Chapter 6
Davies moved quietly across the room and opened the door. Compared to the darkness in the study the hall was brightly lighted.
Keaton shielded his eyes from the brightness.
“Are you okay there, Keaton?” Davies asked.
“My eye reflexes are old,” Keaton answered. “I guess you can call them reflexes. I kind of lost my balance there for a second while they adjusted to the hall light.”
Davies stepped out into the hall. “If you’re okay then, this way. Let’s go have that drink.”
In the light of the hallway Davies was a slim man, early sixties, cropped hair, thin faced but well fed. His silk suit was worth more than everything Keaton owned.
“And Ms. Ruth is waiting,” Hobson added.
“See, ‘A man’s home is his castle,’ unless the Princess is waiting,” Davies laughed. “Let’s hurry so you can meet Ruth.”
“Yes, sir,” Keaton answered and moved out into the hall where Davies and Hobson waited.
“This way,” Davies said as he took the lead with Keaton in the middle. Hobson dropped to the rear to close the study door.
“The dining room is just up the hall, Mr. Keaton,” Davies explained moving beside Keaton. “I hope you brought your appetite. I believe Chef has something special for you.”
“I could eat a horse,” Keaton answered. “Well, maybe a pony.”
Davies laughed, “Well, I don’t think Chef prepared a horse. But I think you’ll like it none the less.”
Davies turned into a large dining room. There was a small fire in the grate to the left of the table. Three candelabras lit the length of the table and the large windows at the end of the dining room let in a slanting light from the exterior lights. The room was less brightly lit than the hallway.
The dining table seated thirty but was set for three. There were two places with their backs to the fireplace and one set opposite them on the other side of the table.
There was one young woman sitting with her back to the fire watching the men enter.
“You’ll be there opposite the fire Mr. Keaton,” Hobson spoke up as Davies moved behind the table.
The young woman stood up as Davies neared.
“Mr. Keaton, this is my daughter, Ruth Antonina Davies. Ruth, this is Mr. Keaton.”
Ruth curtseyed. Keaton pulled himself up straighter and bowed in return.
“Please forgive us eating at this terrible table but Dad insists we eat in here,” Ruth said with a smile at both Davies and Keaton.
Ruth was slight like her father with a similar forehead. Her hair was cut in a bob and looked black in the candlelight. Her irises were an undetermined color in the flickering light. She wore a high-collared, long sleeve, black silk, gown.
“I am so glad you came to dinner,” she said in a soft voice.
“Thank you for asking me, Ms. Davies,” Keaton replied.
“Please, call me Ruth,” she insisted.
“Of course, Ruth,” he answered.
“And I hope you don’t mind eating in the dark,” Ruth added. “Dad says that mother believed in eating in candlelight. She thought it was more relaxing and more romantic. Isn’t that right Dad?” she asked turning to her father.
“Yes, sweetheart. Your mother abhorred dining under electric lights,” Davies answered. He looked at Keaton and said, “Please, be seated.”
Keaton waited for Ruth Davies to take her seat. As she slid into her chair he settled into his and Davies followed suit.
“As wonderful as dinner smells, I think I will be able to find my mouth in the dark,” Keaton stated. Ruth smiled at the joke.
“Hobson, you may serve now,” Davies instructed.
“Yes, sir,” Hobson replied and headed to the back of the dining room and exited through a swinging, paneled door.
“I hope you won’t mind, it’s only a little three course meal,” Ruth said. “But it does start with a wonderful tomato soup that I just love. It’s a simple basil soup without any of those extras like celery or chicken stock. It’s just perfect,” she explained.
“That sounds wonderful,” Keaton answered.
“Ruth, wine?” Davies asked.
“Of course, Dad. I’ve already told Hobson to pick something. We don’t need to be thinking,” she laughed.
“Certainly,” Davies answered. He looked to Keaton, “And for you Mr. Keaton?”
“I’m afraid I never cared much for wine,” Keaton answered.
Davies smiled, “Maybe something Scottish or Irish?”
“Now you have me,” Keaton smiled. “But I only drink American.”
“Bourbon or rye?”
“Rye, if it’s cheap,” Keaton answered. “I like it to burn as it goes down. Then I know I’m having a drink.”
Ruth laughed.
“We have some Overholt in the cabinet, sir,” Hobson said entering from the kitchen with a soup bowl in either hand. A second server followed with a single bowl. He moved around to Keaton’s side of the table.
Davies looked at Keaton, “Overholt okay?”
“That would be great,” Keaton answered.
“Hobson, bring us a couple of old fashion glasses, please,” Davies instructed.
“Of course, sir,” Hobson answered. He picked up Davies’ wine glasses as the other server removed Keaton’s. As they left the room a third server entered and poured a glass of white wine for Ruth.
Hobson returned with an old fashion glass and the bottle of Overholt and took up a position near Davies’ chair. The second server followed with Keaton’s glass.
“Well, fill them up, Hobson,” Davies ordered with a laugh.
Hobson filled Davies’ glass then Keaton’s. The server hurried around the table to deliver it.
“Just set the bottle down, Hobson. I think we are capable of serving ourselves,” Davies said. He looked at Keaton and added, “Bang on the table when you want a refill.”
“Dad, you are terrible,” Ruth laughed.
Keaton took a sip from his rye then tried the soup.
In the low light Ruth’s eyes where bright and shining as she asked, “Well, Mr. Keaton, what do you think of the soup?”
“Ruth, sweetheart. Don’t put our guest in such a spot,” Davies stated smiling softly at his daughter.
“No, that’s quite alright, Mr. Davies. This soup is wonderful, Ms. Davies, I mean, Ruth.”
Ruth answered, “Dad says my mother loved it. He wanted to start with a salad, but I didn’t think you looked like a salad man.” She took a sip of wine.
Keaton smiled. “What does a ‘salad man’ look like?”
Ruth flashed her smile and eyes at Keaton. “They look thin, and haggard, and worried., like Dad.”
Keaton laughed. “Well, I am definitely not thin. But I was a long time ago and being thin does make you worried about where your next meal is coming from, and when.”
Both Ruth and Davies laughed. Everyone sipped from their glasses.
Chapter 7
Davies finished his soup and set his spoon down. Hobson came out of the kitchen with a plate in each hand followed by the servant with Keaton’s plate. Two others hurried past them and quickly cleared the soup dishes. As the fresh plates were set on the table Davies asked, “More rye Keaton?”
“Dad, that is Mr. Keaton,” Ruth corrected.
“Bill is fine,” Keaton stated. “Some more rye would be great.” He held his glass out for the servant who quickly carried it around to Davies.
“I was expecting you to pound on the table,” Ruth laughed.
“Next round,” Keaton answered looking over the plate that had been set down in front of him. Then he looked over at Davies’ and Ruth’s plates.
“I am a vegan,” Ruth offered. “I figured you were a carnivore like Dad. Was I wrong?”
“No, not at all,” Keaton said. “Meat and potatoes; potatoes and meat. Either works for me.” The servant brought the glass of rye back around.
“Is that some tofu and chickpeas you have there?” Keaton asked.
Ruth looked over at her father. “See, people do know what vegans eat.”
Davies smiled. “Do they know what you drink?” he asked as Hobson came in with a fresh glass of wine.
“Bill?” Davies asked.
Keaton looked at the stemmed glass and answered, “Red wine.”
Ruth laughed. “See Dad.”
“That’s a Sangiovese from one of our Italian vineyards,” Davies stated.
“I am sure it is wonderful,” Keaton nodded toward the wine. “I’ll stick with the Overcoat.”
“You mean Overholt,” Ruth corrected.
“That’s a personal joke,” Keaton answered. “I’ll tell you the story sometime.”
“I’ll make you,” Ruth laughed.
“You won’t have to twist my arm,” Keaton answered.
Davies spoke up, “Before we get too far into that story and this bottle, Bill. What do you think about tomorrow nights’ rugger match?”
“I don’t keep up anymore with sports,” Keaton answered. “It’s just all about the money. Folks just want to get their hand in your pocket. But having said that, I think Kansas City will win,” Keaton answered.
“No way,” Ruth stated.
“I’m old and I don’t get caught up in the hype,” Keaton replied. “Kansas City.”
“I’ll bet you five they lose,” Ruth responded.
“I can’t afford to bet and if I won, you’d be mad at me,” Keaton replied before taking another bite from his meat.
“Well, all that is great,” Davies interjected. “I was talking about the job.”
Keaton cleared his mouth to answer and looked at Davies, “A hundred thousand people in the Sportatorium, thousands milling around outside it, the worst area in Dallas, pickpockets, thieves, druggers, LD and LA headbangers, Ruth, me, Phillip and this Tristan Martin. Keep her home, lock her up.”
Keaton looked at Ruth and said, “Sorry, he asked.”
Davies burst out laughing. He looked over at Ruth and said, “I told you.” Then he looked at Keaton and added, “That’s not going to happen.”
Keaton winked at Ruth then looked over at Davies, “I know that. I think Phillip, Tristan and I will do everything imaginable to keep Ruth safe.” Keaton forked up another bite of meat.
“That’s all I can ask of you,” Davies smiled. He set his fork down and asked, “Desert, brandy, coffee?”
Hobson was picking up Davies’ plate before Davies finished his question. Keaton’s server was hurrying around to him.
“I don’t need the calories or the liquor,” Keaton grinned. “A cup of strong, black coffee would be great.”
Davies looked at Ruth.
“I am not going to pass up orange sherbet just because that Tampa hater doesn’t want any,” Ruth smiled. “In fact, Hobson, bring me his bowl also.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hobson answered as he cleared the table in front of her. He looked at Davies.
“Brandy, please,” Davies answered to the look.
“Yes, sir,” Hobson replied and headed back to the kitchen.
Davies leaned forward on his elbows and asked Keaton, “Bill, you said that sports are only about the money. What is not about the money?”
“Oh, Dad,” Ruth said.
“Professional sports is about the money,” Keaton answered. “Sandlot baseball, if that is still a thing, playground basketball, street hockey, middle school volleyball and those kinds of things are not about the money.”
“But the parents hope it will be,” Davies replied.
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“Yes, there is that,” Keaton said.
Hobson and his helper entered with the coffee, brandy and sherbet. It was all quickly consumed in silence.
Keaton set his empty cup down, “Mr. Davies, Ruth, I have not enjoyed an evening like this in a very long time. But it is way past my bedtime. And I have a busy day tomorrow.”
“Hobson,” Davies called.
Hobson stepped out of the kitchen, “Yes, sir?”
“Please have Phillip pull the car around so he can take Mr. Keaton home and then show Mr. Keaton to the door.”
“Yes, sir,” Hobson answered and then he stepped back into the kitchen.
Davies stood up from the table. “Thank you for coming tonight, Bill. I have enjoyed the conversations.”
“As have I,” Ruth added. “And I look forward to watching Tampa trash Kansas City with you beside me.”
Keaton stood up and bowed to Ruth. “It will be most enjoyable for me also. What time will you be picking me up?”
Ruth laughed. “I have no idea. Check with Phillip. He co-ordinates all that. He tells me when to be ready!” She laughed again.
Hobson re-entered and pointed toward the hall, “This way, sir.”
“Thank you all again,” Keaton said as he stepped away from the table.
Davies and his daughter watched as Keaton left the dining room. Ruth was the first to speak, “He is adorable.”
“Yes, he is perfect,” Davies stated.
Chapter 8
Hobson opened the door for Keaton. “Phillip is waiting, sir,” Hobson said.
Keaton answered, “Thank you,” and stepped out of the house and into the light. The exterior of the house, the driveway, the manufactured nature surrounding the house was lit with an almost daylight brightness. Keaton raised his right hand to shield his eyes. The wind had died. The night had a September warmth.
“The government worries about attacks,” Hobson explained to Keaton’s back.
Keaton walked slowly to the big car where Phillip stood holding the rear door open.
“Good evening, sir,” Phillip said as Keaton drew close. “I hope you had a good evening.
Keaton raised his chin an inch as acknowledgment of the statement and stepped into the back of the car. He collapsed onto the seat.
“Are you okay, sir?” Phillip asked.
“Too old. Too drunk. Too tired,” Keaton replied. “Can I go home now?”
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir. Do you need a blanket or anything?” Phillip asked.
“Just home,” Keaton answered. His head slumped slightly onto his chest.
Phillip closed the car door and looked at Hobson standing at the door.
Hobson shrugged his shoulders. Phillip shook his head and he hurried into the driver’s seat. The gravel crunched under the car’s wheels as he drove away from the house.
At Preston Road the daylight of the house’s grounds ended, and the night returned, dark streets, occasional bright streetlights, and the whine of tire tread on the asphalt.
Phillip looked up in his rear mirror. “Are you okay, sir?”
“Just old and tired,” Keaton answered. Then he said, “I didn’t meet Tristan Martin.”
“No, sir. He had a family emergency,” Phillip answered.
“Does that happen often?” Keaton asked.
“No, sir,” Phillip replied. “First time that I am aware of.”
“Can I trust him tomorrow night?”
Phillip looked up into his mirror. Keaton’s face was turned down, laying in a shifting shadow as the car passed a streetlight.
“Yes, sir,” Phillip answered.
“Good,” Keaton responded. “What time will you pick me up tomorrow?”
“Game starts at eight,” Phillip, looking up in the mirror, answered. “I am picking you up last. We need to be parked by seven-thirty. Fifteen minutes to drive there from your place. So, about seven fifteen.”
“I walk slow,” Keaton responded.
“Okay,” Phillip replied. “How about seven oh five? Do you think that will work?”
Keaton nodded and said, “Should be fine.”
Alice’s was almost empty as Keaton walked into the building’s lobby. A handful of people sat at the bar and the lights at the rear of the restaurant were off.
The stairs were dark except for the light on each floor’s landing. Keaton made his way up to his floor and down to his office. The bell tinkled “open” and “closed.” The front office was dark. Keaton crossed over to the backroom. A dim overhead light was on. Keaton sat down at the table.
The morning light coming into the room through the blinds was brighter than the overhead light. Keaton got up and walked to the wall switch and flicked it off. He went to the sink and ran some water into the coffee pot and set it on the hot plate. He turned the plate on high then pulled open a drawer beneath the counter. A Glock 20 nestled in a shoulder rig rested there.
Keaton removed the pistol, hostler and a spare magazine and took them to the table. Setting them down he moved back to the heating water. From the cabinet above the hotplate Keaton took a bag of ground coffee and poured grounds into the pot. He replaced the bag and watched the water till it began to boil. He turned off the hot plate.
There was a cup in the sink. Keaton rinsed it and set it on the table beside the pistol. Using a hot pad, he carried the coffee to the table and filled his cup. He sat the pot on the table, tossed the hot pad down beside it and quickly moved the coffee pot onto the pad. He sat down and pulled the coffee and the pistol over closer.
Keaton took a sip of coffee, set the cup down and then slid the pistol out of its holster. With his right hand he released the magazine so that it dropped onto the palm of his left. He set the magazine on the table beside the spare.
Pulling back the slide, Keaton ejected the chambered round up into the air. It fell to the floor. Keaton field stripped the pistol laying the parts in a line across the table.
Using the edge of the table Keaton pushed himself up, out of his chair onto his feet. He walked back to the counter drawer and rummaged through it until he found a small bottle of oil. From underneath the sink he pulled out a rag and then sat down at the table and wiped and re-oiled the pistol, sipping coffee occasionally.
With the Glock reassembled Keaton unloaded both magazines, examined each cartridge and reloaded both magazines. He inserted a magazine into the pistol, released the slide, loading the gun. Keaton put on the safety, dropped the magazine into this left hand and bent down to pick up the previously chamber round from off the floor. He topped off the magazine with the last bullet and re-inserted it into the Glock. He sat the pistol down and drank coffee.
Chapter 9
At seven PM Keaton was standing at the curb outside Alice’s. At seven-o-five the Davies limousine pulled up in front of Keaton.
Phillip opened the driver’s side door and slipped out from behind the steering wheel. “Good evening, sir. How are you this evening?”
“Pretty good,” Keaton answered.
He watched Phillip move to the rear door and open it. The interior light lit up the back seat.
A light haired, well-built young man dressed in jeans and a dark hoodie stepped out of the car beside Phillip. He was almost as tall and muscled as Phillip, but he looked faster. Ruth sat on the far side of the car. She was dressed similarly to the young man. She had a nearly empty champagne flute in her left hand.
Ruth leaned over and waved to Keaton. “Hi,” she said.
“Good evening,” Keaton answered. He looked at the young man. “And you are Tristan Martin?”
“Yes, sir,” the young man grinned. “And you’re Mr. Keaton,” he said and stretched out a well-manicured hand toward Keaton.
Keaton shook his head slightly and Tristan’s hand paused then moved back to his side.
“I think I should ride up front,” Keaton offered.
“Of course, sir,” Phillip answered. “Let me go get that door for you,” he said and hurried around the front of the car to the other side.
“There’s plenty of room back here,” Ruth laughed. “I won’t bite.” She looked up at Tristan and continued, “But he might.” She laughed again.
Tristan smiled. “Really, sir. I can fold out the jump seat. There’s plenty of room.”
“Front seat is fine,” Keaton smiled back. “I get car sick sometimes.”
“Yes, sir,” Tristan answered.
Phillip had the front passenger door open, waiting.
Keaton started around the front of the car. “I told you I walked slow.”
“No problem,” Phillip answered. “There’s no one coming.”
When Keaton got to the open door he slid into the front seat and Phillip closed the door and hurried around to the driver’s side. Tristan sat back down in the back and pulled the back door closed.
“Mr. Keaton, do you want some champagne?” Ruth asked.
“No, thank you. I got my game face on. Champagne might wash it off.” Keaton answered.
“It’s okay to enjoy the evening,” Ruth said.
Keaton turned slowly around to look at Ruth before answering, “Your father isn’t paying me to have fun.”
“Boo,” Ruth responded. “Tristan. Fill my glass, please. And fill yours. ‘Father’ is paying you to have fun.” Ruth held her glass out to Tristan. He opened a compartment behind the driver’s seat and pulled an open bottle of champagne out. He filled Ruth’s glass and then one for himself as Phillip eased the big car away from the curb.
The freeways, exits and access roads to the Sportatorium were a bumper to bumper traffic jam. Phillip drove downtown, through Dealey Plaza, under the freeway to a private access road near the jail that led over the east levee of the Trinity River and down onto the flood plain. The Sportatorium was three kilometers north; Three hundred meter high searchlights marked the spot.
“Nice shortcut,” Keaton offered.
“Friends in high places,” Phillip answered.
“What are you two talking about?” Ruth asked leaning forward over the car seat.
Keaton turned slightly towards her and answered, “Just talking about the weather.”
“You were not,” Tristan stated. “You were talking about us drinking before the match.”
“Were you?” Ruth demanded.
“Ms. Ruth, do you think I would ever talk about you negatively?” Phillip said.
Tristan leaned up behind Phillip. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“I guess,” Phillip answered. “You need to set back and relax. We’re almost to the parking area.” There was a heavily guarded entrance under the Sportatorium just ahead.
“I’ll whip your...” Tristan started but Ruth pulled him back into his seat.
“Hush!” Ruth ordered. “Let him drive. Besides,” she laughed, “I can kick your ass.”
“Can not,” Tristan sputtered.
Ignoring Tristan, Keaton asked Phillip, “We’re parking in the Sportatorium?”
Phillip nodded and smiled, “One of the perks of being a part owner.”
When he got even with the guards Phillip stopped the limousine and lowered his window. The guard standing there peaked inside. His glance slid over Keaton and Tristan and stopped on Ruth Davies.
“Ms. Davies, good evening,” he said to her. He looked at Phillip and added, “Pull on in, Phillip.”
“Thanks. I am running a little late,” Phillip answered.
Checking his watch, the guard said, “You have twenty-seven minutes before the game starts.”
“That’s not too bad,” Phillip said letting the car start forward and raising his window. He pulled into the Sportatorium.
The parking area was small and low ceiling. Florescent lights lit the area. There were five cars parked to the back left near an elevator. Three other cars were parked to the right near the entrance. Phillip turned the car towards the elevator.
Seven Harlequins in full regalia rose up from around the cars near the elevator. Several wore clothes covered with diamond shaped patches and black half masks. Two wore hats with bells on them. There was one dressed in white with a white conical hat. They moved towards the limousine.
“What the hell?” Tristan swore quietly from the backseat.
“Gang bangers,” Keaton responded. “Phillip, can you turn around and get back outside?”
“No,” Phillip answered. “They are behind us too!”
Five more gang members had arisen from the cars parked near the entrance and blocked off the exit.
“Lock the doors! Lock all the doors!” Tristan shouted.
Ruth dropped her champagne flute.
Phillip pressed the switch locking all the doors.
“Back up over them,” Keaton ordered.
“What? I can’t!” Phillip answered. “I’ll kill them.”
The Harlequins surrounded the car.
“If they’re real Harlequins, they’re already dead,” Keaton answered. “Get Ruth out of here!”
The Harlequins began beating on the car windows, pulling at the doors and rocking the car.
“Oh, God. Oh, God” Tristan began repeating.
Ruth made a keening noise in fear.
“Jeez,” Keaton muttered and unlocked his car door.
“Don’t open that door,” Tristan shouted as Keaton leaned into the door to open it against the pressing bodies of the Harlequins. Arms came in through the opening. Hands reached for Keaton and pulled him out of the car. Ruth shrieked.
The detonation of a 10mm cartridge covered up the rest of her sound.
Keaton was on his feet beside the car with the Glock in his right hand. There was a Harlequin with a gaping head wound at his feet. He pointed the pistol point blank at another Harlequin’s head and fired.
The Glock ejected the brass casing up into the air. The second Harlequin and then a third one hit the parking pavement before the second shell landed among the bodies. The upright Harlequins scattered, running for the parking lot entrance.
Keaton opened the car door and looked in at Phillip. “Call 911 and tell them we have 3 LDs down with head shots.”
Chapter 10
The woman was dressed in a dark, pants suite. Her hair was picked out full. A uniformed police officer handed her Keaton’s Glock. She hefted it, looked it over then looked towards Keaton.
He sat sideways on the car seat with his feet planted on the parking lot asphalt. The three bodies were gone, loaded in an ambulance that was pulling out of the parking lot with no lights flashing. Three uniforms stepped aside to let it pass. There were multiple car units outside the building running their lights. Ruth, Phillip and Tristan were near the elevator talking with another uniform.
The woman walked towards Keaton. He stood up to meet her.
She stopped a meter from him still feeling the weight of the Glock. “You got a license. You got a permit. You got rich friends,” she said. “You’ve got a great weapon here, too. Or do you call it a ‘heater?’”
“Old friend,” Keaton answered.
“I can believe that,” the woman answered. She handed the pistol back to Keaton. “You’re lucky that thing didn’t dislocate your shoulder.”
“I’ll be sore tomorrow,” Keaton answered.
The woman continued, “You are good to go. Nothing wrong with killing LDs. They’re already dead. They don’t even make a mess,” she added looking around at the scene.
Keaton checked the safety on his pistol and re-holstered it. He looked at the woman and said, “I heard the uniform over there call you Detective Escobar. Are you Lou’s daughter?”
Detective Escobar nodded.
“I was sorry to hear about his passing,” Keaton stated.
“It was clean. None of this coming back to life shit,” Escobar answered.
“He was a fair cop,” Keaton added.
Escobar looked at Keaton and answered, “Life goes on.”
“So does death,” Keaton replied.
“Yes, sir. It does,” Escobar replied. “You and your people are free to go.” She reached into the left, outside jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. She handed it to Keaton. “Before you start shooting next time, call me. Okay?”
“Sure,” Keaton answered taking the card. He turned and headed back to the elevator.
Ruth was wide-eyed and clinging to Phillip when Keaton walked up. She tightened her grip around Phillip’s waist. He put an arm around her shoulders. Tristan stood off to the side watching.
Keaton walked up to the uniformed LD and said, “Officer, Escobar says we’re free to go.”
“Right,” the uniform answered with a deep rumbling voice. He looked back to where Escobar stood, watching. She nodded her head.
“Right,” the uniform repeated. He took a step back from Keaton and looked him up and down. “See you around,” he stated and turned and walked away.
“Anytime,” Keaton called after with a grin. He looked at Ruth, “The game is not to half time yet. Do you want to go up?”
“No,” Ruth whispered with a head shake.
“You’re crazy,” Tristan said. “We could have all been killed.”
“No, not really,” Keaton answered. “They wanted Ruth alive or they wouldn’t have been so nice in their approach. But they would have killed the rest of us.”
“I want to go home,” Ruth ordered. “Right now!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Phillip answered. “Let me go get the car.”
“No, I’ll go with you,” Ruth told him. “I don’t trust these two. One’s a gunslinger and the other’s a coward.”
Phillip led Ruth back towards the car.
Keaton looked at Tristan. “Well, no doubt about who I am. We’d better hurry or she’ll leave us behind.” He turned and followed after Ruth and Phillip. Tristan followed a couple of steps behind.
Back in the car everyone was seated as before except Ruth sat as close as she could to the car door and as far away from Tristan as she could.
Phillip turned the car around under the watchful eyes of a half dozen uniforms and eased passed the patrolmen covering the parking entrance. In the open out from under the Sportatorium there were a dozen cruisers with their lights flashing and one ambulance parked with its engine idling.
“I’d better call ahead and let Hobson know what’s happened,” Phillip stated.
“He knows,” Keaton answered. “I’m sure Mr. Davies knows too. That woman, Escobar, said we had rich friends. That would be who she meant.”
“Still yet...” Phillip started.
“Of course, call,” Keaton replied.
Keaton turned partially around towards the back seat. “Are you okay, Ms. Davies?”
“No, no I’m not” Ruth answered. “You killed three people back there and we’re just driving home.”
“I know apparently, that’s true. But legally it’s not. There are only two types of humans, LDs and LAs. You can’t kill LAs because they’re alive. You can’t kill LDs because they’re already dead,” Keaton stated. “Hell, you can kill all the LDs you want. No one cares. There’s always more of them coming along.
“LDs have never gotten an Equal Rights Amendment passed. They can’t even vote. They don’t want to. They have a simpler political power; if you don’t do what they want, they bite you. You die. Then you come back as one of them and now you want what they wanted. It’s pretty simple.”
“You’re terrible,” Ruth said.
“I think of it as ‘experienced,’” Keaton answered. “That’s why I was hired.”
Keaton looked at Phillip, “What did Hobson say?”
Phillip slipped his phone back into his pocket before he answered. “Hobson said to tell you ‘Good job. Mr. Davies is happy you were there.’”
Keaton grunted as he faced back forward looking out the windshield. “We about ten minutes out?” he asked Phillip.
“Yes, sir,” Phillip responded.