Part 47 (2/2)
”No. But seriously. Pack.”
”I'm not going anywhere without you.”
”That's the plan. But pack now, please.”
”Is this too big?” indicating her roll-aboard.
”Perfect, but keep it light.”
”Is it about something she told you?”
”No,” he said, ”it's because I doubt we have much more time. Pack.”
She set the empty roll-aboard on the nearest armchair, unzipped it, and began to select things from the drawers in the wardrobe. She added the Hounds designer's jersey tube. Went into the bathroom, gathering things from the counter.
”How's Frank?” she asked, emerging.
”Complaining, but he has to get used to it.”
She noticed the Blue Ant figurine on the bedside table. Picked it up. You're in, she thought, surprising herself, and carried it, with bottles and tubes of product, to the roll-aboard. ”Won't you need some sort of follow-up for neural surgery?”
”Woman in Harley Street,” he said, ”as soon as I can.”
”How soon is that?”
”When this is over.” A phone began to ring. Yet another variant on Old Phone. Not hers. He took a phone from his pocket, looked at it. After the third ring he answered. ”Yes? From now? Venue? No? Crucial.” He thumbed a key.
”Who?”
”Big End.”
”What?”
”We're on. Ninety minutes.”
”What's crucial?”
”We don't know where. Venue matters. We need exterior, need privacy. But so do they. You ready?”
”As I'll ever be.”
”Get a pullover. Back of the van's unheated.” He'd brought out a second phone. ”Message all,” he said, tapping a few tiny keys. The phone beeped.
She glanced around Number Four. The insect-parts wallpaper, the shelves with their busts and heads. Would she see this again? ”Are you taking the scooter?”
”No further than the door,” he said, rising from the bed with the aid of his cane. ”It's Frank's turn.” He winced.
She'd just pulled a sweater on. ”Are you all right?”
”Actually,” he said, ”I am. Be a dear and get the ugly T-s.h.i.+rt from the bedside hutch. And the other package, the smaller one.”
”What's that?”
”Almost nothing. And a world of woe, for someone. Quick. There's a vegan van waiting for us.”
”What the f.u.c.k is up?” demanded Heidi, from the other side of Number Four's door.
Hollis opened the door.
Heidi stood, glaring, majorette jacket open over Israeli army bra. ”Ajay just got a text, hauled a.s.s down the hall, said he had to see his cousin.” She saw Garreth. ”Was that you?”
”Yes,” said Garreth, ”but you're coming with us.”
”Whatever the f.u.c.k this is,” Heidi said, ”I'm coming with-”
”Us,” interrupted Garreth, ”but not not if you make us late. And put a s.h.i.+rt on. Trainers, not boots. In case there's running.” if you make us late. And put a s.h.i.+rt on. Trainers, not boots. In case there's running.”
Heidi opened her mouth, closed it.
”Time to go,” said Hollis, zipping her bag shut.
”Not without the party favors,” said Garreth.
76. GONE-AWAY GIRL
Milgrim stood, feeling lost, remembering the sound of Fiona's Kawasaki fading to nothing at all.
She'd gotten a message from Garreth and was gone, leaving her chicken and bacon sandwich uneaten on the table in the Vegas cube, but not before she'd snapped a short length of transparent nylon line to tiny eyebolts, front and rear, on the paint-dazzled penguin. He'd helped her steer it through the door, and she'd anch.o.r.ed it, atop Benny's huge red tool kit, by placing a hammer on the fis.h.i.+ng line. Then she'd quickly returned to the cube, where she'd given him the penguin's iPhone. ”That little van I brought you here in,” she said, ”will be here shortly. Wait in the yard, with the penguin. It'll fit in the back.”
”Where are you going?”
”Don't know.” Zipping up her jacket.
”Am I going to the same place?”
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