No Man's Land

41

ROGERS FACED THE man who had requested his exit from the van.

“Can I see some ID?”

Rogers shook his head. “Not unless you’re cops.”

The man tapped his finger against the barrel of his MP5. “How did you end up with Ms. Davis?”

Rogers managed a smile as the men closed ranks around him. “I drove the lady home at the request of Josh Quentin. You can call him and check. He’ll vouch for me. The name is Paul.”

The man said, “Who are you?”

“I just told you. Paul.”

“Paul what?”

“I’m the bouncer at the Grunt. Mr. Quentin and Ms. Davis were there last night. Ms. Davis became…ill. Mr. Quentin had to leave and he asked me to drive her home. And I did. Safe and sound.”

“The Grunt closes at two. It’s a two-hour drive from there to here. It’s eight o’clock in the morning. What happened to the other four hours?”

“We didn’t leave right at two. She was still indisposed. We left around four. And we stopped for breakfast at the IHOP, at her request. We took our time. She seemed to be in no rush. And I’d worked all night. I was tired, so I wasn’t trying to break any land speed records.”

He pointed toward the door Davis had entered. “Just ask her if you don’t believe me.”

“What’s going on?”

They all turned to see Davis’s head poking out of what Rogers knew was her bedroom window.

The security man looked up. “Just checking to make sure everything is all right, Ms. Davis.”

“Everything is all right. He drove me home. I wasn’t feeling well. Okay? He works at the Grunt.”

“Yes ma’am. Thank you, that’s all we needed to know.”

The man turned back to Rogers. “Well, thank you for getting her home safely,” he said smoothly, his demeanor now friendly, though Rogers saw his finger flick toward the round selector of his MP, so his friendliness was purely for Davis’s benefit and the flick was for his benefit.

“You’re very welcome,” Rogers said. “I’ll be heading on now. I could use some sleep.”

Davis called down from the window, “Paul, you can crash here for a few hours. It’s probably not safe for you to drive right now.” She added with an impish smile, “You must be exhausted after our little detour.”

Rogers glanced at the security man and could read his expression clearly.

She slept with you?

Yeah, I can’t believe it either, thought Rogers.

“You know, Ms. Davis, that’s actually a good idea. Just a couch or something will be fine.”

“I’ll have them make up a room for you. We have enough of them. And you’ll be back in plenty of time for work.”

The room he was given was right next to hers on the third floor. As he closed the bedroom door behind him he wondered again how everyone here could appear so normal when the owner of the place had just died. He lay on the bed but did not close his eyes. Finally, his eyelids did flutter as the breeze from outside swept in and embraced him.

He had seen that as he had grown older, his stamina, while still Herculean by most standards, was not what it used to be.

He awoke with a jolt and immediately checked his watch. Four hours had passed. The sun was high overhead.

He heard movement in the room next door and then the shower started to run. He imagined Davis naked with the water streaming over her.

He looked out the window that faced the beach. From up here he could see over the walls, down to the sand.

And Rogers was hard pressed to not cry out at what he was seeing.

A team of security was leading the old man, who rode in the same cart, out onto the sand. The only difference was, Davis was not with him. He got out of the cart and was helped to a chair that was set up for him on the sand.

The bodyguards formed a ring around him, their faces pointed outward.

Rogers looked down at his hands.

Who the hell had he been holding?

Who the hell had he been talking to?

Who the fuck had he thrown out the window?

He didn’t hear the water stop next door.

Or hear a hair dryer start up.

He just sat in the chair and stared out the window at a man who should by all rights be dead.

He did hear the knock on the door a few minutes later.

He turned toward it as the door opened.

Davis stood there dressed in white capri pants, sandals, a pale blue striped shirt, and a wide-brimmed sun hat. A pair of sunglasses dangled from her fingers.

“I’m heading down to the beach. You want to come?”

“I have to get back. It’s getting late.”

“When can I see you again?”

He stood. “Look, I’m old and you’re young. I’m poor and you’re not. You can have any guy you want. Rich, handsome ones like Mr. Quentin.”

“I’m not looking to marry you, Paul. I just want to know when we can hook up again.”

“I work tonight. You planning to come to the bar?”

“I wasn’t. But I am now.”

“Okay, I’ll see you then. If you’re in the VIP room I can’t go in there. Only Mr. Quentin’s guests can.”

“Stop calling him Mr. Quentin. You make him sound far more important than he is.”

“Well, he’s a very important client of the Grunt.”

“Whatever. I’ll see you tonight.”

Rogers pointed out the window. “I see a man on the beach with a bunch of guards. Is that where you’re going?”

She nodded.

“Is that the person who adopted you?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” she said, but in a humorous tone. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Okay, sounds good.”

“Thanks for breakfast. And the rest,” she added, flicking a smile at him.

She left and he watched a few minutes later as she walked out to the beach and joined the old man.

Rogers drove back to Hampton more confused than he’d ever been.