Protector. Part 40

Jane turned around. "Yes. Look, calling you like this, getting you involved, this is all totally against policy and procedure. But the thing is, I need your help. I need your brother's help. I need you to talk to him and convince him to check out some downtown businesses for me. Specifically, foreign downtown businesses. Asian businesses. They're used to paying protection money back in their home country. They're always the first targets for the mob. He needs to ask around about who's getting paid and who's getting favors. He's gotta work it so he finds a trail and he's gotta follow that trail to wherever it leads. I'm telling you right now that I think that trail leads to Denver PD and possibly to a man named Weyler. I have to know the truth and I have to know it d.a.m.n fast. I can't . . ." Jane choked up. "I can't lose another kid to those a.s.sholes. You understand me? If I have to, I will ditch the car and we will take a bus to another state and we will disappear forever. They will not get their f.u.c.king hands on her!" Jane knew she had gone too far.

"How can he contact you?" Lisa asked confidentially.

"Is that a 'yes'?"

"I have a way with my brother. Just like you and Mike, we're real tight. If I tell him I need a favor for a good friend, he'll do it. So, how are we going to contact you?"

Jane was dumbstruck. After all the awful things she had said about Lisa-out loud, under her breath and in her head-after all that, this girl was willing to play the middle-man in a dangerous game. "My pager," Jane said quietly, before giving her the number. "It's a voice pager. So, if he can cut to the chase in sixty seconds or less, have him leave a message. Otherwise, tell him to give me his number and I'll call him right back."

"I'll take care of it, Jane."

"I don't want you involved in this any more than just contacting your brother!"

"Hey, don't worry about it. Like you said, I'd like to be part of your family one day. And family does this kind of stuff for each other."

Jane was completely floored by Lisa's words. She closed her eyes, listening intently to Lisa's voice echo in her head. She heard neither a lie nor the whisper of betrayal in the timbre. "Thank you."

Monday turned into Tuesday and there was no word from Lisa. Jane noticed that Dan increased his self-appointed, drive-by patrols each day and evening. Late Tuesday afternoon, he stopped by to share news with Jane. While Emily played in the backyard, Dan and Jane stood at the front door, talking in confidential tones.

"I don't know exactly what's goin' on," Dan revealed, a worried look etched into his face, "but I think Sheriff George is fixin' to investigate you."

"I thought he bought the whole story about Emily being sick."

"I thought he did, too. But that's the word I'm gettin'."

Jane let out a tired sigh. "What in the h.e.l.l made him change his mind?"

"I don't know. Unless . . ."

"What?"

"Unless he heard or saw what happened with Emily at the carnival . . ."

Jane thought it through and realized Dan was probably right. "s.h.i.+t! If he starts poking around on his computer, he's bound to figure the whole thing out-"

"If I catch wind that he's found out about your ex, I'll let you know."

"Dan, if he finds out the truth about me-"

"I guess all we can pray for right now is water seepin' into the underground lines. It breaks the Internet connection around here."

"Then I suggest you go break a water main."

Tuesday melted into Wednesday and Jane's voice pager remained silent. Knowing that she now had the added stress of Sheriff George searching on his computer for information on her, Jane's tension was growing exponentially. Thanks to her constant paranoia, the two had not left the house since returning home from making the phone call at The Pit Stop on Monday afternoon.

By Wednesday afternoon, Emily was stir crazy. With Kathy's "welcome basket" nearly drained of its contents and the refrigerator and freezer almost empty, Emily begged Jane for a trip to The Mountain Melon Market. Jane acquiesced with the caveat that Emily stay within eyesight of her the entire time.

Main Street was alive with red, white and blue banners, American flags and countless signs and posters heralding Sunday's Independence Day Parade. Jane parked the Subaru. "Stay next to me in there. Understood?"

"Understood," Emily said, feeling like a trapped animal.

The market was empty, save for the cas.h.i.+er whose head was buried in the National Enquirer. Jane grabbed a cart and headed to the frozen food section at the rear of the market. No sooner were she and Emily hidden from view when the bell attached to the market's front door chimed.

"Hey there, Sheriff!" the cas.h.i.+er called out. "How's it goin'?"

Jane suddenly felt cornered.

Emily perked up. "Can I go-"

"Shh!" Jane cautioned her.

"Say, is your lotto machine working?" Sheriff George asked the cas.h.i.+er.

"Nah. It's havin' one of them days. Why? Is your computer down again?"

"Yeah. That d.a.m.n water in the lines is causing it to crash constantly."

Jane half wondered if Dan had taken her seriously when she told him to "break a water main" to prevent smooth transmissions on the sheriff's computer.

"It'll dry out soon," the cas.h.i.+er said.

"Not soon enough," the sheriff said curtly.

"You got yourself a big case?" the cas.h.i.+er said with great interest.

"I might. I don't know just yet. But I might . . ." Jane stood still, the freezer door propped open against her hip. She heard the sound of the sheriff's boots scuffing across the floor toward a nearby bank of shelves. She knew he wasn't crossing to the shelves to get something as much as he was moving in that direction to see who was in the market. Since he probably spied Jane's Subaru parked in front of the market, Jane figured he suspected that she and Emily were inside. She kept her head forward, appearing as if she were examining a frozen food entree. Her eyes moved slightly to the left where the gla.s.s door cast a reflection on the shelving. There was the sheriff, reflected back in the icy gla.s.s. He waited for her to turn around but Jane refused to acknowledge his presence. After what felt like an eternity, Sheriff George moved back to the front of the store.

"You have a good day," the sheriff said to the cas.h.i.+er before leaving the market.

Jane dumped an armful of frozen food into the cart. "Come on, let's grab what we need and get the h.e.l.l out of here."

"Sheriff George is nice," Emily said, confused. "How come you didn't want to talk to him?"

"Not now," she whispered.

"I want chips and salsa," Emily said as she marched down the aisle. "Hurry up," Jane said impatiently.

Emily wound around the far aisle to grab the chips. The front door opened again and the cheerful bell rang out.

"Well, hey Kathy! Hey, Heather!" The cas.h.i.+er said.

"All ready for the fourth?"

Jane let the door to the frozen food section slam shut. "s.h.i.+t!" she said, turning to get Emily's attention. But it was too late.

Emily skipped to the front of the store. "Heather! How you doing?"

"Hi, Patty! Long time no see!" Heather said in a disingenuous tone.

"Are you here all by yourself, darling?" Kathy inquired. "No. My mom's in the back. By the frozen food section."

"Frozen food." Kathy said in a catty tone. "Well, of course she is!"

Jane shook her head in disgust.

"Hey, Heather! Guess what?" Emily said. "Mom says that I can have the sleep over at our house!"

Jane spun the cart around and headed down the aisle to get to Emily.

"Great!" Heather said. "When do you want to do it?"

"How about this Sat.u.r.day? The third? Then the next day, we can all go and watch the Independence Day Parade!"

Jane reached the front of the store. "Patty, we need to discuss this."

"No we don't," Emily said succinctly. "We made a deal. Remember?"

Jane caught Kathy's prying eyes staring at her. It was as though Kathy was laying in wait until Jane said or did something that warranted a call to the Sheriff. Jane opted for a different approach. "Well, we don't know what Kathy's mom has to say about the idea. She may have other plans with her family for the holiday weekend."

"We don't have any plans, Mrs. Calver," Heather said, looking at Jane with the same hateful appearance Jane had noticed on other occasions.

"Well, Heather," Jane said, regarding the brat with equal hostility, "it's really up to your mother to make that decision. Not you."

"Perhaps we should talk about it, Heather-" Kathy said.

"There's nothing to talk about!" Heather snapped back at Kathy. "Emily invited me and my friends to a sleep over and we're going to go!" Turning to Emily, Heather smiled a sugary grin. "Do you want me to bring CDs so we can dance?"

"Yeah!" Emily said, totally blown away by Heather's offer.

"Hey, you wanna see the cutest new lipstick I found?" Heather asked Emily. The two girls ran down the center aisle, leaving Kathy and Jane in an awkward moment.

"If you can't handle this," Kathy said with a snippy sound in her voice, "we can just forget about the whole thing."

Jane regarded Kathy's comment as almost a street dare. "Oh, I can handle it."

Emily floated ten feet above the carpet for the next three days in excited expectation of Sat.u.r.day night. By contrast, Jane was emotionally hugging the ground, waiting day and night for any word from Lisa.

Emily dug through the attic and came up with a halfway decent sleeping bag. By Friday night, Emily was wired and unable to sleep. She dragged herself out of the bedroom and stood at the threshold of the living room. The television was on mute. Jane sat on the couch in the semi-darkness pensively looking through the various newspaper clippings that featured Chris and Jane's photos on the front page.

"I can't sleep," Emily said, her back wedged against the living room doorway. Jane nonchalantly stashed the clippings back into the files and replaced them into her leather satchel. "Can I watch TV with you for a while?" Emily asked.

"PBS is the only station that's coming in right now. And it's begging time!"

"Begging time?"

"They're doing their annual pledge drive. So it's not too entertaining."

Emily sauntered over to the couch. She glanced at the clock. "Hey, you know what? Tomorrow at this time, I'm going to be sitting in this living room with Heather and her friends. We're gonna be dancing, telling ghost stories and having fun!"

"Uh-huh," Jane said in a dubious tone.

"How come you can't be happy for me?"

"I don't trust Heather," Jane stated.

"You don't trust anyone."

"That's true. You know why? Because most people have motives."

"I don't and you don't either."

Jane couldn't argue with that. "So you and I are exceptions to the rule, but-"

"Maybe Heather is too!"

"Emily, I don't know what she wants from you, but it's very obvious to me that her intentions are not pure. I can't understand why you don't see it! I mean, she's staring you right in the face and serving you a line of bulls.h.i.+t."

Emily shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe I don't want to see it. Is that so bad?" She plopped onto the couch and motioned to the TV. "They've gone back to the show."

Jane looked at the screen. "Hey, that's the Three Tenors!" She clicked on the sound. "See that heavyset guy to the right? That's Pavarotti." Jane was drawn into the moment, a fact that didn't escape Emily's watchful eye. The orchestra swelled into the heartfelt strains of "Nessun Dorma." For a painful second, Jane was transported back to her mother's bedside on the day of her death. The camera zoomed in on Pavarotti as he sung with heartfelt emotion.

Emily was equally drawn into the aria. She quickly recognized the evocative melody as the same one that played on her Starlight Starbright projector. "Do you know what the words mean?" Emily asked.

"Yeah," Jane said, her eyes still fixated on the screen. "He's talking about a princess, alone in her room. She's watching the stars, trembling with love and hope." She waited until Pavarotti began the second verse. "He's saying, 'But my secret lies hidden within me . . . no one shall discover my name . . . Oh, no . . . I will reveal it only on your lips when daylight s.h.i.+nes forth! . . . And my kiss shall break the silence that makes you mine!' " The orchestra performed the interlude as Pavarotti took a step back from the microphone. Jane leaned forward. "Watch him. Watch his eyes."

Emily stared at the screen, completely transfixed by the moment. Pavarotti moved back to the microphone. "What's he saying?" Emily urgently asked.

"Depart, oh night! . . . Set you stars! . . . At dawn, I shall win! . . . I shall win!"

Pavarotti sang out the final dramatic words, his face etched with frightening pa.s.sion. "Vincero! . . . Vincero!" Jane's eyes welled with tears as the audience let out a thundering ovation. "I shall win," she whispered to herself.

Emily finally drifted off to sleep and Jane carried the sleeping child to her bed. But the niggling disquiet inside Jane's mind kept her awake long into the early morning hours. Nothing but test patterns filled the TV screen and she had a throbbing headache from going over the case files. She lit a cigarette and paced between the kitchen and living room, checking the locks on the doors with an obsessive fervor. Jane took another hard drag. Paranoia. Chris' mantra echoed, "Just because people call you paranoid does not erase the fact that certain other people aren't out to get you!" She was beginning to see the truth of that statement.

She looked across the living room to the old radio console. It was late enough, she told herself as she walked over and turned on the dial. Sure, it was a long shot but Jane spun the dial across the waves of static in search of Tony Mooney's soothing voice.

"Welcome back . . ."

Jane couldn't believe she found the show and pinched herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming again. She twisted the k.n.o.b to get the best possible reception. Even so, it was like listening to someone talk amidst a sand-storm.

"h.e.l.lo again to all you denizens of the predawn madness," Mooney said in his characteristic cadence, albeit buried beneath a blanket of poor reception. Jane settled down on the carpet and pressed her ear to the speaker. Mooney's voice briefly broke through the incessant whirring and static. "In honor of the upcoming Independence Day celebration, we're continuing our discussion tonight on that elusive thing we all crave . . . freedom. Ah, sweet freedom. What really is freedom? They write anthems to it in notes no one can sing. They tease us with the notion as religion, politics and society chain us to the status quo. So where does freedom really live, my friends? Does it lie outside ourselves or is it born from within?" Mooney's voice faded into a cloud of dissonance, reemerging only briefly. "The reality, my friends, is that most do not taste freedom until the moment of death. But it is the fortunate who can savor the sweetness of true freedom while living." His baritone voice gradually drowned in a wave of static, "Are you free? Or are you waiting for death to give you wings?"

Jane stared at the radio as her blood turned cold.

"Wake up!" Emily said excitedly, poking Jane in the chest.