Roscoe nodded. Shrugged.
`We need Molly’s help,’ she said. `We need a copy of Joe’s file.’
`Or Picard’s help,’ I said. `We might find Joe’s hotel room and get hold of the original. It’s a race to see who’s going to call us first, Molly or Picard.’
Roscoe clicked off the dome light. Started the car for the ride back to the airport hotel. I just sprawled out beside her, yawning. I could sense she was getting uptight. She had run out of things to do. Run out of distractions. Now she had to face the quiet vulnerable hours of the night. The first night after last night. The prospect was making her agitated.
`You got that gun, Reacher?’ she asked.
I squirmed around in the seat to face her.
`It’s in the trunk,’ I said. `In that box. You put it in there, remember?’
`Bring it inside, OK?’ she said. `Makes me feel better.’
I grinned sleepily in the dark. Yawned.
`Makes me feel better too,’ I said. `It’s a hell of a gun.’
Then we lapsed back into silence. Roscoe found the hotel lot. We got out of the car and stood stretching in the dark. I opened the trunk. Lifted the box out and slammed the lid. Went in through our lobby and up in the elevator.
In the room we just crashed out. Roscoe laid her shiny .38 on the carpet on her side of the bed. I reloaded my giant .44 and laid it on my side. Cocked and locked. We wedged a chair under the doorhandle. Roscoe felt safer that way.
I woke early and lay in bed, thinking about Joe. Wednesday morning. He’d been dead five days. Roscoe was already up. She was standing in the middle of the floor, stretching. Some kind of a yoga thing. She’d taken a shower and she was only half dressed. She had no trousers on. Just a shirt. She
had her back to me. As she stretched, the shirt was riding way up. Suddenly I wasn’t thinking about Joe any more.
`Roscoe?’ I said.
`What?’ she said.
`You’ve got the most wonderful ass on the planet,’ I said.
She giggled. I jumped on her. Couldn’t help it. Couldn’t do anything else. She drove me crazy. It was the giggle that did it to me. It made me crazy. I hauled her back into the big hotel bed. The building could have fallen down and we wouldn’t have noticed it. We finished in an exhausted tangle. Lay there for a while. Then Roscoe got up again and showered for the second time that morning. Got dressed again. Trousers and everything. Grinned at me as if to say she was sparing me from any further temptation.
`So did you mean it?’ she said.
`Mean what?’ I said, with a smile.
`You know what,’ she smiled back. `When you told me I had a cute ass.’
`I didn’t say you had a cute ass,’ I said. `I’ve seen plenty of cute asses. I said yours was the most wonderful ass on the whole damn planet.’
`But did you mean it?’ she said.
`You bet I meant it,’ I said. `Don’t underestimate the attraction of your ass, Roscoe, whatever you do.’
I called room service for breakfast. Removed the chair from under the door handle ready for the little cart. Pulled the heavy drapes. It was a glorious morning. A bright blue sky, no clouds at all, brilliant fall sunshine. The room was flooded with light. We cracked the window and let in the air and the smells and the sounds of the day. The view was
spectacular. Right over the airport and to the city beyond. The cars in the lots caught the sun and looked like jewels on beige velvet. The planes clawed their way into the air and wheeled slowly away like fat, important birds. The buildings downtown grew tall and straight in the sun. A glorious morning. But it was the sixth straight morning my brother wasn’t alive to see.
Roscoe used the phone to call Finlay down in Margrave. She told him about the photograph of Hubble and Stoller standing in the sun on the warehouse forecourt. Then she gave him our room number and told him to call us if Molly got back to us from Washington. Or if Picard got back to us with information from the car rental people about the burned Pontiac. I figured we should stay in Atlanta in case Picard beat Molly and we got a hotel trace on Joe. Chances were he stayed in the city, maybe near the airport. No point in us driving all the way back down to Margrave and then having to drive all the way back up to Atlanta again. So we waited. I fiddled with the radio built into the nightstand thing. Came up with a station playing something halfway decent. Sounded like they were playing through an early Canned Heat album. Bouncy and sunny and just right for a bright empty morning.