attention of the male sitting across from her, who took the opportunity
of his companion wrenching off her spike heels to pour himself another
drink. His capacity for alcohol was enormous. He could drink twice the
amount he had already consumed tonight and there would be no outward
signs, no slurring of speech or impeded motor functions-which would have
been deadly for a man in his position.
She had to admire him, his obsessions, his truly raw edges, while at the
same time his being able to project an image to the world that cried out
purity and strength, normalcy but, at the same time, greatness. Every
woman in America was in love with him, enamored with his classic good
looks, immense self-assurance and also what he represented, for all of
them. And he returned that universal admiration with a passion, however
misplaced, that astonished her.
Unfortunately, that passion had never pointed itself in her direction
despite her subtle messages, the touches that lingered a shade too long;
how she maneuvered to see him first thing in the morning when she looked
her best, the sexual references used in their strategy sessions. But
until that time came-and it would come, she kept telling herself-she
would be patient.
She looked out the window. This was taking too long; it threw everything
else off. Her mouth curled up in displeasure.
LUTHER HEARD THE VEHICLES ENTER THE FRONT DRIVE. HE flitted to a window
and followed the mini-caravan as it went around back, where it would be
hidden from view from the front drive. He counted four people alighting
from the limo, one from the van. His mind scrolled swiftly through
possible Identities. Too small a party for it to be the owners of the
house. Too many for it to be someone simply checking on the place. He
could not make out any faces. For one ironic instant Luther debated
whether the home was destined to be burgled twice on the same night. But
that was too enormous a coincidence. In this business, like a lot of
others, you played the percentages. Besides, criminals did not march up
to their targets wearing clothing more suitable for a night on the town.
He thought quickly as noises filtered up to him, presumably from outside
the rear of the house. It took him a second to realize that his retreat
was cut off and to calculate what his plan of action would be.
Grabbing his bag, he raced to the alarm panel next to the bedroom door
and activated the home’s security system, silently thanking his memory
for numbers. Then Luther slipped across to the vault and entered it,
carefully closing the door behind him. He pushed himself as far back
into the little room as he could. Now he had to wait.
He cursed his misfortune; everything had been going so smoothly. Then he
shook his head clear, forced himself to breathe regularly. It was like
flying. The longer you did it, the greater your chance of something bad
happening. He would just have to hope that the house’s most recent
arrivals would have no need to make a deposit in the private bank he was
now occupying.
A burst of laughter and then the drum of voices filtered up to him,
together with the loud beep from the alarm system, which sounded like a
jet plane screeching directly over his head. Apparently there was slight
confusion about the security code. A bead of sweat appeared on Luther’s
forehead as he envisioned the alarm exploding and the police wanting to
examine every inch of the house just in case, starting with his little
roost.
He wondered how he would react as he listened to the mirrored door being
opened, a light blazing in, without the slightest possibility of missing
him. The strange faces peering in, the drawn guns, the reading of his
rights. He almost laughed. Trapped like a fucking rat, nowhere to go. He
hadn’t had a cigarette in almost thirty years,”but now he desperately
craved a smoke. He put his bag down quietly and slowly let his legs out
straight so they wouldn’t go to sleep.
Heavy steps on the oak plank staircase. Whoever they were they didn’t