Santa Fe Edge

39

Cupie came back from town to Vittorio’s house with some groceries and liquor, and found his host watching a soap opera on television.

Vittorio quickly turned off the TV. Cupie settled into a chair and passed him the Los Angeles Times he had bought in Santa Fe. “Read the article.”

Vittorio read.

“Barbara was burning her bridges,” Cupie said. “Smart girl.”

“Isn’t she something?” Vittorio tossed back the newspaper. “So, she’s headed here, right?”

“Right. And we don’t have to worry about Eagle as long as he’s under guard in the hospital.”

“You forget that he was under guard when he got his throat cut,” Vittorio pointed out. “And you and I were the guard.”

“Just a slipup,” Cupie said. “Anybody can make a mistake.”

“A mistake that got Eagle cut and me shot. You think that the SFPD is smarter than we are?”

“Look, as long as he’s in a hospital room with a guard on the door, he’s fine,” Cupie said. “There’s only one way into the room, remember? Watch your soap opera.” Cupie turned on the TV.

“What soap opera?”

“Has Craig found out yet that Jonathan is the father of Alexandra’s baby?” Cupie asked.

“Not yet,” Vittorio replied.

BARBARA SPENT THE DAY reading magazines in her room, then at dusk she drove up to Santa Fe. She remembered a suite hotel that catered to traveling salesmen, and it was not far from the hospital. She phoned ahead and booked a suite.

Once in the city she went first to the hospital and had a good look at it. There were two entrances, one for the emergency room and a main entrance. She parked outside and soaked it all in. As she sat there a uniformed policeman came through the door to the main entrance, buttoning his coat against the cold. He stood outside the door and lit a cigarette. He was no more than thirty yards from her, and she got a good, long look at him: maybe fifty, once muscular and athletic, now with a gut and jowls and a complexion that indicated a large and regular use of alcohol. She couldn’t read his name tag from where she sat, but she would remember that face and build.

She drove to her hotel, checked in and began going over things in her mind. She called the hospital on her cell phone.

“How may I direct your call?”

“This is Crystal Florists,” Barbara said. “We have a delivery. Is Mr. Ed Eagle still in room 304?”

“No, he’s in 106,” the operator said. “Shall I connect you?”

“No, thanks. I don’t need to speak to him.”

“Just deliver your flowers to the ground-floor nurses’ station,” the operator said. “One of the nurses will see that the patient gets them.”

“Thanks. Good night,” Barbara said. She hung up. A good first step.

TIP HANKS LEFT FOR his golf tournament and would be gone for five days, and Dolly, having become accustomed to regular sex, got out of the house. She drove up Canyon Road to Geronimo, where she had met with Ellie Keeler, and took a seat at the bar. “A margarita, please, straight up with salt,” she said to the bartender. Half a minute later the drink materialized, and she closed her eyes and took her first, very welcome, sip. “Aaaaah,” she breathed.

“I’m going to feel exactly the same way in just a minute,” a male voice said beside her. “One for me, too,” he said to the bartender, and it was done.

Dolly turned her head and got a first look at her companion in tequila: tall, athletic-looking, sandy hair, a little on the short side, early thirties.

“Aaaaah,” he said, having taken his first sip.

Dolly laughed. “What did your day hold that made you need a drink?”

“Sunset,” Todd responded. “I’m on vacation. I don’t need a better excuse.”

“What are you on vacation from?” she asked.

“Would you believe me if I told you I’m a CIA agent?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“Then don’t ask.” He smiled and stuck out a hand. “I’m Todd Bacon.”

She took the hand, which was large and warm. “I’m Dolly Parks. Where are you on vacation from?”

He thought about that. “I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“You don’t know where you’re from?”

“Well, until very recently I lived in Panama, but I was recalled, and as yet, I’m unassigned.”

“Where would you like to be reassigned?”

“Here, I think. Santa Fe is a wonderful place.”

“Then why don’t you get your company to transfer you here?”

“I’m afraid my company doesn’t do business here.”

“Then change jobs.”

“I’m afraid there is very little demand for ex-CIA agents in Santa Fe.”

“That’s your story, and you’re sticking to it, huh?”

“That’s my story. Where do you hail from?”

“Oh, I’m a midwesterner, but I’ve lived in Santa Fe for a few months now.”

“Think you’ll make it permanent?”

“As wonderful as it is, I doubt it. I’m not very good at putting down roots.”

“That’s funny,” he said. “Neither am I.”

“Think you’ll ever improve?” she asked.

“Probably not,” he replied. “It wouldn’t do my career any good.”

“How’s your career going?”

“Extremely well,” he said. “Even better than I’d hoped. What do you do?”

“Oh, I’m a sort of general, all-around factotum for a golf pro.”

“Which one?”

“Tip Hanks.”

“Oh, sure. I see him play on TV now and then. He lives in Santa Fe?”

“He does, but he left today to play this weekend in California.”

“And left you all alone?”

“Sad, isn’t it?”

“Then I think you should have dinner with me,” Todd said.

A woman’s voice came from behind him. “Well, hello, Dolly, to coin a phrase.”

Todd and Dolly both turned to look. Todd saw a very attractive woman, older, maybe early forties.

“Ellie!” Dolly said. “Where have you been?”

“I had to go back to San Francisco to take care of some business,” Barbara replied. “Can I buy you two a drink?”

“Hi, I’m Todd,” he said, extending a hand. “I had just asked Dolly to join me for dinner. Why don’t you join us both?”

“Love to,” Barbara replied. “If that’s okay with you, Dolly.”

“Of course it is,” Dolly replied.

“Bartender,” Todd said, “do you think you could find us a table for three?”

Dolly thought the odds of a very good evening had improved by a factor of three.