Alarums. Part 22

'I've written about this kind of stuff. I had to do some research.'

'I just can't believe he would use his own car,' Melanie said.

'There must be a thousand Porsches in LA. At least. He slaps some stolen plates on his Porsche before he goes after Dad, and he's home free as long as he doesn't take it in for repairs. He's got the Mercedes. He can leave the Porsche in his garage for a few weeks, then maybe get it repaired out of state. Turn here, Bodie, then take the first left.'

He slowed, steered around the corner, saw the intersection a short distance ahead, and flicked the arm of his turn signal.

'It'll be the third house on the right,' Pen said. 'What'll we do,' Bodie asked, 'drop in and ask to see his Porsche?'

'Just go by, for starters. Don't even slow down.'

Even as he made the turn, he spotted Harrison 's gray Mercedes parked in the driveway of the third house. 'd.a.m.n it,' Melanie muttered.

'Too bad he's not at ma.s.s with Joyce,' Bodie said.

Harrison 's home, unlike those of his neighbors, was a single-story ranch house. It looked more modern than the others. Red brick, a red tile roof, white trim. In front of the Mercedes stood a wrought-iron gate.

Pen's head blocked Bodie's view as she strained forward between the seats to look out Melanie's window. When she settled back, they were beyond the house.

'The Porsche must be in his garage,' she said.

'So what'll we do?' Bodie asked.

'We can't do anything while he's there.'

'Why don't we get some breakfast?'

'All right.'

He stopped at the corner, waited for a Mustang to go by, then drove through the intersection and saw, parked at the curb, a black Lincoln Continental. His heart gave a kick.

'My G.o.d,' Melanie gasped.

Bodie hit the brakes.

Pen leaned forward again. 'It's Dad's, all right.'

'Are you sure?'

'That pipe holder on the dash? I gave it to him for Christmas a few years ago.'

Bodie shook his head. 'Guess who's not at ma.s.s.'

'That miserable b.i.t.c.h,' Pen muttered. 'She really is making it witha oh, man. Oh, that dirtya'

'I knew it all along.' Melanie sounded proud of herself.

'G.o.d, if Dad ever found out he'd die. How could she do something like this!' Pen dropped backward out of sight. 'I want to go home,' she said in a small voice.

Bodie started his van moving again.

'Not to her home.' She sniffed. 'I never want to see her again.'

Melanie grinned.

'Your apartment?' Bodie asked.

'Please.'

'What about the caller?'

'Who cares?'

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

Bodie insisted on escorting Pen up to her apartment. Melanie stayed with them. This time, no note had been left under the door.

'Are you sure you'll be all right here?' Bodie asked.

'I just need to be alone.'

'I don't know why you're so upset all of a sudden,' Melanie said. 'I thought you already believed they were s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g around. All that happened is that we confirmed it.'

'Yeah, we confirmed it. I'll see you guys later, okay? Could you do me a real favor and bring my stuff over sometime? I really don't want to go back there unless I have to.'

'Sure, we'll do that,' Bodie said. 'Maybe you should reconnect one of your phones in case we need to get in touch about something.'

She nodded.

Then they were gone.

Pen sat on her sofa, propped her elbows on her knees, and rested her chin on her hands. She stared at the wall.

h.e.l.l no, she hadn't believed that Joyce was making it with Harrison. She'd suspected it, of course, but she hadn't believed. It was too d.a.m.ned outrageous.

Probably in Harrison 's bed right now, this instant, f.u.c.king. And Dad in the hospital, barely alive.

And yeah they did it yesterday, too. Right from the hospital to Dad's home and f.u.c.ked in Dad's bed.

What kind of sc.u.m is she?

The kind of sc.u.m, maybe, who would try to kill Dad. Why not? A piece of s.h.i.+t like that doesn't have any conscience.

How about Harrison?

Yeah, how about him.

Dad trusted him, treated him like a son, thought I'd lost my mind when I refused to see the guy any more, probably had our wedding all planned in his head and was looking forward to the grandchildren. I d.a.m.n near wept at the pitiful look on his face. 'You two are so perfect for each other.' Right, Dad, but he's a shallow egocentric s.a.d.i.s.tic sleaze. Only I couldn't hurt you by telling on him. Big mistake.

Hey, Dad, this apple of your eye Harrison raped me. What do you think about that? He wasn't any too gentle about it, either. Want to see the bruises, the teeth-marks?

Trembling, Pen leaned back against the cus.h.i.+ons of the sofa. She hugged a corduroy-covered pillow to her chest.

She'd been a fool to let him take her to his home that night.

But they'd had dinner at Scandia where he'd been charming and amusing and they had shared two bottles of cabernet sauvignon after the margaritas. She was feeling no pain by the time they left.

'What're we doing here?' she asked when she found his car stopped in the driveway of his house.

'The Maltese Falcon. Starts in five minutes. You want to watch it, don't you?'

'We're gonna watch TV?'

'Have some coffee, sober up, drive you home after.'

Her mind whispered a warning, but she ignored it. They went inside. She sat on the couch. Harrison took off his jacket and necktie, and turned on the television. He went into the kitchen to make coffee. When he returned, he sat beside her. He held her hand, but that was all right.

He went away during the first commercial and came back with mugs of coffee.

'I bet you didn't know I was a private eye. A regular Sam Spade.'

'You were a private eye?'

'Bet you didn't know that.'

'Bet I don't believe it.'

He went away. Pen drank some coffee. He came back with a shoe box and sat beside her, the box on his lap. He lifted out a holstered revolver. 'My snub-nose.38,' he said.

Here we are, drunk, and he's got a gun in his hand. 'Let's see,' she said. He handed it to her. She removed it from the holster and turned the barrel toward her face.

'Hey, watch out.'

The bullet heads were visible inside the cylinder holes. 'Christ, it's loaded.'

'Of course.'

She put it on the coffee table at their knees. 'Ever shoot someone?'

'No, but I had to draw it a couple times. The firm I worked for did some security work.'

'Must've been exciting.'

'At first. It got boring fast. What was exciting was the repos.'

He took a leather wallet from the box and handed it to her. She opened it. Inside was a silver badge engraved, 'Special Agent'. The card holder showed his ID indicating that he was an agent of Robert Abrams Private Investigations, Inc. 'Amazing,' Pen said. 'You really were a private eye.'

'For two years while I was in law school. I needed the money and I figured it'd be good experience. Get a load of these babies.' He lifted a pair of handcuffs out of the box.

'Ever use these?'

'Sure. I made a couple of arrests. Show you how it's done?'

'I don't know.'

'Hey, you wanta be a writer, don't you? You gotta know this stuff. Here, stand up.'

'What are you gonna do?'

'You're a suspect. I just got the drop on you.' He stood, aiming his index finger at her, stuffing the cuffs into his pocket. 'On your feet.'

Laughing, Pen stood.

'Over to the wall.'

She b.u.mped the lamp table, grabbed the base of the shaking lamp until it stopped wobbling, then stepped to the wall. 'This is just an excuse to frisk me,' she said.

'Hands against the wall.'

She raised them overhead, pressed them to the paneling.

Harrison poked her side. 'Don't try any funny stuff.'

'That what you said really?'

'I think I said, "Move and yer dead meat." '

'That's even worse.'

One of his feet hooked around Pen's right ankle and jerked her foot backward. He did the same to her other foot. Without the wall's support, she would've fallen on her face.

'Now I've got you immobilized,' Harrison said. 'You need both hands to hold you up.'

'True.'

He stuck his finger against her back and began to pat her down using his left hand.

Here it comes, she thought. 'Don't get carried away, huh?'

'Gotta make sure you ain't packin'.'