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  “I’m very aware of these feelings. I watch them very closely. I can honestly say I’ve never let them affect the way I do my job. I’d quit if I ever did.” Ron laughed harshly. “Of course, there’d be people waiting to shove me out, too. So there I am. Do you think I’m in recovery?”

  “Yeah. And probably more honest with yourself than most people, including me, have the courage to be.”

  “Yeah, well. We all evolve as fast as we can.” Ron got up, yawned, and stretched. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

  Corrie was silent for a beat, and then she laughed her deep laugh. This time with a ribald note to it.

  “You know what I meant,” Ron said. “Hell, as tired as I am, it wouldn’t matter if we did sleep in the same bed.”

  “Must be terrible getting old,” Corrie teased, standing and picking up her rifle.

  There was more than enough moonlight for him to see the mischievous, challenging look on her face. He reminded himself that she wasn’t as young as she looked. That she’d told him of one lover, and doubtless there must have been others. He wasn’t really robbing the cradle, even if he still felt like it.

  He took her hand and led her inside.

  Marcus Martin hadn’t wanted to let Didi DuPree and the white woman inside at all. He explained that it was not in Reverend Thunder’s interest for them to enter the estate. In fact, with the police sitting right outside watching everything, it would be best if they just backed out and drove away. Immediately. But Deacon Meeker had pushed Martin aside.

  “Come on in, Didi,” he’d said into the intercom, opening the gates.

  Now Didi, Meeker, Martin, Gayle, and Jimmy Thunder sat in the mansion’s massive living room. Martin and Jimmy sat on one sofa, Didi and Meeker, with Gayle between them, sat on a facing sofa. Gayle was as waxen as if she’d been stolen from Madame Tussaud’s. Didi stroked her thigh idly, as one might pet a cat.

  On Didi’s lap was the computer Gayle had taken from Colin Ring’s hotel room.

  “Man had a lot of nasty things to say about you, Jimmy,” Didi said, scrolling through the text on the computer screen. He stopped, read a notation, and grinned. “That old lady, Cardwell, went upside your head with a frying pan. That for real?”

  Jimmy didn’t answer. He appeared slightly less lifelike than Gayle. Marcus Martin, on the other hand, looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. But the casual way in which Deacon Meeker had moved Martin’s two hundred and twenty pounds aside let the lawyer know that keeping quiet would be, by far, the most prudent thing to do.

  “Yeah, this man, Ring, he runs your character down all the way to China. Says you beat your wife while she was pregnant, ran out on her and Junior, never gave your boy a dime, or even owned up to him after you got rich.” Didi leaned forward. “And Mr. Ring, he never even got to talk to me about your prison years. But, you know, I been helping ol’ Gayle here with her writing. I bet I could fill in some blanks in this here book, too. Make ’em look just like ol’ Colin Ring wrote those prison stories himself.”

  For the first time, Jimmy showed a flash of anger. His muscles gathered themselves for movement. But acting on Jimmy’s behalf, Marcus Martin wisely put a restraining hand on the reverend’s arm.

  “How’d it look,” Didi went on, “if everybody found out Deacon ’n’ me had to protect you from becoming some of those big bucks’ punk? The ones that wanted to prove a football player isn’t so tough. How’d it look if folks read the deacon went out and got you your own punk to keep the nights from gettin’ too lonely? You think all those fine Christian folks you got coming here on buses would part with their money for some fudge-packin’ man?”

  Not daring to show the least sign that she was listening, Gayle Shipton thought this was incredible stuff. Somehow or other, she had to get out of this alive. She had to write this story. Using as much of Didi’s language as possible.

  Didi continued in his quietly menacing voice. “Of course, once you got out of the joint, you went right back to pussy like any real man would. Thing was, you were hardly ever content to have just one in bed with you at a time. Ashanti and DaChelle can testify to that. They’ll be back by-’n’-by, too, in case you’re wondering. Then we got your drugs to talk about, too. How you like your blow and your ecstasy. But you know what your biggest problem is, Jimmy? The man who wrote all these awful things about you, he just got himself killed. Now, if somebody should ever discover this book at some later date, who’s it gonna look like did the man? You could deny it all you want. But everybody knows you already killed one man. So why not another?”

  “Mighta been one time, Jimmy, you were nobody’s nigger.” Didi snapped the laptop computer shut and stared hard at the reverend. “But you’re my nigger now.”

  It was at that point that Marcus Martin decided he would have to do something he’d never have believed possible. Something that would gall him the rest of his days.

  He’d have to call Ron Ketchum and ask for his help.

  As Didi and Gayle drove back to the screenwriter’s house, he was pleased with the way things had gone. Jimmy would fall in line. There was nothing like being revealed as a prison cell faggot to empty a preacher’s collection plate. Nothing like the threat of going back to the joint, maybe even Death Row, to terrify an ex-con. And as bad as Jimmy might be feeling about Junior’s death right now, there was no point in the man losing everything he had. No future in it at all. Didi was sure that Jimmy knew all the blackmail threats were just window dressing. What lay behind them was the certainty that Didi would kill him if he didn’t go along.

  But it was best not to say that right out loud. Not to someone you might be doing business with for years to come. And this scam he’d cooked up for the Reverend Thunder’s ministry had been the sweetest idea of his life.

  It’d all started when his cousin, Deacon Meeker, had called him and asked if Didi might find something for him to do real soon. His gig with Jimmy was going south; the faithful were getting tight with a dollar. Everybody’s standard of living would start to suffer real soon.

  Up ’til then, Didi had only talked to his cousin, Deacon, maybe once a year. And he hadn’t given Jimmy Thunder any serious thought in a long time. But right when Deacon called, Didi was a little strapped for cash himself. He decided it would be a shame to let a money machine like the Reverend Thunder’s fall by the wayside. If it could no longer do what it was originally built for, maybe it could be turned to another good purpose. Say, washing some serious amounts of dirty money.

  While working out the plan in his mind, Didi had been introduced to these two whip-smart colored gals out of L.A., Ashanti Royce and DaChelle Chenier. Stone foxes both of them. Best of all, they were flexible in their thinking about what was right and wrong. Once he’d met the ladies, Didi’s plan fell into place.

  What he’d do was become a money-laundering broker. Not work for any one outfit. But offer his services to anyone who had some sizable funds they needed to have cleaned and pressed. When a customer came along, DaChelle with her background in criminology, and computers, could hack into the right data bases and find out if there was too much heat on a potential customer. And from all her dealing with cops, she’d be sure to smell an undercover pig a mile away. Ashanti, the demographer, knew the U.S. census reports like the back of her hand. She could generate endless contributions to Jimmy Thunder’s ministry from folks who’d be astounded to learn that they’d made them. Not that they ever would.

  Jimmy, he’d get a healthy cut, attention from the ladies, and Deacon Meeker would be on hand to keep an eye on things for Didi. Everything had been working out without a hitch — until Junior Cardwell had popped up out of the blue. That boy had started to put a serious crimp in things.

  Didi had never actually seen anyone saved from himself before. Certainly not anyone as avaricious as Jimmy Thunder. But Junior was actually starting to turn his old man around. Made the reverend truly think about giving up all the good things he’d worked so hard to con out of the
suckers. Got him to think about doing what was right.

  But then ol’ Junior got himself nailed to a tree. Which just went to show, Didi thought, that no good deed goes unpunished.

  Oops. He’d let another cliché slip by, even if he didn’t say it out loud.

  Didi looked over at Gayle. Sure enough, he decided, her time was just about up. She’d gotten all of Colin Ring’s notes and his computer out of the Englishman’s hotel room for Didi. And try as he might, he couldn’t think of another thing she could do for him.

  Not even one last bump ’n’ grind. He knew from experience that when you got a gal down for one last ride and she knew what was coming — and somehow they all did — why, it just wasn’t fun for anybody. So, he’d spare Gayle that much.

  He’d just take her inside, do her quick, and leave her there with ol’ Colin Ring.

  Nobody knew he’d been staying at Gayle’s house. He’d leave nothing behind to connect him to either killing. That smartass cop who’d popped up and taken his picture on the way out of Jimmy’s place might have thought he had something. But what he had was the way Didi didn’t look.

  That dark guy with the gleaming bald head and the earring might get blamed for stealing Gayle’s car, but Didi would bet they wouldn’t have the Porsche on the stolen auto wire before he could drive it down to Reno. Once he got there, he’d just leave the keys in the car and the door unlocked. It’d be gone in two minutes.

  Wouldn’t take him a whole lot longer to catch the first plane out to anywhere far away. Then he’d make a connection to New Orleans. He’d let his hair grow out and his skin color fade. Before you knew it, the guy who’d been photographed with ol’ Gayle, he’d be gone for good.

  Jimmy’s lawyer, Marcus Martin, would have to make a permanent departure in the near future, too. But killing him would take a little planning. Couldn’t just do the man inside of the Reverend Thunder’s house. What Didi had to figure out was how to get Martin back to L.A. alive and then ice him in some untraceable way. He didn’t know how to accomplish that yet, but he was confident something would come to him.

  It always did.

  They were pulling up to Gayle’s house when Didi stopped her from pressing the garage door opener. “Leave it outside, baby. I got another little errand to run.”

  Gayle looked at Didi without saying a word. But somehow she knew that this irregularity — not driving into the garage as usual — meant it was all over for her. Didi was going to kill her now. She was as certain of it as she’d ever been of anything. Worse still, she was sure Didi knew she knew.

  As Gayle brought the car to a stop in front of her garage door, her hands froze on the steering wheel. Her whole body started to shake. Her shoulders hunched as if she were a leaf blown from a tree, curling in on itself. She wanted to scream, but could make only small mewing sounds. Tears slipped from her eyes and scalded her cheeks.

  Didi reached over, turned off the engine and took the key. He got out of the car, walked around to her side and opened the door for her. He waited a moment in silence. When she didn’t come out, he spoke softly.

  “Come on, baby. I promise: It’ll be easier than going to the dentist.”

  Christ, she thought, the bastard even had to come up with a great exit line. But was a knack for dialogue really a basis for a relationship? Was it enough reason to die for a man?

  “Come on now,” he repeated, his voice a little harder this time.

  To her great shame, she obeyed him. What the hell was wrong with her? He was going to kill her whatever she did. Shouldn’t she at least make it hard for him?

  Getting to her feet, wobbling on one three inch heel and one sheared-off flat, she looked Didi in the eye and said, “I hope your dick falls off, you trip on it, and fall into a tree chipper.”

  Feeling compassionate, Didi replied, “Sure, baby. That’s just what’ll happen.”

  But it wasn’t.

  From the woods at the edge of Gayle’s property came a growl. Two luminous feral eyes appeared. Didi and Gayle reached the same conclusion at the same time: mountain lion.

  But Gayle’s thinking leaped one step ahead. She knew what Didi would try to do here. Exactly what he’d done to her with Colin Ring. He’d try to throw her at the lion. Only this time she wasn’t going to let him.

  Before Didi could grab her, Gayle raised the foot wearing the remaining spiked heel. As he grasped her shoulders, she raked the heel down his shin and directly into his instep. Didi bellowed in pain, releasing her and bouncing up and down on his good leg. Gayle ran out of her shoes and around the Porsche. She dived into the passenger seat, and before Didi could get his bearings, she pulled both doors shut and locked them.

  Didi looked at the lion. It had edged forward, but only a little. So, the killer peered into the car at Gayle. His face wasn’t contorted with rage, as she’d expected. It registered only disappointment, mild disapproval. Didi reached around to the small of his back, and brought out his gun.

  He took one more look behind him — and now the lion was nowhere to be seen.

  “You want to come on out, baby?” he asked.

  Gayle shook her head. If he wanted to kill her, he would have to do it the hard way. The killer shrugged. He held up the car key, let her look at it, and inserted it into the lock. But with Gayle’s finger holding the button down, he couldn’t get the door to open.

  Now, Didi looked angry. He’d run out of patience. He turned to face the car squarely and raised his gun to shoot Gayle.

  Which was when the lion leaped off the roof of Gayle’s house and took Didi. Slammed his face smack up against the driver’s side window, which, thank God, didn’t shatter. Gayle heard the growl of the beast, the scream of the man, and the snapping of Didi’s spine. A jet of bright red blood shot out of Didi’s neck as an artery was severed. It splattered the Porsche.

  Gayle didn’t recoil. She watched in rapt fascination, trying hard to remember every detail of sight and sound, whispering fiercely, “Kill him, kill him, kill him!”

  The lion needed no encouragement. It finished the job quickly. Then with its face painted in Didi’s blood it stood on its hind legs and looked in at Gayle. It pushed the Porsche with its front paws, as if to tip it over. But the sports car was too heavy, too well balanced. The big cat gave Gayle a grunt. Not really angry, just disappointed in her the way Didi had been.

  But the mountain lion didn’t know how to fire a gun, so it took Didi DuPree’s mangled neck in its mouth, flipped his body on its back, and carried the killer into the woods to eat.

  Gayle told the departing predator, “If you need an antacid, pal, it’s on me.”

  Hey, she thought, that was a pretty good exit line, too.

  Chapter 48

  Thursday

  Ron and Corrie were a tangle of interlocked arms and legs when the phone rang. Their eyelids snapped open in unison, as if they’d been choreographed. Extracting circulation-deprived limbs from the jumble, however, was managed with far less artistry. Both of them saw that the morning sun had peeked over the horizon. The day was still young, but they were already late to meet it.

  The phone rang again.

  “Oh, God!” Corrie exclaimed. “That has to be the deputy chief wondering where the hell I am. Quick, pick up the phone,” she instructed Ron. “Tell him I’m on my way.”

  Ron watched her scurry nude into the bathroom. Then he answered the phone.

  It was Oliver, all right, but he wanted to talk to the chief, not the game warden.

  “Found Colin Ring,” he said without preamble.

  “Where?” Ron asked.

  “Dead in a lady screenwriter’s house.”

  Gayle Shipton. The name clicked into Ron’s head from last night.

  “Is she dead, too?”

  That was when Oliver threw him a curve.

  “No, she’s just fine. But she says that DuPree character you wanted is dead.”

  Ron was stunned. “She killed him?”

  “Nope. It was the m
ountain lion. Finally nailed somebody.”

  “Jesus!” Ron got Gayle Shipton’s address from Oliver.

  Then he ran into the bathroom and jumped into the shower with Corrie.

  But it was purely a matter of hygiene.

  Ron raced to Gayle Shipton’s house with Corrie right behind him in her 4x4. Officers Santo Alighieri and Divine Babson had been reached just before they ended their shift, and they were at the Shipton house when Ron and Corrie arrived. Oliver was there with Dr. George Ryman, the town’s volunteer medical examiner, and two more patrol officers.

  The lot of them met with Gayle Shipton on the balcony outside her living room. Alighieri and Babson identified her as the woman they’d seen last night at the Thunder estate. They also confirmed that the Porsche outside was the car they’d seen. Ron thanked the officers and dismissed them. He told the other patrol officers to wait outside and hold at bay any media types who showed up.

  Dr. Ryman did the obvious and pronounced Colin Ring dead. Then he, too, went outside to wait for Officer Benny Marx to wrap up his work behind the Reese house where the bloody hammer had been found. The crime scene specialist hoped to make it to the Shipton place within the hour.

  Gayle Shipton admitted picking up Didi DuPree in a cafe. She said she’d been interested in some recreational sex. But once she got him home, he’d pulled a gun and told her she was his slave. If she didn’t do exactly what he wanted, he would kill her.

  In response to Ron’s question, Gayle said, yes, Didi had shaved his head and darkened his skin. He was the man with her last night. They’d gone to the Thunder estate right after Didi had killed Colin Ring. He’d forced her to lure the Englishman to her house so he could have her gain access to the key to his hotel room, and steal all of Ring’s material on the book he was writing about Jimmy Thunder.