Thursday's Child Page 9

  It was as if the earth had opened up and swallowed his daughter.

  Gar washed chili down with cold beer.

  The doctors never said for sure, but he was convinced that the reason his wife succumbed so quickly to the cancer was that she just didn’t want to go on without her daughter. Gar wondered sometimes if the fact that he did go on, was even happy most days, meant that he had loved Jessie less. He didn’t think so. Maybe he still nourished some hope that sooner or later he would find her.

  But probably not today.

  Yeah, Jessie was gone, but he felt that Beau Epstein was still within his reach. Beau could still be saved.

  Kimberly Wyndham lived in a large white house in the sacred heart of Beverly Hills. A Mexican housekeeper opened the door and told Gar that Miss Kimberly was around back by the pool. He followed the path she pointed out.

  Kimberly was there, all right.

  The girl was wearing a white string bikini on a body that was a perfect shade of brown; skin cancer undoubtedly waited several decades down the road, but Kimberly probably figured that there would be a cure by then, at least for somebody who could afford it. She might well have been right.

  “Excuse me, Kimberly,” Gar said. “Can we talk for a minute?”

  She raised her head slowly and opened her eyes. “Who are you?”

  He displayed his ID. “I wanted to talk to you about Beau Epstein.”

  She sat up and tied the bikini top, while Gar averted his gaze. It seemed as if he was spending a lot of time lately not looking at young girls’ bodies. Next to her chaise was a small table that held a tall glass of what looked like tonic. Maybe there was something else in it, too, he decided, seeing the gulp she took before speaking again. “Beau?” was all she said.

  “He’s missing.”

  “Missing? What does that mean?”

  How come this girl wasn’t in one of those remedial classes at Paynor?

  “I mean that his grandfather doesn’t know where he is. I’ve been hired to find him.”

  “Like Magnum?” she said brightly.

  “Something like that, yes.”

  She took another gulp; there was definitely something stronger than just tonic water in the glass. “How come you came here? I hardly know him at all.”

  Gar dragged a wooden deck chair closer and sat down. “I’m here because some of the kids at school told me that you might have an idea about why he took off.”

  She shook her head and reached for a bottle of coconut-scented tanning lotion. SPF 0.

  Gar leaned forward. “Kimberly, maybe you don’t know what it’s like out there on the streets. It’s very dangerous. A lot of very bad people. Beau might be in serious trouble.”

  She was slowly massaging lotion into her taut belly. “I don’t think it’s fair to blame me,” she said, starting to pout. “It was only a joke.”

  Gar could feel a headache building behind his eyes. “What was only a joke?” he asked.

  She was, to her credit, more than a little embarrassed by the story of what had happened between herself and Beau. It came out slowly, as she fortified herself with frequent swallows of the drink. When she was finished, she picked up a pair of dark glasses and put them on. Refuge from his gaze.

  Gar closed his notebook and put it away without writing anything down.

  “Do you really think that’s why he ran away?” she asked finally.

  “Maybe.”

  For almost ten seconds, it looked as if Kimberly Wyndham might actually be experiencing a crisis of conscience. Then she gave her head a toss. “Well, that’s just dumb. Who would run away because of a little sex? Let me tell you, there are plenty of guys who would like to get lucky the way Beau did.”

  He didn’t doubt it for a minute.

  “So if he ran away because of that, he’s just stupid. And I can’t be blamed for that, can I?” She gave him a bright and perfect smile.

  10

  1

  The boy was still sleeping.

  Robert pulled on a pair of old cutoffs and walked quietly though the living room, where Beau was sprawled half-on and half-off the couch, dead to the world. Robert paused to look at him for a moment, then went on into the kitchen.

  Coffee seemed like a very good idea. A heavy dose of caffeine and sugar might wipe out the lingering headache caused by drinking too much beer during his bar-hopping hunt for Marnie Dowd the night before.

  All that damned beer probably also helped to explain why he was suddenly playing kindly uncle or whatever the hell he was doing.

  He plugged in the electric coffeepot. If he was going to be a good host, he probably better feed the kid some breakfast. A quick check of the refrigerator gave him eggs, bacon, bread. Some orange juice. Robert took everything out and set it on the counter.

  Regular Betty Freaking Crocker, right?

  It had been a long time since he’d made breakfast for anybody.

  He was pouring his first cup of coffee when Beau appeared in the doorway. “Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Robert said.

  “Hi.” Beau looked only half-awake and a little bewildered. “You’re Robert, right?”

  “Boy, you’re sharp today. Yes, I’m Robert.”

  “I was confused. Real life was getting all mixed up with the crazy dreams I kept having.” There was a bruise on one cheek and his left eye was swollen, but otherwise he seemed to have come through last night’s beating relatively unscathed. He took a careful look around the kitchen. “This is your place, I guess?”

  “Mine and the mortgage company’s, yeah.” Robert took a frying pan out of the cupboard. “If you want to take a shower or something, the can is that way.”

  “Okay.” Beau turned around, then stopped and glanced back at Robert. “Thanks.”

  Robert shrugged. “You have any problem with scrambled eggs?” he said. “I don’t feel like screwing around with them much.”

  “Scrambled is fine. The thanks was for what you did last night.”

  Robert frowned as he searched for a fork. “Yeah, all right.”

  Beau headed for the bathroom.

  Robert lined up strips of bacon in the frying pan and turned on the gas flame. He leaned against the counter and drank coffee slowly as the fat began to sizzle in the pan. The plan was simple. Let the boy clean up a little, feed him, give him some more cash, and then send him on his way. Simple. He didn’t have the time—or the desire—to fool around with the troubles of some hard-luck juvenile delinquint.

  He started breaking eggs into a bowl.

  God, the hot water felt wonderful.

  Actually, it was sort of funny how quickly he’d gotten used to taking a hot shower every day at Saul’s. A few days without one now and he started to feel really grotty. Everybody, Jonathan used to say, was corruptible.

  His aching, battered bones and muscles began to relax under the stinging assault of the water. There was a bottle of green shampoo hanging on a hook. Beau dumped a big dollop of the stuff into his hair and rubbed vigorously. Suds and water swirled between his toes and disappeared down the drain. It felt like a lot of his problems were going along.

  Robert was a really nice guy.

  As he finished rinsing, Beau thought about something that he’d almost forgotten. The gun. If Robert wasn’t a cop, why was he carrying a gun? It was a question he really would have liked to ask, but as he thought about it, there was something about the look in the man’s green eyes that made him decide to keep the question to himself.

  Beau had the feeling that he didn’t want to get Robert pissed off.

  The toast was made and the eggs hit perfection just as Beau walked back into the room, looking cleaner and a little damp. He also looked younger than Robert had thought. “Sit,” Robert said.

  Beau sat.

  Robert filled two plates with eggs, bacon, and toast, then joined him at the table. “You sleep okay on that couch?”

  Beau set down the already-empty juice glass. “Fine. Thank you.”


  Well, he had good manners, at least. That was sort of rare these days. Robert approved. He poured some more juice into the empty glass. “So what’s the story with you? Don’t get along with your folks, I guess?”

  “My parents are dead,” Beau replied, keeping his gaze on the plate of food.

  Robert chewed and swallowed some eggs. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Sure. Everybody is sorry.”

  He spooned grape jelly onto a slice of toast. “No, really, I can understand how you feel. My folks died when I was even younger than you. They were in a plane crash.”

  Beau looked up at him briefly, then returned his attention to the food. “So did you have to go live with some old fart of a grandfather?”

  Robert shook his head. “No. There wasn’t anybody else. Just my kid brother and me. We got dumped in a lot of foster homes. Some of the time, we couldn’t even be together.”

  “It really sucks, doesn’t it?” Beau said. “Other people just step right in and start making decisions for you.”

  “It sucks, all right,” Robert agreed. “But when I hit sixteen, I took Andy out of the place he was living in and we came out here. Things were okay, then.”

  After a moment, Beau looked up and smiled. “You make great scrambled eggs, Robert.”

  “Yeah, right.” Robert got up and went for more coffee. When he’d returned to the chair, he said, “I have to run out to Malibu on business today. You want to come along?”

  “Sure. That’d be great.”

  Robert wasn’t so sure about that and already he didn’t know why the hell he’d issued the invitation. It wasn’t part of the plan. But it was too late now.

  Well, okay. So they’d go to Malibu, he’d see the man there and do what had to be done, and then tonight, when he returned to his search for Marnie Dowd, he could dump the kid right back in Hollywood where he’d found him.

  2

  Lonnie Jones owned a moderately priced fish restaurant down on the beach. Because the location was fine and the food acceptable, though unextraordinary, he probably would have made a decent living even if the joint had been strictly legit.

  But the only thing legit about Lonnie Jones were the diamond rings that adorned four of his fingers. And even those were probably hot.

  Robert parked in the empty lot behind the restaurant. “You go down to the beach,” he ordered Beau. “I have to see a guy inside.”

  “Okay,” Beau said cheerfully. He headed for the water.

  The restaurant wasn’t open for lunch, only dinner, and so even the staff hadn’t arrived yet. Only Jones himself was there, sitting at the bar, going over some purchase orders and bills. When the door opened and Robert came in, he looked up with a frown. “Not open,” he said. Jones looked a little like a young Belafonte.

  Robert didn’t say anything as he walked over and took a seat at the bar.

  “You deaf, pal, or what? I said, we’re not open.”

  “That’s okay. I’m not here to eat.”

  Jones set his gold Cross pen down on the bar carefully. “Then why are you here?”

  “Mr. Campion sent me.”

  That was not what Jones wanted to hear. But he tried to pretend that the news didn’t make him very nervous. “Yeah? What the fuck for?” The Better Business Bureau member was gone suddenly; Jones had started in the gutter and that background wasn’t far beneath the surface.

  Robert reached out and toyed with the pen, spinning it in a slow circle. “He wants the book back, of course.”

  “What book?”

  Robert smiled and shook his head. “Oh, Lonnie, Lonnie,” he murmured. “We don’t have to dance around this, do we? You know damned well what book. I know what book. Everybody knows what fucking book.”

  Jones didn’t say anything.

  Robert got up and walked over to the sliding glass door that led to the patio. He slid the door open and stepped out. Beau had rolled his jeans way up and was wading in the Pacific.

  “How do I even know you’re really from Campion?” Jones said from the doorway.

  Robert shrugged. “Call him, if you want. My name is Turchek. Ask him if I’m here on his behalf.”

  “Maybe I will,” Jones said. He rubbed one of the diamond rings as if it were a magic lamp and he was wishing for a genie to pop out. “Turchek?” he said after a moment.

  “Right.” Robert knew that Jones wasn’t going to call Campion. “Why don’t you just get me the book?” He was still watching Beau.

  “How about we deal?” Jones offered.

  “Sure. Okay. Here’s the deal. You get me the book and I won’t blow your fucking brains out. Does that sound like a pretty good deal to you?”

  “Hey, come on—”

  “Fuck it, Jones. That’s the deal. The only deal.”

  Beau looked up suddenly, saw him watching, and gave an enthusiastic peace sign. God, when was the last time he’d seen anybody do that? Robert returned the gesture. Then he turned and looked at Jones again. “Well, Lonnie? It’s your call.”

  After a moment, Jones went back inside the restaurant. Robert followed him and slid the door closed. “I’ll get the book,” the black man said.

  “That’s smart, Lonnie. And don’t even think about trying anything that isn’t so smart.”

  “It’s in the safe. You wait here.”

  “Oh, I’ll wait.”

  Jones disappeared.

  Alone, Robert took out a handkerchief and used it to wipe the doorknob. He went back to the bar and picked up the pen, wiping it as well. He hadn’t touched anything else in the place. Then he took the handgun from his pocket.

  Jones reappeared, a small black spiral notebook in one hand. He dropped it onto the bar. “Tell Campion this isn’t over yet,” he said.

  “I’ll tell him,” Robert said.

  He raised the gun and shot Jones in the head. After using the handkerchief once more on the gun, he dropped it next to the body. Ditch the weapon and you were a lot safer. It was very easy to get another cheap gun.

  Then he left the restaurant.

  Beau was sitting on the sand now, watching the water. “Business all done?”

  “All done.” Robert dropped down next to him and lit a cigarette. “I’ll take you back to Hollywood tonight,” he said. “Then you’ll be on your own again.”

  Beau frowned, then looked away quickly. “Okay.”

  “I’ll give you some money.”

  “You already gave me thirty.”

  “Oh, hell, that’s not enough.”

  Beau was drawing ragged lines in the sand. “You don’t owe me anything, you know.”

  “It’s got nothing to do with owing you. I just want to do it.” Robert stared at the scratches. “What’s that mean? That picture.”

  “Nothing.” Beau rubbed it out. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

  Robert sighed and pushed himself up. “Let’s go,” he said.

  Beau followed him back to the car.

  3

  “Does that hurt?”

  Robert looked up from the menu he was reading. “Does what hurt?”

  Beau fingered his earlobe. “Having those holes in your ear.”

  “No, it doesn’t hurt at all. You decide?”

  “I don’t care. Steak, I guess.”

  “Good choice.” The waitress came back and they both ordered the sirloin dinner. Robert settled back to drink his beer. It was time to get tough on this kid. To tell him the facts of life before he went back onto the street. “What I want for you to do, Beau, is smarten up a little, okay? Hide your money. Stay out of dark alleys. And for Christ’s sake, don’t get so chummy with strangers. You don’t know who might be a psycho or a pervert. You hear what I’m saying?”

  Beau nodded.

  Robert still wasn’t sure that any of what he was saying was actually getting through. “Maybe what you really ought to do is just go on back to your grandfather’s. Hell, I’ll even drive you there, if you want.”

  Beau’s chin lifted a l
ittle. “No,” he said. “I won’t do that.”

  They paused as the waitress delivered salad and rolls. When she was gone again, Robert picked up one of the warm rolls. He tore it apart and smeared butter on both halves. “Does the old man beat on you or something?”

  “No.” Beau dumped salt and pepper on his salad. “Nobody pays me that much attention.”

  “So your feelings got hurt, is that it?”

  A quick flash of anger passed through the usually placid blue eyes. “Look, Robert, you don’t understand the situation. He never cared about my father and he doesn’t care about me, either. And so why the hell should I care about him? I’m not going back there.”

  Robert shrugged. “Hey, it’s your life. None of my fucking business what you do.”

  They glared at one another and concentrated on eating, not talking.

  Both steaks were nearly gone before Beau spoke again. He set his fork down. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t have any right getting mad at you.”

  “It doesn’t bother me,” Robert said. “Sometimes getting mad is the only way to survive.”

  Beau shook his head. “But you’ve been real great. Saving my ass last night and all.”

  Robert didn’t want to get all tied up in this boy’s emotions; there wasn’t any time for that. “Hey, Beau, it was no big deal.”

  Beau just looked at him for a moment, then picked up his fork and started eating again.

  As they were finishing the apple pie à la mode, Robert pushed an envelope across the table. “Take this,” he said. “It should keep you going for a while.”

  Beau opened the envelope and quickly counted the money inside. “There’s two hundred dollars in here,” he said.

  “I can afford it. Just remember to hide the bread in different pockets, like I showed you. And in your shoes.”

  “I will. Don’t worry about me,” Beau said, going for toughness. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Sure. Just like you were doing last night, right?” Robert checked his watch. “Well, it’s getting late and I’ve got things to do. You ready to take off?”