The Tower

Chapter 24

Jade pressed on the accelerator and gunned his car to eighty-five. He swerved between lanes, cutting in and out to pass cars going the speed limit.

Joe Henderson blared from the speakers, and Jade tapped the wheel enthusiastically as he sped along, occasionally adjusting the treble and bass dials. His fingers stole to the line on his left cheek and ran gently over it.

After driving south on 280, Jade cut over to Highway 17 and exited at the Alameda. As he drove through back streets, he checked the directions that were lodged in his ashtray. He was looking for 624 Pepper Lane.

Through his windshield, Jade saw a small one-story house that looked comfortable, if slightly decrepit. A white knee-high fence ran along the front of the yard, blocking off the spotted brown grass from the street. A little gate stood open at the head of the walkway. It hung at an angle, clumsily but warmly inviting visitors.

Suspended from a large maple in the front yard was a rope swing. Jade could imagine Allander as a child swinging from the tree, kicking his legs up toward the summer sun, the smell of lemonade and mown grass in the air.

Jade adjusted his rearview mirror and noticed the dark Cadillac parked behind some bushes at the corner of the street. He opened his door, swinging his legs from the car. Admiring the sunflowers growing from the brown planter boxes, he walked along the sidewalk up to the gate. Decent place, he thought. A little midwestern, but decent.

Above the doorbell a small placard proclaimed, "Our House." A welcome mat showed a gaggle of geese in a pond.

He stepped up to the door.

The coolness of the white beauty mask calmed Allander. He saw the flashing red lights ahead and slowed the Mercedes to a halt before maneuvering it into the lineup of cars.

A young policeman with a mustache was peering intently into each car before clearing it with a thumbs-up. They always have a mustache, Allander thought.

He heard the officer shouting above the noise of traffic up ahead. "Yes, ma'am. No problem, ma'am. We're just on the lookout for somebody. No, you shouldn't be concerned."

Allander's eyes peered out from behind the beauty mask and he counted the cars in the line in front of him. There were four. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

Allander wore a white terry-cloth bathrobe over a long nightgown that ran up to his chin. He had stacked two sets of shoulder pads and taped them to his chest to make an outline of breasts beneath the folds of cloth. He wore thin leather gloves to conceal the wound on his finger, and the white beauty mask over his face had hardened slightly. His hair was tightly curled in rollers.

He rolled down his window as he approached the young officer, and switched the radio to a soft oldies station. Smokey Robinson's voice wailed through the speakers singing "The Tears of a Clown." Allander hummed along.

The officer peered in and pressed his lips together to avoid smiling at the ridiculous outfit the woman was wearing. Allander smiled amiably at him.

"Go ahead, lady," the officer said, his voice hinting at both disgust and amusement. He waved the Mercedes through with his baton, shaking his head as Allander sped away on the open highway.

The young officer's walkie-talkie squawked, and he picked it up. "Yeah. All clear so far. I will, I will."