Marie couldn’t tell anyone in the hospital, any of her friends. She spent all her time either working at the hospital or taking care of Alonzo. Her friends gradually faded away. She cared for Alonzo on her own, while continuing to see other needy children, repeat visitors to the ER, who, if there wasn’t any serious intervention, were not going to make it in this world. She’d crossed the line and got away with it. Felt good about it, as if her life really meant something. The next most logical step was to save more.

The day I got out she waited in the parking lot standing by her little Nissan Sentra with worry lines etched in her beautiful face. When I saw Alonzo in the car seat, I cried. She drove ricky-racer-fast from the prison looking at the road and over at me, back and forth. I wept and hugged and kissed my daughter’s child. I told her to pull over. Her expression one of fear made my heart rise up in my throat. Once stopped, the car in park, I said, “I just wanted to make sure you knew how much I appreciate this.” I kissed her, Alonzo between us. Then I understood why she was so angry the day I finally took the visit, the day she came all dolled up in the red dress. She’d committed a major felony for me and in my ignorance I had inadvertently made it look as if I were doing her the favor by seeing her when she came to visit.

The rest of the way home she talked a mile a minute, how the taking of Alonzo had come about, happy that I wasn’t angry. How could she think I’d be angry? She told me all about the other kids she’d seen and who’d needed to be saved. We didn’t discuss any plans, none whatsoever. We went home and slept, well, not a lot of sleep, we had to catch up after all. The next night I just showed up with little Ricky and Toby Bixler. She didn’t say anything about how I came to have them. She accepted the two into our family as if they had always belonged.

Back in the motel room, our bodies cooling, sweat drying, I put my finger to her lips, I was about to tell her how Tommy Bascombe was safe and sound at Dad’s, how I had already ordered and paid for his forged passport and then watch the wonder and pleasure come over her, and as selfish as it sounded, revel in her gratitude, when a loud knock came at the door.

Chapter Thirty-Two

My nerves on edge, the knock at the motel door startled me. Marie still lay on my chest, and I all but knocked her to the floor reaching for my gun on the nightstand, a gun that wasn’t there. Marie bolted up, the gold crucifix bouncing between her naked breasts, eyes wide, mouth open. I held my hand up, and with the other, I put a finger to my lips, whispered, “Does anyone know you’re here?”

She shook her head no. “Of course not.”

I knew she was too smart to tell anyone our plans, but I had no idea who could be knocking. Perhaps Robby. Had his team tailed me?

“Johnson?” The hard, coarse voice on the other side of the door drove a knife in my gut. Not housekeeping. This guy knew my name.

Marie waved her hands as she walked fast, back and forth along her side of the bed. Slowly, my good sense started to return. Robby wouldn’t knock. He’d bust in the door, guns at the ready, with men charging in a high-risk formation.

“Johnson?” The voice again.

I jumped into my skivvies and moved to the door, listened. “Who’s there?”

“Johnson, come on, man, open up. I can’t be seen out here.”

I glowered back at Marie, who now stood frozen in one place. I pointed to the door to indicate that I’d be opening it. She didn’t move. “Put something on, babe.”

She snapped out of her trance, jumped for her abandoned clothes on the floor, and slipped into her still damp blouse and slacks.

I went to the door and put my hand on the knob. “Who is it?”

“Detective Johnson, for fuck’s sake open the door. Open the damn door before someone sees me.”

I didn’t recognize the voice. I did, but it was way back there in the far corner of my brain and refused to come forward. A voice from long ago. I opened the door a crack and peeked out. The small man had the stature of a jockey, his head a little too big for his body. He had jet-black hair with gray wings at the temples, a neck and face pocked heavily with acne scars. I didn’t recognize him in profile, but when he looked directly at me, I saw his eyes, I did know him. Jessie Vanfleet.

I flung opened the door and yanked him in. Then I eased the door closed and listened, my ear to the warped wood. After a time, I turned to see Vanfleet as he stared at Marie who stood over by the bed. Marie, in her haste, had not put on a bra, leaving her breasts barely covered by the sheer blouse. Vanfleet was an over-sexed street perv who slung rock cocaine on the side, not for the money, but for sexual access to coke whores. There had always been something creepy about him.

I took hold of the back of his collar and shook him. “What the hell are you doing here? How did you know I was here?”

“Take it easy, man. I’m here to save your ass.”

Even though his words were directed at me, he still hadn’t taken his lecherous ogle off Marie’s breasts. I cringed as he licked his lips.

“You better talk and talk fast, little man, or I’m going to pound you into the ground.”

“Okay, okay. Chocolate sent me. The dude downstairs at the desk recognized you and told me. Chocolate put the word out that she needed to talk to you bad, real bad, so here I am. It’s no big mystery.” He batted at my hand. “Take your big dick beaters off me.”

I let him go but shoved him toward the door. I went over to the bed, yanked the top blanket off and wrapped Marie in it. On Vanfleet it had the same effect as flipping off a light switch, the lecherous leer faded simultaneously with the blanket cover. I still had the urge to knock his brown teeth down his little ferret throat.

“Is Chocolate okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s fine. She said there’d be a grand in it for me.”

“That right? And you’re a lying little piece of shit too.” I looked back at Marie. I never used my street jargon around her and felt like a kid who’d just let slip a four-letter word in front of grandmum.

I looked back at Vanfleet. “You and I both know what she promised you, so don’t yank on my dick.” I took a couple of steps toward him.

He held up his hands, “Whoa, there cowboy. You can’t fault a guy for tryin’.”

“What’s wrong with Chocolate? Tell me.” I had an idea but didn’t want to give him any more information than necessary.

“She says you’re a good Joe and that you just did her a solid. Boy, she could never convince me of that. I still got the scar from when you kicked me to the curb.” His hand came up subconsciously and rubbed his nose. I couldn’t see any scar.

The first time I’d met the little weasel, I’d pulled up to a burglary of Radio Shack and he ran. His short legs pumping fast but no match for my long stride. I easily overtook him, ran right behind him, and told him one last time to stop. When he didn’t and kept running, I jumped up and kicked him in the back. He skidded headlong into the curb, broke his nose, and lacerated his eyebrow. He went to jail for consensual sex with a fifteen-year-old, a young girl he’d gotten hooked on coke just for that purpose.

“Chocolate’s fine. She kept babbling something about how you gave her a grand when she thought it was a hundred. That crazy bitch hasn’t been worth a hundred, let alone a grand, since Christ was corporal. What’re you doin’ stickin’ your dick in that when you got yourself a nice slice of Rican pussy right—”

I quick-stepped over too him, reached down, and clamped his throat. I ran him back up against the door and slammed him. The door bulged and rattled.

Marie was on my arm, yelling, “Don’t. Bruno, don’t.”

When I came back to reality, I looked down. I had Van-fleet’s feet dangling above the floor. I let go. He fell to the floor. I put my hand on Marie’s chest and eased her away from the perv who writhed uncontrollably. I went over and put my right shoe on, then clumped back to where Vanfleet lay on the moldering carpet. “You tell me what I want to know right now or so help me I’ll kick a lung out of you.”