes suddenly wide.

“A fellow named Luke Raynard, a dead man named Dan Martinez; a local man named George Hansen, probably, and another dead man named Victor Melman .
 
.
 
.
 
Why? These names ring any bells?”

“Yes, the dangerous one is Luke Raynard.
 
I brought you here to warn you about him, if you were the right one.”

“What do you mean ‘the right one’?”

“If you were who you are - the son of Dara.”

“So warn me.”

“I just did: Don’t trust him.”

I sat up and propped a pillow behind me.

“What’s he after? My stamp collection? My traveler’s checks? Could you be a little more specific?”

“He tried several times to kill you, years ago-”

“What? How?”

“The first time it involved a truck that almost ran you down.
 
Then the next year-“

“Gods ! You really do know ! Give me the dates, the dates he tried it.”

“April 30, always April 30.”

“Why? Do you know why?”

“No.”

“Shit.
 
How do you know all of this?”

“I was around.
 
I was watching.”

“Why didn’t you do something about it?”

“I couldn’t.
 
I didn’t know which of you was which.”

“Lady, you’ve lost me completely.
 
Who the hell are you, and what’s your part in this?”

“Like Luke, I am not what I seem,” she began.

There came a sharp buzzing around firom the next room.

“Oh my!” she said and sprang out of bed.

I followed her, arriving in the foyer as she pushed a button beside a small grating and said, “Hello?”

“Honey, it’s me,” came the reply.
 
“I got home a day early.
 
Buzz me in, will you? I’m carrying a bunch of packages.”

Oh-oh.

She released the one button and pushed another, turning toward me as she did so.

“The husband,” she said, suddenly breathless.
 
“You’ve got to leave now.
 
Please! Take the steps!”

“But you haven’t told me anything yet!”

“I’ve told you enough.
 
Please don’t make trouble!”

“Okay,” I said, hurrying back to the bedroom, pulling on my pants and slipping my feet into my loafers.

I stuffed my socks and underwear into my hip pockets drew on my shirt.

“I’m not satisfied,” I said.
 
“You know more and I want it.”

“Is that all you want?”

I kissed her cheek quickly.

“Not really.
 
I’ll be back,” I said.

“Don’t,” she told me.
 
“It won’t be the same.
 
We shall meet again, when the time is right.”

I headed for the door.

“That’s not good enough,” I said as I opened it.

“It will have to be.”

“We’ll see.”

I tore off up the hall and pushed open the door beneath the EXIT sign.

I buttoned my shirt and tucked it in on my way down the steps.
 
I paused at the bottom to draw on my socks .
 
I ran a hand through my hair then and opened the door to the lobby.

No one in sight.
 
Good.

As I left the building and headed down the walk a black sedan pulled up in front of me and I heard the hum of a power window and saw a flash of red.

“Get in, Merlin,” came a familiar voice.

“Fiona!”

I opened the door and slid inside.
 
We began moving immediately, “Well, was she?” she asked me.

“Was she what?” I said.

“The one you went to the club to meet.”

I hadn’t thought of it that way until she said it.

“You know,” I said a little later.
 
“I think maybe she was.”

She turned onto the road and drove back in the direction from which we had come earlier.

“What kind of game was she playing?” Fiona asked.

“I’d give a lot to know,” I answered.

“Tell me about it,” she said, “and feel free to edit certain portions.”

“Well, all right,” I said, and I let her have it.

We were back in the country club parking lot before I was finished.

“Why are we here again?” I asked:

“This is where I got the car.
 
It might belong to a friend of Bill’s.
 
I thought I’d be nice and bring it back.”

“You used the Trump I’d made to go through to the bar in there?” I asked, gesturing.

“Yes, right after you went in to dance.
 
I watched you for about an hour, mostly from the terrace.
 
And I’d told you to be wary.”

“Sorry, I was smitten.”

“I’d forgotten they don’t serve absinthe here.
 
I had to make do with a frozen marguerite.”

“Sorry about that, too.
 
Then you hot-wired a car and followed us when we left?”

“Yes.
 
I waited in her parking lot and maintained the most peripheral of touches with you via your Trump.
 
If I’d felt danger I would have come in after you.”

“Thanks .
 
How peripheral?”

“I am not a voyeur, if that’s what you mean.
 
Very well, we’re up to date.”

“There’s a lot more to the story than this fast part.”

“Keep it,” she said, “for now.
 
There is only one thing I am curious about at the moment.
 
Would you happen to have a picture of this Luke Raynard?”

“I might,” I told her, reaching for my wallet.
 
“Yes; I think I do.”

I withdrew my shorts from my hip pocket and explored further.