Gunning For Angels (Fallen Angels Book 1) (15 page)

A bad peace is even worse than war.

–
Tacitus

Jack wasn’t surprised that Enid knew the next move was to talk to Vivian Hargrove, but he was surprised at the thoughtful silence that she lapsed into as they drove toward Phoenix. She had been the original Chatty Cathy all the way to Apache Junction and he had expected the same on the trip back to Phoenix. Taking advantage of the silence, Jack flipped open his cell and dialed Jeni.

After several rings, Jeni answered.

“Hi, Jeni. Jack Fox here.” Jack eased the car into the exit lane.

“
Hey. What’s going on?” She said.

“I need to get in touch with Vivian. Are you on good terms with her?”

After a moment of silence, Jeni answered, “I saw in the paper – she’s doing one of her charity things tonight.”

Enid said,
“Can I talk to Jeni?”

Jack made a motion for her to wait. 

Jeni continued, “It’s her big annual fund raiser for the girls’ home – at the Phoenician. Big bucks to get in.”

Jack recalled the information
that Rachel had already given him on Vivian Hargrove. She was on the board for a charity girls’ home – something about orphaned and “wayward” girls. Jack had raised his eyebrows at the name – it seemed outdated and vaguely insulting. 

“Need a date?” Jeni said
.

“No, but thanks. Got to concentrate on work,” Jack said, wishing it was Eve asking him that question.

“Oh,” her voice hinting at disappointment. “How are you going to get in? It’s by invitation only.”

Jack was about to answer when she interrupted him, “You shouldn’t talk on the phone when you’re driving.” She hung up. 

Frowning, Jack hung up. 

“Hey,
I wanted to talk to her,” Enid said.

Jack handed her the phone.

Enid hit redial and, when Jeni answered, Jack could hear the surprise in her voice when she realized Enid had called her.

“Are you with him?” Jeni said
. “Why
are you with him?”

“I – uh,” Enid bumbled.

Jack grinned at her discomfort.

Enid scowled, cast Jack an evil look. “Remember how I told you about
why
I came here…?”

“Oh! You told him? How’d he take it?
”
Jeni asked.

Jack stared straight ahead, listening as Enid changed the subject by asking about Faith. Jeni took the hint and told her how she got Faith back from social services, how the crazy ex-boyfriend was in jail and she apologized for what she put Enid through.

Jack was surprised when Enid glossed over the ordeal with Jeni’s ex-boyfriend as if it was no big deal.

“Hey, uh – I left some stuff
in your freezer,” Enid said tentatively. “I was hoping that you could hold on to it for me.”

Jeni agreed and they said their goodbyes.

Enid turned to Jack. “I need to pick up – my stuff – from Jeni’s apartment.”

“I’ll take you.”

Enid made a face.

“We
ll, I am not lending you my car. Are you even old enough to drive?”

“I can drive
!”

“I can’t drive you over till tomorrow. If you need something tonight, we can go to the store.”

Enid irritably stared out the window.

Jack glanced at his watch and mentally went through the assortment of clothes that he kept in the trunk of his car. Being a self-employed detective sometimes called for quick outfit changes. “I’m going to Vivian’s charity ball and I won’t be able to take you with me. I’ll drop you off at home.”

“Why can’t I go?”

“It’s a black-tie event. You won’t blend in and you’ll get in the way.”

“What? I can’t pass as a wayward girl?”

Jack gave her a look.

“I want to go,” Enid said, a determined gleam in her eyes.

“I said ‘no’ – so the answer is
no
.”

“Didn’t you say this is a chance for us to get to know each other?”

“I never said that.”

“Yes, you did.”

Jack said, “Well, let’s get to know each other some other time. I’ve got work to do.”

Enid shrugged, “No problem. I can hang out with your neighbor – the girl next door. Maybe she can give me some tips on picking up dirty old men – or we can go cruising the mall for tattooed tongue-pierced boys who’ll be happy to slip us a couple of roofies.”

Jack glanced at her, irritated. “Did you
ever
do anything your mother wanted you to do? And if so – how’d she get you to do it?”

“Not likely,” Enid sniffed.

“Well, if she’s got a ninja-mom secret on how to deal with – ”

“Yeah,” Enid said in a scathing voice, “Her secret is to marinate in vodka until she doesn’t remember I exist.”

Jack felt a stab of shock. Even though she told him the situation – he hadn’t imagined it was that bad.

How bad was it?

He wanted to ask her, he wanted to know, but was interrupted by the sudden violent urge
to beat the shit out of somebody
– some invisible anonymous “somebody” that was to blame for her pain – for everybody’s pain – like that would fix anything! A dim memory pushed its way up, and he felt the ghost of that horrible pain and anger that had been as familiar to him as his own skin and worse than any broken bone…

To be a kid and know you aren’t wanted.

Grimacing, he shoved the memory back down and stole a look at Enid. She was red-faced and looked like she was going to burst into tears.

Forcing his voice to stay casual, he said, “All right. Wayward girl it is.”

The subtlest of smiles curved at her mouth. A thought flashed through Jack…

Did she just play me?

A soldier will fight long and hard for a bit of colored ribbon.

–Napoleon Bonaparte

Bud stared at the hospital ceiling, wondering how many other chumps had lain in the that same bed, listened to the same doctor and stared at the same fluorescent lights as their world came crashing down.

How many are dead?

Bud closed his eyes, trying to push down the anxiety that wasn’t just “anxiety” anymore – it was no longer just an inconvenient occasional feeling – it was a
symptom
of something that threatened to bump him off – into oblivion.

No more Bud.

Bud forced himself to look into the thought of him no longer existing.

What next?

Where?

Bud’s thoughts floundered. All he saw was darkness. Bud thought back to all the Sundays he spent in church, all the prayers, all the hymns, all the checks written to the church – what did it mean? Did it mean that he was going to heaven?

Bud knew he wasn’t going to hell.

Hell was a place for diseased souls – murderers, molesters, and abusers – with a subcategory for people who hurt animals and, of course,
Mr. Jenkins
– the neighbor who, when he was in sixth grade, cut down the oak tree that he had hidden in as a shy boy – reading books, eating crackers, watching the clouds and whiling away the hours with daydreams of adventure and romance. 

Bud turned his thoughts to what was next and what “next” might look like.

After several minutes, beads of sweat formed on his brow at the blank he was drawing. Bud focused on a new thought – no matter what’s next – where he goes – whether it’s to some magical heaven or straight into the hard-packed Arizona dirt – he decided to concentrate on what
wouldn’t
be there – what he
didn’t
see.

Bunnie.

At the thought of losing Bunnie, a flood of panic washed over him so that he could hardly breathe. He would die and Bunnie would remarry. Who wouldn’t snap up a gem like his Bunnie? Bud clenched his fists, grimly promising himself he would climb over the pearly gates and cold-cock Saint Peter himself – so he could come back and haunt any man who didn’t treat Bunnie like the queen among women that she was.

Chip.

Bud dropped his head to his chest and covered his eyes. Would Chip remember him? Miss him? Tears burned in Bud’s eyes as he thought about not being there for Chip, not being at Chip’s wedding, not knowing his grandchildren. Would they mention Bud in the toast? Would Chip go through the same thing as
this
in fifty years? Did
I
give him the heart gene that’s going to land him in a bed – staring up at an anonymous hospital ceiling, contemplating – eternity? The thought was too painful. Bud forced himself to return to his list of what “no more Bud” looked like.

Degenerate murderers.

Who would make them pay?

Bud felt a stab of helplessness that sent his hand to his heart and his eyes back up to the ceiling as every fiber in his being cried out…

I’m not done!

An image of his father materialized.

He
died like a man. He faced the diagnosis of cancer with courage and dignity.

Stoically.

Would it have been better if he’d been less stoic?

Ashamed, Bud chased the thought away with a reminder that what his father had gone through wasn’t about him or his mom. His father was the one who had to suffer through all those painful months of treatment that seemed worse than the disease. If his father chose to be stoic – so be it. Who was Bud to say that it would have been better if, just once, his father could have said something that he could have clung to during the tough times?

Did he love us? Was he proud of me? What was he thinking when he was here – like me – facing eternity?

Bud felt a great emptiness open inside of him. It was that same familiar feeling of loss, of a vast emptiness – every time he thought of his father.

Morris Orlean.

From all accounts: good husband, good father and good provider. Married to Clarice Gantry. Fragile Clarice. Soft-spoken Clarice.

Opposites attract?

Stoic Morris plus fragile Clarice – equals Bud.

No more Bud…

Bud turned his eyes to the door, desperately wanting Bunnie to come to him – just to be there with him. He wanted to feel her hand in his.

Maybe she was down the hall – talking to the doctor – discussing his heart. Bud had never imagined he’d include “heart disease” as a description of who he was.

It felt…

Devastating.

No, he sternly reminded himself, it would only be devastating if he
allowed
it to be devastating. He searched for another word that he could somehow live with. He came up as empty as he had when he tried to visualize eternity.

I’m only looking for a
word!

Bunnie tiptoed into the room, her voice soft and sweet. “Hey, Sweetie…?”

Bud gripped his heart, alarmed. “Is it that bad?”

Bunnie looked startled, “What? No – it’s…”

“Bunnie, don’t scare me like that!”

“I was
trying
to be nice!” Bunnie snapped.

“Yeah, well, stop it.
Be yourself
.”

Bunnie scowled, plunked down in a chair. “Your heart blows donkey dicks from hell.”

“That’s more like it.”

“Bud, I hope I’m not going to end
up changing your diaper, am I?”

Bud laughed, “We’ll hire somebody.” He felt strangely comforted that no matter what – Bunnie was always Bunnie. Bud reached out, took her hand and felt a warmth steal over him.

Bunnie said, “I guess leaving you forever – just for this afternoon – is out.”

Bud smiled.

Bunnie frowned and said, “At least till I get you pumped full of fiber and back up on your feet – then all bets are off.”

“I love you,” Bud whispered, squeezing her hand.

Bunnie made a face, failing miserably at her attempt to look uncaring. “You’re a fool,” she said bitterly.

“For you.”

“That and a buck won’t buy me groceries, mister.” Bunnie cleared her throat and stood up. “Gotta find Nurse Ratchett – find out when you can blow this joint.”

“Bunnie, I’m going to be fine.”

She turned, hand on the door. “You’re not going to retire – after
this
? Not even for
me…
?”

“I’m sorry,” Bud said
.

She braved a smile and disappeared.

Bud listened to her footsteps echoing down the long hallway, still feeling the warmth of her hand in his.