It was no wonder she didn’t want to go there again.
“I’ll make a phone call instead,” Dave told her.
“If you want.”
He went to the telephone on the nightstand and dialed Gloria’s number. After three rings the line opened. “Hello. This is Gloria.”
Dave’s heart jumped.
“Gloria?” he asked. He saw Joan’s head snap toward him, stunned surprise on her face.
“I’m not home right now, but if you’d like to leave a message…”
“Shit,” he muttered. “It’s her answering machine.” He’d probably left messages on the damn thing a hundred times. How could he have let it fool him, lift his hopes?
Joan’s face was slack with disappointment.
“…I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”
Right, he thought. Sure you will.
Dead. She’s dead, and talking to me just as if nothing is wrong.
Her machine beeped, signaling him to leave his message.
He remembered how she used to complain about hang-ups.
He remembered how she often talked to him, home after all, once he’d identified himself.
“It’s Dave,” he said.
Joan’s lips curled. She looked sick.
“If you’re there, for Godsake pick up the phone.”
He listened to distant, empty sounds.
“Gloria? It’s Dave. Are you there?”
I’m talking to a dead woman.
He hung up.
Joan came to him and put her arms around him.
“We might as well get it over with,” he muttered. He hugged her tightly, feeling her stiff vest, the gun and knife, but also feeling the warmth of her legs, the softness of her cheek. He kissed her. “If I lose you because of this…”
“We owe God a death,” she said.
“Just what I wanted to hear.”
“’Tis not due yet.” She gently swatted his rump and stepped away from him.
He watched her reach into the paper bag, pull out a stocking cap, and drag it down over her head until only a fringe of blond hair showed around its edges.
She raised her eyebrows. “Am I devastating yet?”
“Gorgeous.”
She picked up the bag, which still had something in it.
“You do have an Uzi.”
“Just an old blanket,” she said.
“What’s that for?”
“More style.”
In the living room Dave waited while she opened her purse. She took her badge out of its leather case. “Can’t forget this,” she said. “Have you got yours?”
He patted his wallet.
Joan lifted her sweatshirt and pinned the shield to a strap of her shoulder harness. Then she picked up her bag again, and they left the house.
Dave locked the door with his house key, found the ignition key, and walked beside Joan toward the driveway, where his car waited.
Waited on flat tires.
“What the hell?” he muttered.
He walked around the car. All four tires were mashed against the pavement by the weight of the car. Joan, he saw, was heading for the street.
She looked back at him. “Mine too,” she said.
“You’re kidding.” He caught up with her. Joan’s car, parked at the curb, rested on four flat tires. “I’ll be damned.”
“Looks like somebody decided to sabotage our mission,” she said.
“That’s crazy. It was probably just some kids.”
“One kid in particular. My sister.”
“Debbie? You think she did this?”
“She must’ve. It can’t be just some weird coincidence. God, she must be a lot more upset than I thought.”
“Does she know where I live?”
“You’re in the book, partner. She just looked you up, hiked over here, and had at ’em.”
“Well, good for her!”
“The little beast. Wait’ll I get my hands on her.”
Dave tried to force the smile off his face, but didn’t succeed. “She’s a spunky kid. Must run in the family.”
“I’m gonna strangle her.”
“She just did it because she loves you.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m gonna draw and quarter her, the rat.” Dave laughed.
“Yeah, yuck it up. Right.” Turning away from him, she crouched beside the front tire.
“It isn’t slashed, I hope.”
“Debbie wouldn’t go that far. I’m sure she just let the air out.” Joan rubbed her hands on the side of the tire. Standing up, she rubbed her face, then lowered her hands. Her brow, cheeks, and chin were smudged with grime that looked gray and smoky in the streetlights.
“I know,” Dave said. “Style. Does this mean we’re still planning to go?”
“I am.”
“Great,” he muttered. “Should I go in and call a cab?”
“Let’s just walk. It’s not that far.”
“All right. Hang on a minute, though. I want to get my flashlight.” He walked toward his car, feeling strangely cheerful. Nothing was about to stop Joan, but the flat tires would certainly slow her down. A hike to the beach should take the better part of half an hour.