Road Rules Online

The trickle of cold water down Mike’s back, which Sharon called “an alleged shower,” did do one thing for him.  It helped push away his hangover.

But not the exhaustion.

He climbed out and dried off with a threadbare towel.  Pulling on an equally threadbare robe, he stepped out into the room.

And stopped.

The Savannah edition of the Journal-Constitution lay on the bed.  The Chest had bumped Iraq from the top of the page for:

“SUSPECT IN HOLY RELIC’S THEFT ARRESTED IN SAVANNAH”

The text underneath read, “Cleveland man mum about accomplices’ whereabouts.”

Sharon looked from Mike to the Chest and back to Mike.  “’Accomplices.’  Plural.  They know about me.”

Mike shrugged as he fished a pair of boxers out of his overnight bag.  “You had a chance to skip out on me.”

She smiled at him.  “Aren’t you glad I didn’t?”

Was he?  He looked her over, now dressed in a pair of skorts and a blue top.  She was beautiful, no doubt about it.  But Mike had never considered a black woman before.  Only then did it occur to him that he hadn’t thought much about her race since he first met her.  He thought it unusual for a black woman to be working as a hooker in a Charleston truckstop.  Since then, she’d been not only along for the ride, she’d been driving it since Tim Mason carjacked them.

“Thank you,” he said.  “I’m out of ideas.  What’s our next move?”

“Breakfast,” she said.  “There’s not much we can do for Stan, but we can figure out how and where we’re going to return the Chest.”

“I think Miami’s out.”

“Me, too.  For now.”

“For now.”

Linda slept as Franco sat in his chair drinking a bloody Mary.  He wore sunglasses as he enjoyed the view of downtown Savannah from Hutchinson Island.  They had taken over half a floor of the Westin Hotel.  Naturally, Franco’s room offered the best angle to see the Tallmadge Bridge spanning the river.

Loman entered from an adjoining suite.  “Got a car downstairs, a ‘Slade like you wanted.”

“Wonderful,” said Franco in an unusually subdued voice.  Sundays normally meant sleeping off Saturday’s partying.  This morning, only Linda would get any sleep.  When she awoke, assuming they stayed in Savannah, one of the soldiers would have to take Linda into town to shop.  There was no way Franco would be up to playtime today.

Besides, it was the Sabbath.

“What’s the word on Yarazelski?” he asked.

“We sneaked Zilberberg off the plane about once we learned Yarazelski is still in jail.  He’s on his way over now to bail him out.”

“Good,” said Franco, smiling despite bloodshot eyes.  “Very good.  It won’t be long now.”

“Not long at all,” said Loman.  “Not if his friends are still here in Savannah.”

Sharon had started to wake up when she realized she was naked.  She opened her eyes when she realized Mike was also naked.  When she shifted against Mike, she realized neither of them had remembered to use a condom.

Why would they need a condom?

Mike opened his eyes, which grew as wide as hers.  They both looked down at themselves.

And screamed.

Then moaned.

Alcohol had not only brought sex.  It had also replaced afterglow with a hangover.

Mike sat up and rubbed his temples.  “Um…”

Sharon gathered the sheet up around herself.  “Yeah.”  She pulled the sheet up around her breasts and wrapped herself in it.  Sitting at the edge of the bed, she leaned forward and breathed deeply, trying to make her head stop swimming.

“I’m sorry,” said Mike.

Sharon turned around and saw he was still naked, simply sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, not even looking at her.  “For what?”

“You were drunk.”

“So were you.”  The room refused to cooperate.  “Did I really ask you to call me Cinnamon?”

He nodded, which clearly was a bad idea.  He almost turned green from the motion.  “I think so.”

Despite the throbbing in her head, she smiled at him and let go of the sheet.  “Mike.”

He didn’t face her, probably because his head hurt.

“Mike.”  He still wouldn’t look at her.  “Hey.”

Finally, he looked up.  “What?”

“Am I Cinnamon to you?  Or Sharon?”

A rumbling noise came from inside him, and he swallowed.  “Excuse me.  What now?”

She stood up, not bothering with the sheet anymore.  “Who am I to you?  Am I Cinnamon?  Or am I Sharon?”

“You’re Sharon.  In fact, I think you’ve been Sharon since Timmy hijacked us.”

“You keep being honest with me, and you can call me Cinnamon whenever you want.”  She padded across the room to the shower, but didn’t close the door.

When she looked back to see if Mike wanted to join her, she saw him fall back on the bed.  Just as well.  They had a busy day ahead.

The clock on the nightstand read 8:30 when Miguel untied Mason.  In walked Luis, looking well-rested, with a big Wal-Mart bag.  He tossed the clothes to Mason.

“Go shower,” said Miguel.  “Then put these on.  We can’t walk into a jail with you smelling like a homeless guy.”

“What do you want me to do?  I mean once we leave?”

“Bail out Stan Yarazelski,” said Miguel.

Chapter 22

It had been years since Estevez had gone with less than four hours sleep.  Frankly, he didn’t miss it any.  Since they hadn’t had time to pack, he had to shower and climb back into yesterday’s suit.  To him, it made the shower pointless.

Jordan looked like Estevez felt as they met at the elevator.

“Are we getting breakfast this morning?” asked Jordan.

“You kidding?  We’re lucky we’re not paying for the hotel.”

“They might stick it to the city.”

At that moment, the elevator doors opened to reveal a freshly-dressed, but equally sleep-deprived Kennedy.  She wore a black blazer with matching skirt.  Estevez looked her over.

“When did you have time to pack?” he asked, getting on the elevator.

“I always keep a bag ready to go,” she said.  “I’ve had too many sudden late night trips in this job.”

“I’d remember that,” said Estevez, “but this is the first time I’ve had to fly on a moment’s notice.”

Kennedy turned to Jordan.  “When we get there, Carlo and I will go in first.  I want to get a feel for how this Yarazelski guy will react.”

“Has he said anything about Sharon?” asked Jordan.

“He plays ignorant whenever she or Myron Blake are mentioned.  But he’s all too happy to rat out Koradovich.”

“Who was all too happy to hand us Julian Franco,” said Estevez.  “What’s the word on him?”

“Scalzi says his people saw Franco and his lieutenant, two soldiers, and a pretty little thing in a cocktail dress get on the plane.  Savannah PD says only three people got off.”

“Meaning?” said Jordan.

“Meaning he’s either still on the plane or got off in the hangar,” said Jordan.

“Not likely,” said Kennedy.

“Or Franco and his plaything posed as workers,” said Jordan.

“You’ve seen this before.”

“It’s why I quit the force.  I’ve been accused of it.”

“Falsely,” said Estevez.  “In-house political bullshit.”

“I know all about that,” said Kennedy, leading them out as the elevator doors opened onto the ground floor.  People heading to and from the continental breakfast in the lobby crowded the corridor.