Power Play
Page 106
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Natalie poured him a glass and put a straw to his lips. “Slowly, that’s right, and Mark, sleep is good for you.”
When he finished, Hooley’s brain was straight enough for him to look around and turn his eyes to Davis. “Yeah, punk, I’m surprised they let you in here.”
“Gotta make sure you’re behaving, Beef. It’s Mrs. Black who’s worried about you even though your doctor’s bragging on you. I’m looking forward to your being up and ready for the gym in another week or two. Tell you what, I’ll even tie my hand behind my back for you until you’re a decent threat.”
Hooley grinned. “You’ll know I’m better when I kick your legs right out from under you, turkey brain.”
“Hi, Mark,” Perry said. “Trash-talking from your hospital bed? You must be feeling better.”
“I’m fine. Where’s Connie?”
Natalie patted his hand. “She’ll be right back. You need anything else?”
“No, no, I’m fine, thank you, Mrs. Black. Any word on catching the man who’s trying to kill you?”
“More to the point, the man who tried to kill you,” Natalie said. “Not yet. Not since the FBI found the doctor who patched him up. You made that possible, Mark, you shot him in the side. You’re the one person who’s made us all safer.”
“But you’re not safe yet, Mrs. Black.”
“I have so many guards I can’t go to the bathroom without one coming in with me and another standing outside. I’m fine, Mark, please don’t worry about me.”
“Connie told me they think it’s George McCallum’s son, William.”
“It appears so,” Natalie said. “They say he—William Charles—holds me responsible for his father’s death. He and his father were close, but his father told me William refused to come home, that he’d made a new life for himself away from England, away from his family. The FBI thinks he’s hiding somewhere nearby.”
“Actually,” came a sharp, clipped, upper-class British voice, “he’s not hiding. He’s right here.”
Morganville, Virginia
Amity opened the door only a crack. “Officers? What’s wrong?”
“Ma’am, we’re looking for the man in this photo”—the cop must have held up his cell phone, Blessed thought, standing against the wall of the living room. “Have you seen him?”
Amity studied the photo carefully, shook her head. “No, young man, I haven’t. What’s he done?”
One officer said, “He blew up the motel. Didn’t you hear the explosion, see the flames?”
“I thought I heard something, but I was watching my soap and didn’t pay attention.”
“Do you mind if we check your house and garage, ma’am?”
She gave them both a sweet smile and stepped back.
Blessed waited until they were inside and close, then stepped out of the living room. “Gentlemen,” he said, and looked first at one, then the other. Both stilled; both sets of eyes became blank slates. Both men belonged to him.
Blessed gave a rancid old laugh. “Well, now, here’s what we’re going to do. I want the two of you to go into the living room and sit down on the sofa. When the doorbell rings again, I want you both to answer the door. You will shoot whoever is standing there. Do you understand?”
Both cops nodded.
“What are your names?”
“Andrew Bibber.”
“Jeff Pilson.”
Boring names, Blessed thought. His mama had done better by him and Grace. Blessed watched them walk into the living room with no hesitation, sit down and look straight ahead, their faces expressionless.
“Amity, sit down and keep knitting. Keep your gun close.”
She hesitated for a moment, then said in her old lady’s whispery voice, “I need to use the bathroom.”
“Come back soon,” Blessed said, and watched her walk slowly and carefully out of the living room. He heard her soft footballs down the hallway, heard her sneeze a couple more times. He didn’t have a single doubt she’d do exactly as he told her.
She was a long time coming back. An ancient bladder, Blessed thought, and age made her move slow; still, he was at the point of going to look for her when she appeared in the living room doorway. He said, “Sit down in your rocker and knit, Amity.”
She sat, eased the old gun onto her lap, and began knitting. She rocked, back and forth. Blessed found it annoying but didn’t say anything. He wondered if the old bird would survive this. He’d never before stymied anyone so old. Let her rock, settle her ancient bones. He walked into the entrance hall, looked back at the three blank-faced human beings who were his.
When he finished, Hooley’s brain was straight enough for him to look around and turn his eyes to Davis. “Yeah, punk, I’m surprised they let you in here.”
“Gotta make sure you’re behaving, Beef. It’s Mrs. Black who’s worried about you even though your doctor’s bragging on you. I’m looking forward to your being up and ready for the gym in another week or two. Tell you what, I’ll even tie my hand behind my back for you until you’re a decent threat.”
Hooley grinned. “You’ll know I’m better when I kick your legs right out from under you, turkey brain.”
“Hi, Mark,” Perry said. “Trash-talking from your hospital bed? You must be feeling better.”
“I’m fine. Where’s Connie?”
Natalie patted his hand. “She’ll be right back. You need anything else?”
“No, no, I’m fine, thank you, Mrs. Black. Any word on catching the man who’s trying to kill you?”
“More to the point, the man who tried to kill you,” Natalie said. “Not yet. Not since the FBI found the doctor who patched him up. You made that possible, Mark, you shot him in the side. You’re the one person who’s made us all safer.”
“But you’re not safe yet, Mrs. Black.”
“I have so many guards I can’t go to the bathroom without one coming in with me and another standing outside. I’m fine, Mark, please don’t worry about me.”
“Connie told me they think it’s George McCallum’s son, William.”
“It appears so,” Natalie said. “They say he—William Charles—holds me responsible for his father’s death. He and his father were close, but his father told me William refused to come home, that he’d made a new life for himself away from England, away from his family. The FBI thinks he’s hiding somewhere nearby.”
“Actually,” came a sharp, clipped, upper-class British voice, “he’s not hiding. He’s right here.”
Morganville, Virginia
Amity opened the door only a crack. “Officers? What’s wrong?”
“Ma’am, we’re looking for the man in this photo”—the cop must have held up his cell phone, Blessed thought, standing against the wall of the living room. “Have you seen him?”
Amity studied the photo carefully, shook her head. “No, young man, I haven’t. What’s he done?”
One officer said, “He blew up the motel. Didn’t you hear the explosion, see the flames?”
“I thought I heard something, but I was watching my soap and didn’t pay attention.”
“Do you mind if we check your house and garage, ma’am?”
She gave them both a sweet smile and stepped back.
Blessed waited until they were inside and close, then stepped out of the living room. “Gentlemen,” he said, and looked first at one, then the other. Both stilled; both sets of eyes became blank slates. Both men belonged to him.
Blessed gave a rancid old laugh. “Well, now, here’s what we’re going to do. I want the two of you to go into the living room and sit down on the sofa. When the doorbell rings again, I want you both to answer the door. You will shoot whoever is standing there. Do you understand?”
Both cops nodded.
“What are your names?”
“Andrew Bibber.”
“Jeff Pilson.”
Boring names, Blessed thought. His mama had done better by him and Grace. Blessed watched them walk into the living room with no hesitation, sit down and look straight ahead, their faces expressionless.
“Amity, sit down and keep knitting. Keep your gun close.”
She hesitated for a moment, then said in her old lady’s whispery voice, “I need to use the bathroom.”
“Come back soon,” Blessed said, and watched her walk slowly and carefully out of the living room. He heard her soft footballs down the hallway, heard her sneeze a couple more times. He didn’t have a single doubt she’d do exactly as he told her.
She was a long time coming back. An ancient bladder, Blessed thought, and age made her move slow; still, he was at the point of going to look for her when she appeared in the living room doorway. He said, “Sit down in your rocker and knit, Amity.”
She sat, eased the old gun onto her lap, and began knitting. She rocked, back and forth. Blessed found it annoying but didn’t say anything. He wondered if the old bird would survive this. He’d never before stymied anyone so old. Let her rock, settle her ancient bones. He walked into the entrance hall, looked back at the three blank-faced human beings who were his.
