Part 33 (1/2)
”Don't own no gerbils!” she called back.
”Well, the friggin midget pig thing, then. What I tell you about letting 'em out of their cages?”
”I raise guinea pigs,” she said softly, as if it were a secret dear to her heart.
”I noticed. Hamsters, too.”
She nodded. ”Had some ferrets, but they died.”
”d.a.m.n,” I said.
”You like ferrets?”
”Not even a little bit.” I smiled.
”You need to loosen up. Ferrets are fun.” She clucked her tongue. ”Whole d.a.m.n lot of fun.”
I heard a clacking and squeaking from behind her that was too heavy for the hamster wheels, and Warren rolled out into the front office in a black leather and bright chrome wheelchair.
His legs were gone below the knees, but the rest of him was ma.s.sive. He wore a sleeveless black T-s.h.i.+rt over a chest as broad as the hull of a small boat, and thick red cords stood out angrily under the flesh over his forearms and biceps. His hair was bleached blond like Holly's, shaved tight against the temples, but swept back high off the forehead and hanging down to his shoulder blades. Jaw muscles the size of tea saucers worked up and down in his face, and his hands, clad in black leather fingerless gloves, looked capable of snapping an oak fence post like it was plywood.
He didn't look at me as he approached Holly. He said, ”Honey?”
She turned her head and looked into his handsome face with such immediate and total love that it invaded the room like a fourth body.
”Baby?”
”You know where I put them pills?” Warren wheeled himself up near the desk, peered in its lower counters.
”The white ones?”
He still hadn't looked at me. ”Nah. Those yellow ones, hon. The three o'clock ones.”
She c.o.c.ked her head as if trying to remember. Then that wonderful smile broke across her face and she clapped her hands together, and Warren smiled, too, enthralled by her.
”'Course I do, baby!” She reached under the counter and pulled out an amber bottle of pills. ”Think fast.”
She tossed them at him, and he s.n.a.t.c.hed them from the air without glancing in their direction, his eyes on her.
He popped two in his mouth and chewed them. His eyes were still locked with hers when he said, ”What you looking for, Magnum?”
”A dead woman's last effects.”
He reached out and took Holly's hand. He ran his thumb over the back of it, peered at the skin as if committing each freckle to memory.
”Why?”
”She died.”
”You said that.” He turned her hand over so it was palm up, traced the lines with his finger. Holly ran her free hand through the hair on top of his head.