“Mr. Keyes,” Kara Lynn said, “can I talk to my father for a minute, alone?”
Keyes walked out to the game room, which was walled in chocolate-brown cork. It was Sunday so there was nothing but football on the wide-screen television; Keyes turned it off. He counted sixteen golfing trophies in one maple bookcase. On the bar was a framed color photograph of Reed Shivers with his arm around Bob Hope. In the picture Shivers looked drunk and Bob Hope looked taxidermied.
Keyes went to the billiard table and glumly racked up the balls. Guarding the girl had been Garcia’s idea; Keyes wasn’t thrilled about it but he’d taken the job anyway. With Skip Wiley out of reach in the Bahamas there wasn’t much else to do. No fresh tourist corpses had popped up and even the Trifecta Massacre had turned into a dead end, the bomber having made a clean getaway. Now it was a waiting game, and Kara Lynn was the bait.
Keyes scratched the cue ball just as she walked in. She closed the door behind her.
“Look, don’t get mad, but I’ve decided to go ahead and be in the parade.”
“Swell,” Keyes said. “I hope your father knows probate.”
“You’re really trying to scare me. Well, I’m scared, okay? I honestly am.” She really was.
“Then don’t be stubborn.” Keyes propped the cue stick in a corner.
“Look,” Kara Lynn said, “if I drop out, they’ll just get somebody else, one of the runners-up. Let me tell you, Mr. Keyes, some of those girls would ride in that parade no matter what. They’d pay to do it. So if I quit, it won’t change a thing. The Nights of December will still have somebody to kidnap, or try to. It might as well be me.”
“Besides,” Keyes said, “it’ll make great television.”
Kara Lynn glared at him. “You think I like this whole setup?”
“Don’t you want to be a star?”
“I’d much rather be alive.” Kara Lynn shrugged. “My dad wants to see his little girl on NBC. Let him have his moment, Mr. Keyes. He says it’s safe.”
“Your dad’s a real piece of work.”
“I told you not to get mad.”
Keyes smiled in spite of himself. It wasn’t easy, being a tough guy. “Okay, I’m not mad.”
“Good.” Kara Lynn went to the bar and fixed herself a club soda. She tossed a cold can of Coors at Keyes. He caught it one-handed.
“I’ve never had a bodyguard before,” she said. “How does this work?”
“Well, for the next week or so, it’s just you and me, with some discreet assistance from Dade County’s finest. The most important thing is that you’re never alone when you’re out of this house. We want the bad guys to see that you’re not a sitting duck, that you’ve got protection—though I use the term loosely. You want to go shopping, I’ll carry the groceries. You want to play tennis, I’ll carry the rackets. You want to go to the beach, I’ll carry the Coppertone.”
“What if I want to go on a date?”
“No dates.”
“Says who?”
“The eminent Orange Bowl Committee. They would prefer that you not go anywhere at night. I think that’s a good idea.”
“Oh, just a great idea.”
“Your boyfriend can come by the house to visit. Watch TV. Play Trivial Pursuit. Smoke dope. Doesn’t matter to me.”
“Can we make love?”
Keyes reddened. “If you’re quiet about it,” he said. “I need my sleep.”
Kara Lynn laughed. “I’m just kidding. I don’t have a boyfriend; we broke up after I won this stupid contest. Mr. Keyes—”
“It’s Brian, please. I get a new gray hair every time a pretty girl calls me mister.”
“All right … Brian, will you carry a gun?”
“Sometimes. And a nifty Dick Tracy police radio.”
“What kind of gun?” asked Kara Lynn.
“Never mind.” It was a Browning nine-millimeter. Keyes hated the damn thing. The holster bled all over his shirts.
“Can I ask you something?” she said. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but when they told me about a bodyguard I expected somebody … “
“A little larger?”
“Yeah. More imposing.”