Thorpe stood. "I've got some business to take care of."
"At this hour?"
"They'll be awake. If not, I'll convince them that it's time."
"Anybody I know?"
"I don't think so." It was a lie, but Thorpe was comfortable with it. Bishop needed to be here-he understood that-but there was no way Thorpe was going to let the man put himself in jeopardy. He had planned on waiting a day or so to talk with Clark and Missy, but he was going to do it now. Right now. He couldn't take the chance of Arturo and Vlad dropping by. Bishop might have convinced himself he was ready to take them on, but Thorpe knew better. Thorpe had to defuse the situation with Clark and Missy. Bishop could stay here as long as he wanted, on guard for an attack that would never come. Whatever brought him closer to the man he wanted to be.
Bishop got out of the chair, hitched up his shorts. "My wife and kids are in Pennsylvania, living with her sister outside Pittsburgh. Her sister has a big house… They're not suffering. I… I've been thinking about paying them a visit. I got some money saved. What do you think?"
"I think that's a fine idea."
Bishop nodded, looked away. "I'm not quite ready yet, but I think about it. I was a lousy husband. I was a good father, but I was a lousy husband."
"People can change, Ray."
"That's what I tell myself… but I'm not so sure." Bishop looked up at Thorpe, fidgeting now. "How do you think I should go about it?"
"You don't need advice from me."
"The hell I don't," said Bishop. "Should I call first, or surprise them?" he said, whispering, as though someone else might hear. "Do I take flowers or gifts for the kids? I sent cards for every birthday and Christmas, but-"
Thorpe put a hand on Bishop's shoulder. "You don't have to call first, but don't go by the house. You don't want to put any pressure on her, and you don't want to upset the kids. Go to where she's working. Go there just before she gets off for the day and ask her to go have a cup of coffee or just walk and talk. You'll be nervous, but that's okay, because she'll be nervous, too."
"Not her," said Bishop. "That woman's a rock. I got no idea why she put up with me as long as she did."
"She knows why. All you have to do is allow her to remember." Thorpe lowered his voice. "Don't promise her the moon; she'll have heard that from you often enough. Tell her the truth, Ray. Tell her that you're making your way back and you know you've got a way to go, but that you love her. Tell her you love her. You can't say that too often. Tell her you love her and you thought about her and the kids the whole time you were apart, and ask her for another chance. Make sure she knows it's her choice and that you will understand if she's had enough. Tell her you love her. Tell her you've been wrong about everything in life but her. Then hope she says yes."
"You sound like a man who's had to beg a woman to take him back a few times."
"No, but I'm ready."
26
The Engineer pulled Gregor back into the shadows as Thorpe emerged from the back door of a house down the alley, the kitchen light illuminating him as he stood there saying his good-byes to some ugly bastard in Bermuda shorts.
"We can stop him," hissed Gregor.
The Engineer yanked on Gregor's earlobe, silencing him. They might be able to shoot Thorpe before he reached his car, but they couldn't surprise him, and the Engineer needed Thorpe alive and talking.
They had barely kept Thorpe's taillights in sight after leaving the Strand theater, staying well back, but had lost him as he entered Laguna Beach. For the last half hour, he and Gregor had been doing a grid search of the residential areas, cruising back and forth, searching for his car. Thorpe didn't live in Laguna-the Engineer knew that much. His wireless Internet connection was someplace in the Long Beach area, so Thorpe must have business in Laguna, the kind of a business that permitted a drop-in visit at 3:00 a.m. Love business maybe. The Engineer felt himself grow erect at the possibilities. A few minutes ago, they had spotted Thorpe's car in the alley and quickly parked on a side street, unsure where he was. They were in the alley when the door to the house opened. The Engineer was frustrated to see the ugly bastard with Thorpe. Not love business, but still… there were other possibilities.
"He is leaving," muttered Gregor.
"Stay." The Engineer didn't move until Thorpe drove away. He noted how the man on the porch waited until Thorpe left before returning to the house. He also noted Thorpe's license plate number. Bishop was whisking his eggs with a fork when there was rapping on the back door. "It's open." He smiled, beating the eggs to a froth. "I knew you'd change your mind." He heard the door open behind him, the floorboards creak. Too much weight. He dropped the bowl, reached for the gun in his pocket… The punch caught him across the temple, knocked him down, the.38 sliding across the tiles.
"You're a messy cook, champ."
Bishop slowly raised his head off the floor, trying to focus. There was egg yolk in his hair. A big man, a really big meatball, hovered over him. Bishop could see the hairs in the man's nostrils.
"Back off, Gregor. Give him room."
Bishop pushed himself up with one hand. There were two of them, but it wasn't Vlad and Arturo… It was two other ones. The meatball who had hit him, and another one, a soft intellectual type. He rubbed his head with his fingertips, winced. No blood, though.
"Help him up, Gregor."
Bishop felt himself being lifted effortlessly to his feet. His knees buckled.
"I was hoping to get off to a better start," said the soft man. "Violence should always be the last resort, don't you think?" He stood next to the stove, flipped on the gas, dreamy-eyed at the pop of the pilot light.
"You guys… take whatever you want," said Bishop. He knew they weren't here to take anything, not anything that could be carried, but he decided to make the effort. "There's a stereo in the living room and a couple of good TVs."
"Is that right?" said the soft man. "This is our big score, Gregor."
Bishop bent forward, his hands on his knees. He used to be able to take a punch better.
"Where did Frank go?" asked the soft man.
Bishop straightened. "Frank who?"
The soft man smiled. "There's no reason we can't all be friends. Gregor and I, we're the best friends you're ever going to have. I know we're off to a rocky start, but, hey, you were the one who pulled the gun."
"I thought you were someone else."
"A man with enemies. I knew I liked you, Mr…"
"Bishop. Ray Bishop. I'd like to help you boys…"
"Excellent, Mr. Bishop," said the soft man, clapping his smooth hands.
"I just… I just don't know any Frank."
The soft man looked genuinely pained. "Gee, Mr. Bishop, I wish you hadn't said that." He turned up the gas, the jets hissing louder, the blue flame four inches high.
The meatball grinned. He was a huge locomotive, well over six feet, thick-gutted, with enormous hands and tiny, hateful eyes.
"Are you talking about the man who just left?" asked Bishop. "I didn't even know his name. He saw my light on and asked directions. Said he was lost."
"Lost was he?" said the soft man. "Where did he want to go?"
"He was a little drunk, if you really want to know," said Bishop. "He said he had been driving around looking for the fire station. Said he wanted to fill out a complaint about a neighbor who wasn't keeping his yard mowed. He didn't make a lot of sense, if you really want to know. I offered to make him a cup of coffee, sober him up a little, but he didn't want any part of it."
"That sounds like Frank," said the soft man. "You offer him your hand in friendship, and he rejects it."
"Sorry I couldn't be of more help to you." Bishop looked from the soft man to the meatball. "Sorry I pulled the gun on you, too."
"I say let bygones be bygones," said the soft man. "What do you say, Gregor?"