Secret Prey

TWENTY-TWO

SHERRILL HAD BROUGHT WITH HER A VOTIVE CANDLE scented faintly with vanilla, and a crystal candleholder, and their second night together took on the feel of college days, making love in the yellow flickering candlelight. And Sherrill said, as they lay comfortably warm under a sheet, Do you think you could go for somebody like Candy La-Chaise? Sherrill had put four. 357 slugs through Candy LaChaises chest during an abortive holdup at a credit union.

I dont think so, Lucas said. He was lying on his back, hands behind his head. I think shed smell pretty bad by now.

Sherrill made a quick move toward his groin and he flinched and said, Dont do that, I almost killed you with my karate reflexes.

And she said, Yeah, right. Answer the question.

He didnt have to think about it: Nope. She was pretty, but she was missing a couple of links. You know those kinds of peoplebasically, theyre a little stupid. Maybe they dont get bad grades in school, or maybe they even get good grades, but somewhere, down at the bottom, theyre fuckin morons. They dont connect with the world.

You remember Johnny Portland?

Yeah. Asshole.

She got up on one elbow, looking down at him. I went out with him a couple of times.

Lucas turned his head to look at her: Jesus. Did he know you were a cop?

I wasnt. This was like my sophomore year in college, I met him at this Springsteen concert. He liked younger girls, I was like twenty; he picked me up at my moms house in a Rolls-Royce.

That will turn a girls head, Lucas said.

He never touched me. I wasnt gonna sleep with him anyway, he was too old for me, but he never made a move. I thought maybe, you know, he couldnt.

There were some stories around that he sorta liked wrestling with guys…

That occurred to me tooyou know, not like I was Miss Queen of the May and everybodys drooling over me, but he was showing me off to the guys, like, Look what I got. But he never seemed much interested in really getting me. Just showing.

Yeah… Listen, dont tell anyone else you went out with John Portland. Hewasan asshole.

I think he mightve been missing a couple links too, she said. And all these other missing-linkers would come around, acting like they were Robert De Niro or something, like wise guys, but they were really like bartenders and tire salesmen.

De Niros old man was a famous artist and De Niro grew up with the intellectual artsy crowd on the East Coast, Lucas said. Somebody told me that.

Really? He seems pretty real to me. Like he grew up on the streets, and I thought

The phone rang, and Lucas rolled out of bed.

Every goddamned time, she said, eyes following him. Youcouldskip it.

Not when they call at this time of night, he said. Back in a sec. Lucas picked up the phone in the den: Yeah?

SHE HEARD HIM POUNDING DOWN THE HALL; IT might have been funny if she hadnt heard him virtually screaming at the telephone. Lucas thundered into the bedroom, found Sherrill pulling up her underpants, snapping on her bra.

My pants… He seemed confused.

On the floor, by the foot of the bed.

My friend Elle…

I heard. Shes hurt and youve gotta go, she said. She rocked back on the bed to pull her jeans on. Ill drive.

Bullshit, you will, Lucas said.

I dont think youll be in any shape she protested, but Lucas cut her off.

Im fuckin driving, he snapped. Shoes?

I think one of them is under the bed, I think I kicked one under. ..

She was one garment ahead of him, stepping into her Nikes, collecting her revolver and purse from beside the nightstand, heading for the door. Lucas was ten seconds behind, out through the kitchen, into the garage, into the Porsche, slipping out under the garage door before it was fully up.

Flasher, she said, as they hit the street.

Busted, Lucas said.

Better go over to Cretin then, its better lit and youll hit some college kid if you run like this on Mississippi.

Lucas grunted, downshifted and slid through a corner, punched the car two blocks down to Cretin, ignored the stop sign and cut across the street in front of a small Chevy van and gunned it again; Sherrill braced herself and asked, How bad is she?

Shes bad, Lucas said.

Take her to Ramsey?

Yeah.

They notify Minneapolis?

That was one of the nuns at the Residence calling, another friend. They clipped the red light at Grand Avenue, barely beat the red at Summit, came up behind a line of cars, and Lucas threw the Porsche into the oncoming lane, whipped by a half-dozen vehicles. She was just calling because she knew Id want to know.

Better call Sloan or Del, she said, digging a cell phone out of her purse. This is the second run at you. Until we figure out whats going on, the rest of the guys ought to know.

Lucas risked a glance at her: she was sitting comfortably in the passenger seat, one hand forward to brace herself, the other hand working the cell phone. She was calm and composed, maybe a slight pink flush to her face. He looked to the front again, ran the red light at Randolph, burned past the golf course, and dove down the ramp onto