Free Fool's Journey by Mary Chase Comstock Page B

see
now. What's this on the floor?" He bent down and picked something up.
"A whole quarter. Throwing your money around, eh? Look, I put it in my
pocket. Presto! You've got me on retainer."
                She laughed dryly and shook her head. She'd turned down
his offer once, but a second time would seem like she was protesting too much.
Someone in her situation refusing help would raise even more suspicion than
answering his questions.
    "Okay,"
she agreed, "but I guess I pay your expenses from now on, huh? Coffee's on
me tomorrow."
                "Sounds fair. I have to earn my keep, though. I'll
tear open the sugar packets."
                "I don't take sugar."
                "Purist. I'll be by around eight."
                "How about afternoon instead of morning?" She
needed time to prepare stories. She shot him a wry grin. "I didn't exactly
get a wonderful night's sleep last night."
                "What? There was a pea under your mattress?"
                "Something like that."
                "Okay,” he agreed. “You're the boss."
                She led him back to the living room where he paused at
the window to watch the glimmer of the nighttime city for a moment.
                "Is this in one of your poems?" he asked.
                "Not in a poem all its own." She stood by his
side and looked out over the panorama. "It's an odd mixture. The lights
against the water are pretty, but there's something else underneath it.
Something sad. A little desperate, maybe. I keep trying, but I can't seem to
get it right. Maybe someday."
                He nodded and they stood silently a moment longer. Then
he turned to go.
                "Okay. Lock the door after me. I want to hear it
catch and the chain slide. And don't open it again unless you're sure who's
there. Here's my number," he said, handing her a card. "I've got a
pager. Don't hesitate."
                She took the card from him and set it on a table.
"Thanks, Manny."
                Halfway out the door, he stopped and turned back to her.
"One more thing. You got a good scream?"
                She looked down. Hers had been a childhood of silence.
"I don't really know. I guess I've never needed to —"
                "Sheltered life," he muttered, shaking his
head. "It's one of your best weapons. Practice in the shower." Then
he lifted his hand and traced a small cross on her forehead with his thumb.
"A sign against the evil eye."
                A shiver rushed over her for a moment. "Locks,
screams and heavenly protection?"
                   "Part of the service," he smiled.
"We try to cover all the bases. See you tomorrow."
                As she closed the door, Deirdre could feel the heat of
the cross he had traced on her forehead. Manny was interesting. Nice, too. Now
that she was more used to him, she liked the way his appearance deceived. So
much like hers, but a kinship he would never know.
    It
was the first time she'd felt attracted to anyone in a long time. She'd have to
be careful, and keep reminding herself of everything she could never have.

XII.

 
                Manny Ruiz sat behind the wheel of his car, frowning up
at the dim window of Deirdre's apartment. He'd meant to drive off immediately,
get going on the job, but here he sat anyway. Something kept him there, the
thought that maybe, just maybe ...
                Thought nothing! He had hoped she would open the door and
beckon to him. Hope, fear, and yes, desire had frozen him. Primal feelings all
of them, over-ridden with surprise at himself. Surprise that his ordinarily
level head had been sent spinning at the sight of a pretty face.
                He shook himself. Pretty was too mundane a word to
describe Deirdre Kildeer. When Aunt Rosa had first told him about her three
years ago, he