had a new item to add to my list of turn- ons . Goose bumps.
She withdrew her arms.
"You weren't kidding ." I was wearing a windbreaker and a long-sleeved shirt. It was time for gallantry.
I stood up, took my jacket off, slid it around her shoulders. It covered up the small .38 she wore hooked to the side of her jeans. "That's very sweet. Thank you."
I sat down. "So tell me what you came here to tell me."
"I told you about him losing his license ."
"Yeah, but you wouldn't drive over here for that ."
She laughed. "I thought it was Tandy who read minds. But it's you." More coffee. "Boy, that feels good going down." Then, "The DA there was prepared twice to bring charges against him for extortion."
"Blackmail?"
"Exactly."
"And the charges were dropped?"
"At the last minute, both people asked that the matter be tabled."
"You learn why?"
"Nope. But presumably they decided it wasn't worth dragging their secrets through court."
"So now we have to figure out why he was here."
She nodded. "You don't have any ideas, I suppose?"
"No, afraid I don't."
"Your friends are from Chicago and he was from Chicago."
"Last time I looked, Chicago was only about four and a half hours right down the interstate. I drive in there at least once a month. So do a lot of people."
"True enough. But the river doesn't flow that often in the opposite direction. Not many Chicago people come here. I mean, we have some nice skyscrapers and a big new airport and a lot of Picasso statuary not too far away, but somehow we still don't get many Chicagoites out here."
"'ans.'"
"Pardon?"
"Chicago ans . Not Chicago ites ."
"And there's a fifty-fifty that the Wests and Kibbe being out here at the same time was a coincidence."
She made a smirk of her lovely lips. "You really believe that?"
"Pretty much."
"That would be some coincidence."
"More coffee?"
"No, thanks. I need to get back and see how things are going."
"If there's anything I can do."
"I know. You'll be glad to help. Here's your jacket back, Robert." She stopped by a few tables before she left. In small towns, police chiefs are celebrities subject to election. They learn to work a room the way politicians do.
I finished my coffee slowly, staring out the window at the cars streaming past in the night. A kind of lonesomeness came over me then. It didn't tie to anyone or anywhere—no special person or place I missed—and it was certainly a familiar feeling so it didn't startle or scare me. It was a late-night train-whistle loneliness; a sad-barking-dog-at-midnight loneliness; a hobo loneliness that I had first found in the books of Jack London way back in grade school. I used to think this marked me as special, but the older I get I know it's something we all feel sometimes, that sense of melancholy and dislocation we can't explain but can only endure, that inexplicable ache that lets you know you really do have a soul after all, despite what the skeptics say, because the pain is spiritual and not merely mental. The closest approximations are the paintings of Edward Hopper, those lonesome faceless souls in those lonesome midnight cafes in those mysterious Midwestern midnight towns of his.
I walked back to the motel.
I was given another room—this time on the second floor. I didn't see Tandy or Laura or Noah Chandler. I went up and tried to watch some TV. The Cedar Rapids stations used Kibbe's death as the lead. Murder, as it should be, is still a big thing out here.
Letterman came on. There was a young actress I fell in love with before the first break. She reminded me of my wife was why. A quiet elegance, and yet a certain quiet smart-ass quality, too. Playful, in a kitten-soft sort of way.
I turned the lights off, stripped out of my clothes, and crawled into bed. The semis moved through the night like dinosaurs. I wondered where they were going. I'd always wanted to drive one of those big rigs. Places with names like Cheyenne and Red Rock and Yuma had sounded exciting as
She withdrew her arms.
"You weren't kidding ." I was wearing a windbreaker and a long-sleeved shirt. It was time for gallantry.
I stood up, took my jacket off, slid it around her shoulders. It covered up the small .38 she wore hooked to the side of her jeans. "That's very sweet. Thank you."
I sat down. "So tell me what you came here to tell me."
"I told you about him losing his license ."
"Yeah, but you wouldn't drive over here for that ."
She laughed. "I thought it was Tandy who read minds. But it's you." More coffee. "Boy, that feels good going down." Then, "The DA there was prepared twice to bring charges against him for extortion."
"Blackmail?"
"Exactly."
"And the charges were dropped?"
"At the last minute, both people asked that the matter be tabled."
"You learn why?"
"Nope. But presumably they decided it wasn't worth dragging their secrets through court."
"So now we have to figure out why he was here."
She nodded. "You don't have any ideas, I suppose?"
"No, afraid I don't."
"Your friends are from Chicago and he was from Chicago."
"Last time I looked, Chicago was only about four and a half hours right down the interstate. I drive in there at least once a month. So do a lot of people."
"True enough. But the river doesn't flow that often in the opposite direction. Not many Chicago people come here. I mean, we have some nice skyscrapers and a big new airport and a lot of Picasso statuary not too far away, but somehow we still don't get many Chicagoites out here."
"'ans.'"
"Pardon?"
"Chicago ans . Not Chicago ites ."
"And there's a fifty-fifty that the Wests and Kibbe being out here at the same time was a coincidence."
She made a smirk of her lovely lips. "You really believe that?"
"Pretty much."
"That would be some coincidence."
"More coffee?"
"No, thanks. I need to get back and see how things are going."
"If there's anything I can do."
"I know. You'll be glad to help. Here's your jacket back, Robert." She stopped by a few tables before she left. In small towns, police chiefs are celebrities subject to election. They learn to work a room the way politicians do.
I finished my coffee slowly, staring out the window at the cars streaming past in the night. A kind of lonesomeness came over me then. It didn't tie to anyone or anywhere—no special person or place I missed—and it was certainly a familiar feeling so it didn't startle or scare me. It was a late-night train-whistle loneliness; a sad-barking-dog-at-midnight loneliness; a hobo loneliness that I had first found in the books of Jack London way back in grade school. I used to think this marked me as special, but the older I get I know it's something we all feel sometimes, that sense of melancholy and dislocation we can't explain but can only endure, that inexplicable ache that lets you know you really do have a soul after all, despite what the skeptics say, because the pain is spiritual and not merely mental. The closest approximations are the paintings of Edward Hopper, those lonesome faceless souls in those lonesome midnight cafes in those mysterious Midwestern midnight towns of his.
I walked back to the motel.
I was given another room—this time on the second floor. I didn't see Tandy or Laura or Noah Chandler. I went up and tried to watch some TV. The Cedar Rapids stations used Kibbe's death as the lead. Murder, as it should be, is still a big thing out here.
Letterman came on. There was a young actress I fell in love with before the first break. She reminded me of my wife was why. A quiet elegance, and yet a certain quiet smart-ass quality, too. Playful, in a kitten-soft sort of way.
I turned the lights off, stripped out of my clothes, and crawled into bed. The semis moved through the night like dinosaurs. I wondered where they were going. I'd always wanted to drive one of those big rigs. Places with names like Cheyenne and Red Rock and Yuma had sounded exciting as
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