Part 5 (2/2)
”Near enough. Laveda's got her own set of rules and rituals, but it boils down to the same thing-you're a bunch of homicidal lunatics on a power trip. You need to be stopped.”
”We can't be stopped,” she said, but the earlier tone of scornful confidence was gone from her voice. ”We're everywhere.”
”Put the torch to Laveda, and the whole gang would fall apart.”
”Shut up.”
A layer of fog hung over the road as they neared the ocean. It swirled in the headlights, rolled off the winds.h.i.+eld. Dukane slowed down. He squinted ahead, searching for the dim glow of traffic lights.
In the silence, he thought about Alice's bl.u.s.ter falling away at the mention of fire. She seemed to have an exaggerated fear of burning.
He'd noted the same dread in the man named Walter. The muscular fellow had acted brazen, at first, during Dukane's interrogation three nights before the bayou gathering. Like Alice, he'd claimed to be invulnerable. He'd refused to talk. But he broke down, whimpering and pleading, when Dukane doused him with gasoline. In short order, he told about Laveda's group, its structure and purposes, the extent of its members.h.i.+p, the time and location of the meeting. What Dukane learned had scared the h.e.l.l out of him, but it gave him all he needed to know in his search for Alice.
At the blur of a red light just ahead, Dukane eased down on the brake. He hit the arm of the turn signal, hoping this was Main, and turned left when the light changed. He drove slowly, gazing into the fog, seeking a landmark. When he saw the Boulangerie, off to the right, he knew where he was. He continued down Main, glimpsed a cl.u.s.ter of vague figures at the entrance to the Oar House, and kept going until he reached the traffic signal at Rose. A pair of dim lights appeared ahead. He waited for the car to pa.s.s, then turned left and parked at the curb.
”Let's go,” he said.
They climbed from the car. Alice followed him up the street, hunched slightly and moving fast, her bare arms crossed against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.
”We're almost there,” Dukane told her, his chin shaking. He clenched his teeth, then made a conscious effort to relax his muscles and stop the s.h.i.+vering. Alice, he knew, must be freezing in her thin sundress. He put an arm across her shoulders, but she whirled away.
”Don't touch me,” she said.
”Just trying to help.”
”I can live without it.”
They crossed a dark street, and hurried up the sidewalk. ”This is it,” he said, nodding toward the lighted porch of a small, wood-frame house. He opened the gate. They rushed up a narrow walkway. Dukane took the porch stairs two at a time, and rang the doorbell.
Alice waited beside him, legs tight together, arms hugging herself, teeth chattering.
The door was opened as far as the guard chain allowed. A black-haired, attractive woman studied them through her wire-rimmed gla.s.ses.
”We're here to see Dr. Miles,” Dukane said.
”Yes?”
”I'm Dukane.”
The woman nodded. She shut the door briefly, then swung it open. ”Please come in.”
They stepped into the warm house. The woman shut the door, took a sip of coffee from her Snoopy mug, and turned to them. ”You must be Alice,” she said.
Alice curled her nose.
”You both look chilled to the bone. Let's go in by the fire, and I'll get you some coffee.”
They followed her into the living room. It was wood paneled and cozy, with the feel of a summer cottage. Alice crossed toward the fireplace. She stopped two yards from its screen, and held out her hands.
”Cream or sugar?”
Alice didn't respond.
”I'll take mine black,” Dukane said.
”Back in a jiff,” the woman said, and left.
Dukane stepped past Alice. He stood close to the fire, feeling its heat through his trouser legs, then crouching to warm his upper body and face. He turned around, still squatting, and smiled up at Alice. ”Nothing like a nice, crackling fire.”
”Get f.u.c.ked.”
The woman came back, carrying a coffee mug in each hand. Dukane noticed the way her b.r.e.a.s.t.s jiggled slightly under the cashmere of her white turtleneck. Below the hem of her tweed skirt, her calves looked trim and well defined. Probably, Dukane thought, she jogs on the beach-just like half the other residents of Venice.
He stood, and accepted a hot mug. This one came from the Hearst Castle gift shop. She held out a Big Apple mug to Alice.
Alice swatted it from her hand. The mug flipped away, exploding coffee, and bounced off the rug.
The woman slapped her face.
Alice leaped at her, snarling, hands out like claws. As Dukane set his mug on the mantel, he saw that the woman needed no help. She grabbed Alice's right arm, jerked it toward her, and swiveled around. Her rump caught Alice low. The girl flew over her back and hit the floor with a grunt.
”Sorry about that, but I won't allow intemperate behavior.” Her sweater had pulled up, revealing lightly tanned skin above her belt. She adjusted her sweater, and stared down at Alice. ”Is that understood?”
Alice gazed at the ceiling. ”You're gonna die.”
”Not before I've straightened you out.”
”You're Dr. Miles?” Dukane asked.
Her smile caught him off-guard; he'd expected a condescending smirk. ”Don't be embarra.s.sed,” she said. ”A doctor with a name like Teri Miles is begging for erroneous a.s.sumptions of gender. You thought I was the good doctor's receptionist?”
”Or wife. I was starting to envy him.”
She smiled, and surprised him again-this time by blus.h.i.+ng.
Dukane took a sip of hot coffee. ”I see you can handle yourself well.”
”One has to, in this line of work. I've had patients a lot rougher than Alice.”
”She seems to think she'll get away in short order.”
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