Wildest Dreams (Thunder Point #9)(24)

“I wouldn’t mind shooting you,” he said. “Here.” He tossed the coins one at a time.

“I need a bag or something.”

“I don’t have a bag!” he shouted. “Get outta here!” He pulled the door closed.

Blake looked at the losers he’d just done battle with. They weren’t coming at him, but he had to keep an eye on them. That meant kneeling with his legs almost under the trailer and his weapons close at hand. He began scooping the remnants of the small teak box into his pockets along with the items on the ground, which may or may not have been the contents. He recognized the hospital wristbands and swatch, both very dirty. There was a cheap chain, perhaps once silver in color. A broken locket, a shred of paper, a cross. He shone his flashlight around for a rosary, but didn’t see it. He ran his hands through the dirt, coming up empty. There was some loose change—he scooped it up in case it had meaning. A hair clip, a flat silver ring, an old watchband. Finally satisfied that he’d looked enough, he went back to Lin Su’s trailer.

When he opened the door to go inside he was stopped by what he saw. Lin Su and Charlie were stuffing piles of clothes and other possessions in large trash bags. He had forgotten the duffels.

He started to tremble. He had a flashback and saw himself as a small boy, seven or eight years old, helping his mother stuff their meager belongings in plastic bags. That was how they moved from place to place and they moved all the time to keep ahead of dealers, pimps, junkies and social services. When he was thirteen and they came for him, removing him from his mother’s guardianship, he left with a bag of clothes. A small bag of clothes.

He shook himself. “Hey. We gotta get out of here fast. I mixed it up with a couple of your hoods and we gotta go. Now.”

Lin Su and Charlie looked at him. He knew what they saw. He was glistening with sweat even though the night was cold. He was panting a little—equal parts fatigue and nerves. He shook a little from some adrenaline and the flashback. He wondered if the flashbacks would ever go away. He held his flashlight and tire iron like weapons. He put them on the ground by the steps into the little trailer.

He stepped inside, grabbed a full bag and took it outside, throwing it in his car. He went back for another, then on his third trip Lin Su and Charlie each had a big bag to stuff in the backseat of her car.

“Charlie? Backpack and laptop?” he asked.

“In the car,” he said.

“I’m going to follow you, Lin Su. If you have any trouble, I’ll be right behind you.” He picked up his weapons and took them to the front seat of his car.

* * *

After Blake had pulled into the garage at his house, Lin Su backed into the drive for convenience’s sake. She wasn’t pulling four giant trash bags of clothing and miscellany into his house; she wasn’t planning to stay long. But she would move the bags he had into her trunk, leave the bags she and Charlie brought in the backseat, and they could pick through them for usable clothing. She was now very grateful for that last-minute shopping run for Charlie’s school supplies and jacket. She took her Target bags with her into the house.

Blake held the door for her to enter through the garage.

“Can you leave the garage door open for a little while? I have to get into some of those bags and find clothes for bed and the morning.”

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll leave my car keys on the kitchen counter so you can move your things from my car whenever you like. And you’re welcome to use the washer and dryer if necessary. There are clean linens in the loft bathroom and on the beds. The kitchen is all yours. There’s tea on the counter, drinks in the fridge, muffins, frozen yogurt, fruit. Have a snack. I’m going to get a shower but I’ll be awake awhile. It’s not very late—help yourself to the TV.”

“You won’t even know we’re here,” she said.

“I want to know you’re here,” he said. “I want to know you’re both here and no more of your belongings will be taken or destroyed or... Oh,” he said. He reached into the cupboard for a ceramic bowl and began emptying his pockets into it. The shards of teak and contents of the box were mixed with dirt. “The guy smashed it and I think most of the stuff was lost. The pieces of the box are too small to put it back together, but...”

She stepped closer. The dust from the dirt rose in a miniature cloud. She recognized the hospital wristbands, then heard the clink of two gold coins. She stepped closer. The swatch, filthy, joined the other detritus that comprised her treasures. She grabbed it, unfolding it, gently brushing it. It was going to take a miracle to restore its color, but it was whole.

She lifted her eyes to his. “This is what you were doing,” she said in a near whisper. “This is what got you in a fight.”

“Yeah. Well, I saw one of those guys, the ones that chased Charlie, and it pissed me off. I knew they’d done it.” He grunted and shook his head. “I’m psychic.”

“Mr. Smiley...”

“For the love of God!” he snapped. “Call me Blake!” He calmed himself. “Or Father Smiley. But no more Mr. Smiley!”

Her eyes were startled. “Father Smiley?” she asked.

“I told Bruster I was a priest so he’d give me back the coins. And not shoot me.”

“Awesome!” Charlie said from the back door. “He had a gun?”