Chemo said, “My ears stick out too far and you know it. You want me to do this hit, you’ll fix the damn things.”
“Fine,” Rudy Graveline sighed, “fine.” There was nothing wrong with the man’s ears, only what was between them.
Chemo tucked the envelope into his armpit and bagged up the Weed Whacker. “Oh yeah, one more thing. I’m out of that stuff for my face.”
“What stuff?”
“You know,” Chemo said, “the Wite-Out.”
Rudy Graveline found a small bottle in his desk and tossed it to Chemo, who slipped it into the breast pocket of his Jim Fowler safari jacket. “Call you from New York,” he said.
“Yes,” said Rudy wearily. “By all means.”
17
Christina Marks slipped out of the first-class cabin while Reynaldo Flemm was autographing a cocktail napkin for a flight attendant. The flight attendant had mistaken the newly be-wigged Reynaldo for David Lee Roth, the rock singer. The Puerto Rican mustache looked odd with all that blond hair, but the flight attendant assumed it was meant as a humorous disguise.
Mick Stranahan was sitting in coach, a stack of outdoors magazines on the seat next to him. He saw Christina coming down the aisle and smiled. “My shadow.”
“I’m not following you,” she said.
“Yes, you are. But that’s all right.” He moved the magazines and motioned her to sit down.
“You look very nice.” It was the first time he had seen her in a dress. “Some coincidence, that you and the anchorman got the same flight as I did.”
Christina said, “He’s not an anchorman. And no, it’s not a coincidence that we’re on the same plane. Ray thinks it is, but it’s not.”
“Ray thinks it is, huh? So this was your idea, following me.”
“Relax,” Christina said. Ever since the shooting she had stayed close; at first she rationalized it as a journalist’s instinct—the Barletta story kept coming back to Stranahan, didn’t it? But then she had found herself sleeping some nights at the hospital, where nothing newsworthy was likely to happen; sitting in the corner and watching him in the hospital bed, long after it was obvious he would make a full recovery. Christina couldn’t deny she was attracted to him, and worried about him. She also had a feeling he was moderately crazy.
Stranahan said, “So you guys are going to trail me all around New York. A regular tag team, you and Ray.”
“Ray will be busy,” Christina said, “on other projects.”
The jetliner dipped slightly, and a shaft of sunlight caught the side of her face, forcing her to look away. For the first time Stranahan noticed a sprinkling of light freckles on her nose and cheeks: cinnamon freckles, the kind that children have.
“Did I ever thank you for saving my life?” he asked.
“Yes, you did.”
“Well, thanks again.” He poured some honey-roasted peanuts into the palm of her hand. “Why are you following me?”
“I’m not,” she said.
“If it’s only to juice up your damn TV show, then I’m going to get angry.”
Christina said, “It’s not that.”
“You want to keep an eye on me.”
“You’re an interesting man. You make things happen.”
Stranahan popped a peanut and said. “That’s a good one.”
Christina Marks softened her tone. “I’ll help you find her.”
“Find who?”
“Maggie Gonzalez.”
“Who said she was lost? Besides, you got her on tape, right? The whole sordid story.”
“Not yet,” Christina admitted.
Stranahan laughed caustically. “Oh brother,” he said.
“Listen, I got a trail of bills she’s been sending up to the office. Between the two of us, we could find her in a day. Besides, I think she’ll talk to me. The whole sordid story, on tape—like you said.”
Stranahan didn’t mention that he already knew where Maggie Gonzalez was staying, and that he was totally confident that he could persuade her to talk.
“You’re the most helpful woman I ever met,” he said to Christina Marks. “So unselfish, too. If I didn’t know better, I’d think maybe you were hunting for Maggie because she beat you and the anchorman out of some serious dough.”
Christina said, “I liked you better unconscious.”
Stranahan chuckled and took her hand. He didn’t let go like she thought he would, he just held it. Once, when the plane hit some turbulence, Christina jumped nervously. Without looking up from his Field & Stream, Stranahan gave her hand a squeeze. It was more comforting than suggestive, but it made Christina flush.