Prayers For Rain Part 95

"At least till prom. Aren't I lucky?" she told him. "Talk to you soon."

She hung up. "Siobhan was found with a rope dangling from her waist. The operating theory is she was tied to something heavy and dropped to the bottom, where something ate through the rope and part of her hip. She wasn't supposed to come up."

I banged my chair back as I stood and went to the window, looked down at the avenue.

"Whatever his move is, he's going to make it soon."

"Yet we're agreed he couldn't have killed her."

"But he's behind it," I said. "f.u.c.ker's behind everything."

We left the belfry and went across to my apartment, entered the living room to a ringing phone. Just as I had that early evening on City Hall Plaza, I knew it was him before I picked up the receiver.

"That was pretty funny," he said, "getting me suspended from my job. Ha, Patrick! Ha ha!"

"Doesn't feel good, does it?"

"Getting suspended?"

"Knowing someone's f.u.c.king with you and might not let up for a while."

"I can appreciate the irony, just so you know. Someday, I'm sure, I'll look back on this and just laugh and laugh and laugh."

"Or maybe you won't."

"Whatever," he said calmly. "Look, let's say we're square now. Okay? You go your way, I'll go mine."

"Sure, Scott," I said. "Okay."

For a minute he didn't say anything.

"You still there?" I asked.

"Yeah. Honestly, Patrick, I'm surprised. Are you serious, or are you f.u.c.king with me?"

"I'm serious," I said. "I'm losing money here, and you can't get to the Dawes' money anymore, so I'd say it's a draw."

"If that was the case, why'd you shoot up my apartment, buddy? Why'd you steal my truck?"

"To make sure I drove the point home."

He chuckled. "You did. You certainly did. Outstanding, sir. Outstanding. Let me ask you-am I going to blow up the next time I start my car?" He laughed.

I laughed with him. "Why would you think that, Scott?"

"Well," he said happily, "you went after my home, then my job, I figure the next logical step would have been my car."

"It won't blow up when you start it, Scott."

"No?"

"No. But, then, I'm pretty sure it'll never start again."

His laugh boomed. "You f.u.c.ked up my car?"

"Hate to break the news to you, but yeah."

"Oh, Jesus!" His laughter grew louder for about a minute, then decreased until it was a barely connected string of soft chuckles. "Sugar in the gas tank, acid in the engine?" he asked. "That sort of thing?"

"Sugar, yeah. Acid, no."

"Then what was it, huh?" I could hear his frozen smile. "I figure you for the inventive type."

"Chocolate syrup," I said, "and about a pound of unconverted rice."

He roared with glee. "In the engine?"

"Uh-huh."

"Did you run it for a while, you wacky b.a.s.t.a.r.d?"

"It was running when I left it," I said. "Didn't sound real good, but it was running."

"Whoo!" he shouted. "So, so, Patrick, you're saying you totaled out an engine that took me years to rebuild. And...and...you destroyed my gas tank, the filters, I mean, everything really but the interior."

"Yeah, Scott."

"I could..." He giggled. "I could just kill you about now, buddy. I mean, with my own bare hands."

"I kind of figured. Scott?"

"Yes?"

"You're not done with the Dawes, are you?"

"f.u.c.ked up my car," he said softly.

"Are you?"

"I'm going to go now, Patrick."

"What's the fallback plan?" I asked.

"I'm willing to forgive the suspension and even the destruction to my loft, but the car's going to take some time. I'll let you know what I decide."

"What do you have on them?" I said.