When he got to her she sprung.
It wasn't much of an assault. The only damage: Her shoulder caught him in the cheek, and he jerked back, blinking in surprise, as a tooth cut into his tongue or the flesh of his mouth. "Little shit!" he muttered. She pounded him with her hands, knotted into small fists. But he was resilient as hard rubber. And strong too. He just picked her up, stuffed her under his arm and carried her out into the living room.
She screamed and twisted and kicked.
Nestor was laughing hard. "Whoa, this one's a hell-cat." He dropped her into a wrought-iron butterfly chair. She kicked him in the thigh. Flinching, he said angrily, "Settle down."
"You son of a bitch!" She leapt out of the chair, making for Boggs. Nestor roared, "Settle down!" He grabbed her like a receiver snagging a sixty-yard bomb and tossed her into the chair again. She bounced once, the breath knocked out of her. She wiped at her tears. "You bastard." Looking into Randy Boggs's evasive eyes.
Boggs said to Nestor, "You got yourself wheels?"
"Sure do. Some kind of Hertz shit. But it'll do. Damn, you look good, for somebody who ain't seen but prison sunlight for three years."
Boggs said, "You look ugly as you ever did."
Nestor laughed and the men did a little good-natured sparring. Boggs landed a left hook on Nestor's chest and the fat man said, "You prick, you always were fast. You hit like a pussy but you're fast."
"You'll see a bruise the shape of my knuckles there, come morning."
Nestor looked around. "We gotta blow this joint."
"I'll vote for that."
Rune said to Boggs, "You did it? You really did it?"
Nestor was speaking to Boggs. "Let's take care of business and get on our way." He pulled the gun out of his waistband and glanced at Rune.
The smile left Boggs's face. "Whatcha aiming to do?"
Nestor shrugged. "Pretty clear, wouldn't you say? Don't see we have much choice."
Boggs was looking down, avoiding both their eyes. "Well, Jack, you know, I wouldn't be too happy, you did that."
Rune stared at the gun, afraid to look into Nestor's face. He seemed to be the sort who would kill you sooner if you looked him in the eye.
"Randy, we gotta. She knows everything."
"I know, but, hell, I wouldn't want that to happen. It just wouldn't be right, you know?"
"'Right'?"
Her hands were shaking. Sweat popped out on her forehead, and she felt a trickle run from under her arms to her waist.
Boggs said, "The thing is, she's got a kid. A little girl"
Nestor's face darkened. "A baby?"
"This little kid."
"In there?" Nestor looked at the storeroom. "I didn't see her."
"You can't do the kid, Jack. I won't let you do that."
Meaning it's okay if he shootsme! Rune began to cry more seriously. Nestor was saying, "I wouldn't do a kid anyway. You know me better than that, Randy. After all we've been through, I hope you do."
"And what's the kid going to do without a mother? She'd starve to death, or something."
"She's pretty young to be a mother."
From somewhere Rune found the voice to say, "Please, don't hurt her. If you… do anything to me, please call the police or somebody and tell them that she's here. Please."
Nestor was debating.
Boggs said, "I really gotta ask this one, Jack. I really gotta ask you to let her be."
Nestor sighed. He nodded and put the gun into his belt. "Shit, that's the way it is, that's the way it is. Okay. I'll do it for you, Randy. I don't think it's a good idea, I just want to go on the record and say that, but I owe you so I'll do it. But…" He walked to the chair and took Rune's face in his onion-scented fingers. "You listen up good. I know who you are and where you live. If you say anything to anybody about us I'll come back. I get to New York all the time. I'll come back and I'll kill you."
Rune nodded. She was crying – in pure fear, in pure relief.
And from the worst pain of all – betrayal.
Youbelieve him? Piper Sutton had asked Rune such a long time ago, as if she was talking to a chid. Youbelieve him when he says he's innocent?
Nestor said brutally, "You hear me?"
She couldn't speak. She nodded her head.
They used lamp cord and tied her into the chair and gagged her with an old wool scarf.
Boggs knelt down and tested the wires. He smiled shyly. "I suspect you're right upset and I don't blame you. You helped me out and I repay you this way. But sometimes in life you've gotta do things just for yourself. You know, for your own survival. I'm sorry it worked out this way but you saved my life. I'll always be thankful for that."
She wanted to sayFuck you! orGo to hell! orJudas! A thousand other things. But the gag was tight and, besides, no words could convey the undiluted anger she was feeling for this man. So she stared into his eyes, not blinking, not wavering a millimeter, forcing him to see how much hate welled up and overflowed between them. How she wished Prometheus was still chained to rock, being eaten by birds.
Boggs squinted for an instant. He swallowed and finally looked away.
"Lessgo, boy," Nestor called. "We got a date with the road."
Then they were gone.
Man, man, man, there's nothing like driving, Randy Boggs was thinking.
There's not a goddamn thing in the world like it.
The way the tires make that hissing sound on asphalt. The way the car dances over beat-up pavement. The way you know the road'11 always be there and that you can drive forever and never once cover the same spot twice, you don't want to.
The Ford Tempo, Jack Nestor driving, had left Jersey and Pennsylvania way behind and was cruising down the highway into Maryland. Heading south.
Motion is like smooth whisky. Motion, like a drug. Randy Boggs kept up his meditation.
And the best part of all – when you're driving, you're, a moving target. You're the safest you can ever be. Nothing can get you. Not bad love, not a job, not your kin, not the devil himself…
"Crabs," Nestor said. "Keep an eye out for a crab place."
They couldn't find any and instead got cheeseburgers at McDonald's, which Boggs preferred to crabs anyway and Nestor said was better for him because he was on a diet.
They drank beer out of tall Double-Arches waxed cups they'd emptied of soft drink. They drove the speed limit but at Boggs's request had rolled down all the windows; it seemed like they were racing at a hundred miles an hour.
Randy Boggs lowered the passenger seat and sat back, sucking the beer through a straw, and ate a double cheeseburger and thought again about freedom and moving and realized that was why prison had been so hard for him. That there are people who have to stay put and people who have to move and he was a mover.
These were thoughts he had and that he believed were true in some universal way. But they were thoughts that he didn't tell to Jack Nestor. Not that Jack was a stupid man. No, he'd probably understand but he was somebody Boggs didn't want to share much with.
"So," Jack Nestor asked, "how's it feel?"
"Feels good. Feels real good."
"How 'bout that little girl back there. She's a pistol. You get any?"
"Naw, wasn't that way."
"Didn't seem to have any tits to speak of."
"She was more like a friend, you know. Wish I could've leveled with her."
"Did what you had to though."
"I understand that. Couldn't've stayed Inside for any longer, Jack. I gave it my best. But I had to get out. Somebody was moving on me."
"Spades?"
"Nope. Was an asshole from, I don't know, Colombia or someplace. Venezuela. For some reason he didn't take to me. Got cut."
"Cut, huh?"
"Two weeks ago. Hardly hurts anymore."
"Yeah, I was cut once. I didn't like it. Better to get shot. Kind of more numb."
"Prefer to avoid either."
"That's a good way to thinks," Nestor offered. He was in a good mood. He was talking about restaurants down in Florida and fishing for tarpon and the quality of the pot they had down there and this Cuban woman with big tits and a tattoo somebody'd given her with his teeth and a Parker pen. Talking about the heat. About a house he was buying and how he had to live in a fucking hotel until the place was ready.