He waited a moment to see if there would be more coming. There wouldn’t be. “You won’t tell me?” he asked, his voice gone quiet now.

“There’s nothing to tell, Bobby.”

“Fuck!” He slapped his hand down on the back of the car. “I’ve been your friend. I’ve looked out for you, and I’ve helped you make a lot of money. And this is how you treat me?”

“If I could tell you something, I would,” I said, almost whined.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Bobby said.

I started back to the hotel, and I thought that the next two days were going to be the most miserable of my life. And that was saying a lot.

Chapter 29

I WASN’T SURE I WANTED TO GO to the pool that night. What I wanted was to keep a low profile, to slink through the rest of the weekend without making anyone else hate me, without having any more conflicts with Ronny Neil and Scott. Or the Gambler. Or Bobby. On the other hand, if I was never going to come back, then I was never going to see Chitra again, not unless I arranged to see her. So maybe that was what I needed to concentrate on.

I looked out the window to the pool area. People were beginning to congregate. No sign of Chitra, though. I could go out there, have a couple of beers, and see if she showed up.

I left the room and went down the stairs, this time unhindered, and began to make my way across the path. I walked quickly, with my head down, the way I did when I was lost in concentration, and the noise was almost drowned out by the sound of my own footsteps. That is, it would have been drowned out by the sound of my own footsteps if there hadn’t been a voice my whole nervous system had been wired to hear. I had become like a radar dish, tuned to one signal, and when that signal was anywhere in the air, my dish rotated toward it.

It was Chitra’s voice, musical and lilting. But this time it was not so soft. It was strident.

“Ronny Neil, please.”

A couple of vending machines stood behind the building with the check-in desk. More than once I’d heard couples making out in there when I came back to my room late at night. Only now it was Chitra back there. With Ronny Neil.

Were they having a fight? Could she have lied to me so brazenly about her connection with Ronny Neil? Was she so foolish, and was I so foolish as to have believed her?

“I got me a double today,” I heard Ronny Neil say.

I took a step closer.

“Yes, that’s nice, but you brought me here under false pretenses. I don’t want to stay.”

“Sure you do, baby.”

“No, Ronny Neil. Take your hand off of me. I don’t want to stay.”

“Give me one kiss. Come on. It ain’t so hard.”

I knew this was a gift. I could walk right up to that vending machine and be the hero. If I rescued Chitra, there would be no going back. The only problem was, I didn’t know how to rescue her. I wished Melford were here, with his gun and his bravado and his cool disposition. Melford would know exactly what to do.

I looked around, as though the answer might be somewhere nearby. I heard voices from the pool, laughter, the grating sound of patio furniture sliding against the rough chattahoochee. And there was the throbbing in my head, the veins or arteries or whatever they were in my temples thumping, thumping like the pulsating gong of cowardice. I felt sure I was going to walk away. Chitra could take care of herself, for a few more minutes, anyhow. I would get a couple of guys, and we would all come back. My role would be diminished, but Chitra would be safe and the risk would be spread more comfortably.

I felt sure I was going to walk away, but that wasn’t how it happened. I pushed my way through the bushes and found Chitra pinned to the Coke machine. Her head was flush against the bright red façade of it, her ponytail squished, her face in a glowing mask of fear and contempt. Ronny Neil stood right before her, bent over slightly, holding hard to her wrist.

I wanted to shout something melodramatic and absurd, but I choked down the words, because the thing was, Melford might be crazy, he might be a homicidal freak, but he still knew a thing or two about the world and about human nature.

“Hey, guys,” I said. “What’s going on?” I walked past Chitra and toward the soda machine, then fished into my pocket for some change. My hands were shaking badly, but I was certain I could keep everything under control. I turned to Chitra. “Excuse me for a sec,” I said.

She stepped forward, and I slid the coins into the slot and pushed the button for a Sprite.

Not that which soda I picked made a difference. I could have pressed the button for goat piss if it were on there, for all it mattered. But the Sprite landed at the bottom with a hollow and metallic thud, and I took it out, popped the top, and turned back to the two of them.

“What’s up with you two?” I asked. I kept the wavering in my voice to a minimum.

“Why don’t you fuck off?” Ronny Neil said.

I shrugged, as though I’d been asked if I had plans for the weekend. “I don’t know,” I said. “Never really thought about it.”

“What?” Ronny Neil sneered.

“I don’t know why I don’t fuck off,” I explained. “I’m not in the mood to fuck off right now, I guess.” I looked over at Chitra. “You want to take a walk or something?”

The thinnest of smiles appeared on her lips, as though she suddenly understood the game. “Yes,” she said. The smile was growing. “I think I’d like that very much.”

I looked over at Ronny Neil. “See you back at the room.”

Easy as that, we walked away.

We crossed through the registration area, where Sameen gave me a curious glance, and then out to the pool area. We figured, without discussing it, that Ronny Neil wouldn’t follow us that way. I stopped to toss out the Sprite and pick up a couple of tall boys from the cooler, because, holy hell, I needed a beer. I handed one to Chitra and then opened my own. It didn’t taste all that much different from the Sprite when you came down to it, but it was good. I needed a drink. I’d never needed a drink in that manly way before, but I needed one now.

I was calmer than I would have thought, maybe even than I should have been. My heart pounded and my hands still trembled, but I didn’t care. The grateful heat emanating from Chitra, her appreciative silence, her relieved and amused smile, were all like the pendulous watch of a hypnotist.

We walked past the pool and back to the cloister of the motel. I had no idea where we were going, and I could tell Chitra had no idea, either. None of the book people were staying in this part of the building. We went up the stairs and walked along the second-story balcony, looking out over the railing, painted white but with rust showing through. We stopped where the floor turned, filling out the boomerang shape of the wing. Here was another pair of vending machines- food and beverage- and a groaning ice machine as well.

Now Chitra was leaning up against a vending machine again, and there I was, just like Ronny Neil, slouching in front of her. Only this time she was smiling. She took my hands.

“You’re very clever,” she said.

“That makes one of us. What were you doing behind the bushes with that idiot?”

She laughed, and her caramel-colored skin darkened with a blush. “He told me that the vending machine had some sort of Indian soft drinks in it. I can’t believe I fell for it.”

“Me either. Wow.”

She laughed. “I know it sounds foolish, but this motel is owned by Indians, you know. It was possible.”

“True enough,” I agreed. “They have that chutney-o-matic in the lobby.”

She was still laughing. “You can stop making fun of me now.”

“Okay,” I agreed. “Maybe I will.”