Ticktock by Dean Koontz

“You too.”

Actually, he wasn’t smiling. He was grinning like a fool.

Tommy had expected to catch a commercial flight from John Wayne Airport to Las Vegas, but Del’s mother owned a Learjet, which was ready for use with a fifteen-minute notice. Del was a qualified pilot.

“Besides,” she said, as they walked the last block to the airport from the abandoned Peterbilt, “I think the sooner we tie the knot, the better—in regards to whatever Mrs. Dai may have in mind. Married, we geometrically increase our psychic resources. We have more power to resist.”

A few minutes later, as they boarded the private jet, Del said, “Anyway, I want to see if we can beat my mom’s record. She married Daddy nineteen hours after she met him.”

Studying his watch, calculating, Tommy said, “You served me dinner about… twelve hours ago.”

“We’ll make it. Are you tired, darling?”

“Damn if I don’t feel totally rested. And I didn’t have a wink of sleep all night.”

“You may never need it again,” she said. “It’s such a waste of time, sleeping.”

Tommy sat in the co-pilot’s seat, while Scootie lounged in the passenger compartment.

They flew east into the morning sun, where the sky was no longer pink but as blue as Deliverance Payne’s eyes.

Their suite at the Mirage Hotel was one of several spacious and lavishly appointed accommodations. that were not rented to ordinary customers but were reserved to be provided free to high rollers who regularly gambled fortunes in the casino downstairs. Though neither Del nor Tommy intended to wager one dollar on the tables, the Payne name elicited a response no less generous and effusive than would have been accorded to an Arab prince bearing suitcases full of cash. Eighteen years after his death, Ned Payne remained a legendary poker player, and the hotel management’s affection for Del’s mother was evident in their numerous enquiries into the state of her health, her current activities, and the likelihood of her coming to visit sometime soon.

Even Scootie was greeted with huzzahs, petted and nuzzled and talked to in baby talk. In addition to the enormous vases full of fresh flowers that lent their fragrance to each of the seven rooms in the suite, there were strategically placed, silver-plated bowls full of dog biscuits.

A clothing store in the hotel shopping arcade sent up two salespersons and carts laden with garments. Within ninety minutes of their arrival, Tommy and Del had showered, shampooed, and selected their wedding outfits.

He wore black tassel loafers, black socks, charcoal-grey slacks, a blue blazer, a white shirt, and a blue-striped tie.

“You look very preppy,” Del said approvingly.

She wore white heels, a figure-flattering white silk dress with white lace at the neck and at the cuffs of the long sleeves, and two white orchids in her hair.

“You look like a bride,” he said.

“No veil, though.”

“Wouldn’t want to hide that face,” he said.

“You’re so sweet.”

Just as they were ready to leave the hotel for the chapel, the mayor of the City of Las Vegas arrived with an envelope containing their license. He was a tall, distinguished-looking man with silver hair, attired in an expensive blue suit, wearing a five-carat pinkie ring.

“You dear girl,” the mayor said, kissing Del on the forehead, “you are the most glamorous creature I’ve ever seen. How is Ingrid?”

“She’s splendid,” Del said.

“She doesn’t come to town often enough. Will you tell her that I pine for her?”

“She’ll be so pleased to know she’s remembered.”

“She’s more than remembered. She’s unforgettable.”

Del said, “Well I’m spilling a secret here, but I’m sure you’ll have a chance to tell her yourself.”

The major embraced Tommy as if they were father and son. “This is a great day, a great day.”

“Thank you, sir.”

To Del the mayor said, “Dear, you have arranged a limousine, I presume.”

“Yes, it’s waiting.”

“Then just delay here two minutes, so I can pop downstairs and be sure the police escort is ready too.”

“You’re an absolute jewel,” Del said, kissing his cheek.

The mayor departed, and Tommy said, “Who’s Ingrid?”

Examining herself in the marble-lined foyer’s ornate mirror, Del said, “That’s what some people call my mother.”

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