Joan said, “Hey, how about a soda?”
Sinclair slapped a hand across his breast. “I was sent here,” he said, “to be reborn.”
“Reborn.”
“There’s no other explanation,” Sinclair said, and trotted out the door toward the shrine. There he stripped off his clothes and lay down in the silty water among the cooters.
“Nimmy doo-dey, nimmy nyyah!”
Trish, who was setting up the T-shirt display, dropped to one knee. “I believe he’s speaking in tongues!”
“Like hell,” said Demencio. “Coo-ca-loo-ca-choo.”
Balefully he stomped to the garage in search of the tuna gaff.
Krome looked preoccupied. Happy, JoLayne thought, but preoccupied.
She said, “You passed the test.”
“The white-guy test?”
“Yep. With flying colors.”
Krome broke out laughing. It was nice to hear. JoLayne wished he’d laugh like that more often, and not only when she made a joke.
He said, “When did you decide this would happen?”
They were under the bedcovers, holding each other. As if it were freezing outdoors, JoLayne thought, instead of seventy-two degrees.
“Pre-kiss or post-kiss?” Krome asked.
“Post,” she answered.
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Strictly a spur-of-the-moment deal.”
“The sex?”
“Sure,” JoLayne said.
Which wasn’t exactly true, but why tell him everything? He didn’t need to know the precise moment when she’d made up her mind, or why. It amused JoLayne that men were forever trying to figure out how they’d managed to get laid—what devastatingly clever line they’d come up with, what timely expression of sincerity or sensitivity they’d affected. As if the power of seduction were theirs whenever they wanted, if only they knew how to unlock it.
For JoLayne Lucks, there was no deep mystery to what had happened. Krome was a decent guy. He cared about her. He was strong, reliable and not too knuckleheaded. These things counted. He had no earthly clue how much they counted.
Not to mention that she was scared. No denying it. Chasing two vicious robbers through the state—insane is what it was. No wonder they were stressed out, she and Tom. That certainly had something to do with it, too; one reason they were hugging each other like teenagers.
JoLayne retreated to standard pillow talk.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Moffitt,” he said.
“Oh, very romantic.”
“I was hoping he takes his time searching that guy’s place. A week or so would be OK. In the meantime we could stay just like this, the two of us.”
“Nice comeback,” JoLayne said, pinching his leg. “You think he’ll find the ticket?”
“If it’s there, yeah. He gives the impression of total competence.”
“And what if it’s not there?”
“Then I suppose we’ll need a plan, and some luck,” Krome said.
“Moffitt thinks I’ll do something crazy.”
“Imagine that.”
“Seriously, Tom. He won’t even tell me the guy’s name.”
“I’ve got the name,” Krome said, “and an address.”
JoLayne sat upright, bursting out of the covers. “What did you say?”
“With all due respect to your friend, it doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to run a license-tag check. All you need is a friend at the highway patrol.” Krome shrugged in mock innocence. “The creep with the pickup truck, his name is Bodean James Gazzer. And we can find him with or without intrepid Agent Moffitt.”
“Damn,” said JoLayne. The boy was slicker than she’d thought.
“I’d have told you sooner,” he said, “but we were preoccupied.”
“Don’t give me that.”
They both jumped when the phone rang. Krome reached for it. JoLayne scooted closer and silently mouthed: “Moffitt?”
Krome shook his head. JoLayne hopped out of bed and headed for the shower. When she came out, he was standing at the window, taking in a grand view of the Metrorail tracks. He didn’t seem to notice that she’d repainted her nails a neon green or that she was wearing only the towel on her head.
“So who was it?” she asked.
“My lawyer again.”
Uh-oh, she thought, reaching for her robe. “Bad news?”
“Sort of,” Tom Krome said. “Apparently I’m dead.” When he turned around, he appeared more bemused than upset. “It’s going to be on the front page of The Register tomorrow.”
“Dead.” JoLayne pursed her lips. “You sure fooled me.”
“Fried to a cinder in my own home. Must be true, if it’s in the newspaper.”