R is for Ricochet

"What are they up to?"

Marty shrugged. "Beats me. I think they work on two."

The doors closed behind them and the three of us continued to the entrance while Willard made a note of our departure time with the same blank stare he'd given us before. Marty didn't bother to nod his good-byes, but Reba gave Willard a merry finger wave. "Thanks, Willie. Nighty-night."

He hesitated and then lifted a hand.

"Did you see that? True love," she said.

We went down to the lower-level parking garage. At the foot of the stairs, Marty said, "I'm parked over here. Where're you guys?"

"That way," I said, pointing in the opposite direction.

Reba shoved her hands in her jacket pockets and watched him walk toward his car. "Hey, Marty?"

He paused and looked back.

"Think about what I said. You don't act soon, Beck's go

Marty nearly spoke, and then seemed to change his mind. He shook his head, his expression withdrawn, and turned on his heel.

She watched until he was out of sight and then the two of us walked the length of the garage.

"I didn't like the look of those cleaning guys," she said.

"Would you give it a rest?"

"I'm going on record. There's something bogus about them."

"Thanks for telling me. I'll put a note in the file."

When we reached the VW, I unlocked the door on my side, slid behind the wheel, and then leaned over and unlocked the passenger-side door for her. She got in and pulled the door shut, but when I went to insert the key in the ignition, she put her hand out. "Hang on a minute."

"Why?"

"Because we're not done yet. Soon as Marty pulls out, we can have another go."

"You can't go back up there. How're you going to pull that off?"

"We can tell Willie you left your shoulder bag upstairs and you have to have it back."

"Reba! You gotta quit this. You're going to screw up the government's case."

"It's the government that screws up. Look at the state we're in. The country's a mess."

"That's not the point. You can't violate the law."

"Listen to you, Miss Prissy Ass. What law?"

"Shall we start with breaking and entering?"

"That wasn't breaking and entering. We went up with Marty. He let us in of his own free will."

"And then you stole the keys."

"I didn't steal them. I borrowed them. I intend to put 'em back."

"It doesn't matter. I'm telling you, I'm through with this," I said. I turned the key in the ignition, shifted gears, and backed out of the space.

"Don't you want your bag?"

"Not now. I'm taking you home."

"Tomorrow morning, then, and I swear that'll be the end of it, okay? I'll pick you up at eight."

"Why so early? It's Saturday. The mall doesn't open until ten."

"We'll be long gone by then."

"Having done what?"

"You'll see."

"Uhn-uhn. No way. You can count me out."

"You don't come with me, I'll do it on my own. No telling what kind of trouble I'll get into."

I would have closed my eyes in despair, but I was already pulling up the exit ramp and didn't want to crash in my haste to get us out of there.

I turned right on Chapel. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Reba pull something from her jacket pocket, saying, "Well, this is cool."

"What."

"Looks like I stole something after all. Naughty me."

"You didn't."

"Yes, I did. These are Beck's. I found 'em in his desk in that Mickey Mouse secret drawer. Must be pla

Abruptly I pulled over to the curb, greatly a

She held the documents out of my reach. "Hang on. This is the real deal here. A passport, birth certificate, driver's license, credit cards. 'Garrison Randell' with Beck's photograph. Must have cost a mint."

"Reba, what do you think's going to happen when he realizes that stuffs gone?"

"How's he going to know?"

"How about he looks in his drawer the minute he gets back? That's his means of escape. He probably checks the docs twice a day."

"You're right," she said. "On the other hand, why would he suspect me?"

"He doesn't have to suspect you. All he has to do is figure out who's been in. Once he gets a bead on Marty, it's over. Marty's not going to risk his neck on your account. You'll end up back in the clink."

She thought about that. "Well, okay. I'll put 'em back in his desk when I return O

"Thank you," I said, but I knew I couldn't take her at her word.

I dropped her at her place and rolled into my apartment at 11:15. The red message light was blinking on my answering machine. Cheney, I thought. There was something erotic in the very idea, and like one of Pavlov's dogs, I nearly whimpered in response. I pressed the button and heard his voice. Eight words. "Hey, babe. Call me when you get in."

I punched in his number and when he picked up, I said, "Hey yourself. Did I wake you?"

"I don't mind. Where you been?"

"Out with Reba. I have tons to report."

"Good. Come on over and spend the night," he said. "I'll make you French toast in the morning if you're good."

"Can't. She's picking me up here at eight."

"How come?"

"Long story. I'll tell you when I see you."

"So how about I come get you and take you home in the morning in time to meet her?"

"Cheney, I can handle the drive. You're only two miles away."

"I know, but I don't want you rattling around the streets at this hour. The world's a dangerous place."

I laughed. "Is that how it's going to be? You're all protective and I'm docile as a lamb."

"You have a better idea?"

"No."

"Great. I'll pick you up in ten," he said.

Chapter 20

I waited for him outside, sitting on the curb, wearing a black turtleneck T-shirt and one of my new skirts. This was the third night in a row I'd be seeing him. Like a wi

Curiously, I didn't feel I was in danger with him. Having blundered so often in relationships with men, I tended to be cautious, remote, keeping my options open in case things didn't work out. Inevitably, things turned sour, which only served to reinforce my wariness. In retrospect, I could see that Dietz played the game exactly the way I did, which meant I was also safe with him, but for all the wrong reasons: safe because he was always off somewhere, safe because he probably wasn't capable of coming through for me, and safe, most of all, because his detachment was a mirror of my own.

I heard Cheney's car long before he turned the corner from Bay onto Albanil. His headlights flashed into view and I got to my feet, silently cursing the loss of my shoulder bag. I'd been forced to pack – if you want to call it that – a few things in a paper sack, like a kid's brown-bag lunch: clean underwear, a toothbrush, my wallet, and keys. Cheney was driving with the top down again, but when I got in the car I realized the heater was turned on full blast, which meant that half of me would be warm.