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of the circles of Hell. But then Reeve liked Allerdyce little better than he liked Kosigin. He wished he had a solution, something that would erase them all. But life was never that simple, was it? Checking out of the motel was as easy as dropping his key into a box. He d been there about eight hours and hadn t seen a soul, and the only person he d even heard was the chambermaid. It was everything he could have asked for. By now he guessed McCluskey would be tearing up every hotel room in the city. He d want details of Reeve s car, but Dulwater wouldn t be able to help him, and neither would anyone else. If he checked the automobile registration details at the Marriott, he d see that Reeve had put down a false license plate attached to an equally fictitious Pontiac Sunfire. Reeve drove the Dart down to a stretch of beach and parked. He pulled off shoes and socks and walked across the sand to the ocean s edge. He walked the beach for a while, then started jogging. He wasn t alone: there were a few other men out here, mostly older than him, all of them jogging along the waterline. But none of them ran as far as Reeve did. He ran until he was sweating, then stripped off his shirt and ran some more. Finally, he fell back onto the sand and lay there, sky swimming overhead, waves pounding in his ears. There were toxins in the sky and in the sea. There were toxins in his body. So much for the Superman. So much for Mutual Aid. Reeve spent the rest of the day on the beach, dozing, walking, thinking. He was letting McCluskey and Dulwater sweat. His guess was that they wouldn t go to Kosigin, not right away. They d try to find Gordon Reeve first. At least McCluskey would. Reeve wasn t so sure about Dulwater; he was the more unpredictable of the two. That evening he ate at a roadside diner, his waitress not believing him when he asked for soup, a salad, and some orange juice. That all you want, sweetheart? That s all. Even then, he wondered about additives in the juice, chemicals in the soup stock, residues in the salad vegetables. He wondered if he d ever enjoy a meal again. Reeve took the Dart back into San Diego. His face was still stinging from his day on the beach. The traffic was heavy heading into town. It was a work week, after all. Eventually Reeve hit the waterfront, parked in the first space he found, and went for a walk. He found the Gaslamp Quarter. He accosted the first non-crazy-looking beggar who approached him and laid out his scheme. The beggar forced the fee up a couple of notches from the price of a drink to the price of dinner and a drink, but Reeve reckoned he had dollars to spare. The beggar walked with him up Fifth Avenue and west to the CWC building. Reeve handed him the package. It was pretty crude: a plastic carrier bag sealed shut with Scotch tape, and MR. KOSIGIN: PRIVATE & CONFIDENTIAL in felt-penned capitals. Now, I m going to be watching, so just do what I told you, he warned his messenger. Then he stood across the street, on the corner outside the coffee shop. He could see Cantona inside, dunking a doughnut. But Cantona couldn t see him, and Reeve kept it that way. He kept an eye open for Dulwater or anyone else, but Dulwater was probably still tied up sorting out his own Page 139 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html problems. It was a risk, using the coffee shop. After all, Dulwater knew Reeve himself had used the premises, and Dulwater knew what Cantona looked like. But Reeve reckoned he was safe enough. Meantime, the beggar had entered the CWC building. Reeve waited a few minutes, then walked to another vantage point and waited a few more. Nobody left the CWC building. As he d guessed would happen, an unmarked police car eventually screamed to a halt outside the entrance. McCluskey got out, and was met halfway up the steps by Kosigin himself. It was Reeve s first real look at Kosigin, Allerdyce s photographs aside. He was a short, slim man who wore his suit like he was modeling in a commercial. From this distance, he looked as dangerous as a hamburger. But then after what Reeve had learned lately, he couldn t be sure anymore just how safe a hamburger was. Kosigin led McCluskey into the building. McCluskey looked tired, pasty-faced. He d had a very long couple of days. Reeve wondered if the detective had slept at all. He hoped not. He knew the beggar was inside, probably sandwiched between two security men. They d want to ask him questions. They d maybe take the money away from him; or threaten to, if he didn t give a convincing description of his benefactor. Reeve s mobile rang. He held it up to his ear. Unsurprisingly, Cantona s voice came over loud and clear. Hey, he said, your man just came out of the building. But get this, only as far as the steps where he met up with that fucking detective. They ve both gone back inside. Reeve smiled. Cantona was doing his job. Thanks, he said into the mouthpiece. Keep watching. Sure. Hey, do I get to take a lunch break? What? After that doughnut you just ate? There was silence on the line. When Cantona next spoke, he sounded amused. You sonofabitch, where are you? I m just leaving. Reeve put away the telephone, turned on his heels, and headed into the shopping district. The first thing he did was get a haircut. Then he bought some very plain clothes which all but made him invisible. The barber had given him a shave, too. If he hadn t been in fear of his life, Reeve would have felt great. He found a nice restaurant on the edge of Gaslamp and had lunch with the other businesspeople. His table was near the window, facing another table laid for two with a single woman eating at it. She smiled at him from time to time, and he smiled back. He had the sense that rather than flirting with him, she was acknowledging her right and his, too to dine alone. She went back to her paperback novel, and Reeve watched the street outside. During dessert, he saw his messenger slouch past, a dazed scowl on his face. The world had given him [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |