Tyrone didn’t wait any longer. Pressing one hand against the wall, he started moving down the alley, heading away. He had no way of knowing how long his pursuer would be incapacitated; it was best not to take any chances. He had to use this opportunity to put as much distance between them as possible.
After he had crossed a few alleyways, he broke into a light jog. It felt good—the rhythm of his arms and feet, the feeling that he was going somewhere. That he had finally left that walking, talking nightmare behind. That he might live to scam again.
Finally, more than half a mile from the pit, he stopped. He ran into a one-way alley and crouched down in a corner—crouched like a baby. It was a dead end; there was no way out but the way he’d come in. But that didn’t matter now. He was safe. He’d left that bogeyman far behind.
He wrapped his arms around his knees, hugging himself tightly. He had been so scared, so so scared. Running through those dark corridors, he’d thought he’d finally gotten himself into a situation he couldn’t talk his way out of. That he was finally going to have to face up to his own life, his own bullshit. That he was going to end up dead in some dark alley, just like his father had said he would.
What a relief. He smiled, stretching his legs out, massaging the aching joints. That had been pretty clever, remembering the pit, luring that sorry sack of shit over there. He couldn’t help patting himself on the back. He might not be the toughest dude in town, but he was definitely one of the smartest. That’s what had saved him before. That’s what had saved him again.
He was still sitting there congratulating himself when he heard the soft crunch of gravel at the end of the alley that told him that he was not alone.
As the icy grip of panic clamped down on his spine, he realized that this time, there was absolutely nowhere he could run, nowhere he could hide.
Three
Murder and All that Jazz
Chapter 33
Ben awoke hearing voices.
He sat bolt upright. He’d been deep inside a nightmare, and not the usual one about showing up for court in his underwear, either. He was running through a seemingly endless maze, except the more he ran, the more it became clear that the maze was actually Rockwood, and no matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t get away, couldn’t escape, and he knew that at any moment the man in the shadows would reach out and clench his steely fingers around Ben’s throat—
He shook his head back and forth, trying to clear the cobwebs. Cool off, he told himself. It was just a dream. This time, anyway.
But he still heard voices. They were coming from outside his bedroom.
He pulled himself out of bed, every inch of his body aching, not to mention his nose. The folks at the emergency room had determined that it wasn’t actually broken, but it was ripped and battered just the same. They’d put a thick bandage over it, which, Ben noted, did nothing to prevent it from hurting.
Tiptoeing quietly across the creaky wood-paneled floor, he cracked open the bedroom door and poked his head out.
Mike and Christina were sitting on the sofa in his living room having a particularly animated discussion.
“Anything I can do for you two?”
They both stopped for a moment, then turned to face him.
“Oops,” Christina said. “Were we talking too loud?”
“Depends.” He ran his fingers through his matted hair. “Were you trying to wake me up?”
“Well, we hoped you’d get up eventually.”
“Then you weren’t too loud. Care to explain what you two are doing in my living room jabbering away at this hour of the morning?”
Mike leaned forward. “Ben, have you looked at a clock yet?”
“No. Should I?” Ben craned his neck till he could see the small digital job over his oven.
It was three-fifteen. In the P.M.
“Have I slept that long?” Ben asked.
“Hardly surprising,” Mike said, “after what you’ve been through.”
“Even so, I’ve got things to do today. Give me five.” Ben ducked back down the hallway and veered into the bathroom. He jumped in the shower, washed his hair, then went through the essential morning ablutions necessary to make himself halfway presentable. He had to dry gently; there was a visible red ring, sore and irritated, around his neck—the mark left by his near strangulation the night before. And he didn’t dare touch his nose.
He threw on some clothes and returned to the living room. Mike and Christina were still in deep conversation. Their voices had crept up several decibels. He had known Mike and Christina to disagree before, and since both of them were strong-willed individuals who went into every situation assuming they were always right, these disagreements could go on for days.
“Hey, guys, calm down,” he said, planting himself between them. “What’s the topic?”
“How to keep you from ending up dead and buried before you turn thirty-four,” Christina replied.
“Oh.”
Christina continued. “Mike here favors locking you up in the county jail on a charge of stupidity in the first degree. I myself think we should wrap you in a straightjacket and put you in an asylum—where you belong!”
“Oh, come on now.” Ben held up his hands. “Let’s not make too much of this.”
“Make too much of this!” Her face was red and flushed. “What did you think you were doing out there, playing peekaboo with a killer!”
Ben cleared his throat. “I guess Mike filled you in.”
“Damn right he did, you imbecile! Why do you think I’m here?”
Ben could feel the heat emanating from her. “I’m fine now. You two didn’t need to come.”
“Oh, right.” Mike leaned back, rolling his eyes. “You leave a message on my answering machine describing this elaborate attempted murder, followed by a hair-raising chase through the worst part of Tulsa, followed by calling 911 and joining the plainclothes officers on an all-night, utterly fruitless search of Rockwood. And I guess you thought after I heard your message I’d just erase it and go about my daily business.”
“I wanted you to know what happened. This proves that Earl isn’t the murderer.”
“Like hell.”
“It does! I saw the man.”
“Uh-huh. So who was it?”
“Well … I don’t know. But it wasn’t Earl.”
“Did you see his face?”
Ben bit down on his lower lip. “Not clearly, no.”
“So it could’ve been anyone.”
“But I heard his voice. And it wasn’t Earl’s. I don’t think it was anyone I know.”
“Unless it was someone disguising his voice. Some people are pretty good at that, you know.”
Ben knew, all right. Jones, for one. “True … but—”
“And if the killer was disguising his voice, it could’ve been anyone. Hell, it might have been a woman!”
“Are you saying you think Earl was trying to kill me last night?”
“I’m saying the fact that someone else was trying to kill you, when you were stupid enough to drop by Rockwood and get out of your car in the middle of the night, doesn’t prove Earl didn’t kill Lily Campbell.”
“I’ll testify.”
“Oh. So Chief Blackwell is supposed to announce that Earl Bonner is no longer the lead suspect, based on testimony from Earl Bonner’s lawyer. That’ll play well on the six o’clock news.”
“Mike—”
“Face it, Ben. Blackwell’s had a grudge against you since that Kindergarten Killer mess. He doesn’t trust you. He thinks you probably invented the whole story just to throw us off your client.”
Ben fell silent. There was no point in arguing. And he had something more pressing on his mind. “Any word on Tyrone?”
Mike glanced toward Christina, then glanced back. “No. We haven’t been able to find the slightest trace of him. We’ve checked the club, his apartment, all his known hangouts. And I’ve still got men crawling over Rockwood. But we haven’t found him.”