L is for Lawless

When I reached the main floor, the emergency generators kicked in and briefly lights flickered back to life. The corridor was deserted, doors closed. Here, there was no sign of movement, no hint of smoke, the sprinkler system muffled. Every public room I passed was empty of guests. I found a fire door marked Emergency Exit with a big flexible bar across the center, the surface posted with warnings. As I pushed through the door, yet another siren began to howl behind me. I walked rapidly, without a backward glance, until I reached the side lot where Ray's rental car was parked.

The fire engines were pulled up at the hotel entrance, where clusters of evacuated hotel guests were milling about. The night sky was a fervent yellow, choked by columns of white smoke where the fire and the water from the hoses came into contact. At the side of the building, two sprays of water crossed in midair like a pair of klieg lights. Parts of the hotel were completely engulfed by fire, glass crashing, flames curling up as a cloud of black smoke rolled out. The portion of the driveway that I could see was blocked by the fire trucks and fire hoses, emergency vehicles flashing strobes of amber light. Overhead, a helicopter hovered where a local news team was taking pictures, reporting live at the scene.

I found Ray's car keys in my blazer pocket and let myself into his rental. I started the engine and flipped the heater on. My clothes were soaked, water still trickling down my face from the hair plastered to my head. I knew I smelled of smoke, wet wool, wet denim, and damp socks. The Texas night was cold, and I could feel myself being overtaken by a bone-deep shivering. I let the engine warm up. The car was a "full-size" Ford: a four-door automatic, white with a red interior. I threw the gears into reverse and backed out of the slot, scanning the empty parking lot for signs of Gilbert.

I left my headlights off as I eased along the perimeter of the lot toward the far side. The exit was blocked by a cop with a flashlight, forcing traffic to detour. I picked a spot along a row of hedges and drove across the curb, forcing the car through the thickly growing bushes. I emerged on the access road about a hundred yards beyond the roadblock. The officer probably saw me, but there was not much that he could do. He had his hands full directing all the carloads of rubber-neckers. I turned right on the road leading back to the main highway. As I passed the miniature stone castle, I slowed, giving my horn a quick beep. Ray and Laura emerged hurriedly from the shadows, Ray toting the three bags, loaded down like a pack mule. Laura still wore the phony harness in front, the eight thousand dollars borne against her belly like an infant. The illusion of pregnancy was so convincing that Ray hovered protectively. I heard the trunk pop open, followed by the thumping impact as Ray flung the bags in the back and banged the lid down. He opened the door on the passenger side front and slid onto the seat next to me while Laura let herself in the back. I put my foot on the gas and took off with a chirp, anxious to put distance between us and the enemy.

Ray said, "We didn't think you'd show. We were just about to take off on foot." He turned around, peering through the rear window at the burning hotel behind us. "Gilbert did that?"

"One assumes," I said.

"Of course he did," Laura said peevishly. "He was probably waiting out front, ready to pick us off as we came through the revolving doors."

I glanced at her in the rearview mirror. Like Ray, she had turned to peer back at the fire. The glow on the horizon varied from blood red to salmon, a white cloud billowing where the water from the fire hoses turned to steam. "It's a hell of a blaze. How'd he manage it without accelerants?"

"Give him credit. The guy's resourceful. He's quick on his feet and he's good at improvisation," she said.

Ray turned to face forward, reaching for his seat belt, which he snapped into place. I saw him glance at me again, checking my bedraggled state. I felt like a dog left in the backyard during a sudden rain. He leaned sideways on his seat, pulling out a handkerchief that he passed me. Gratefully, I mopped at the trickles of water running down my face. "Thanks."

"You going back to the airport?"

"Not looking like this. Besides, I've already missed my… Shit!" I realized with a jolt that I'd left my plane tickets in the shoulder bag I'd abandoned. I patted my blazer pockets, but there wasn't any point. I couldn't believe it. Of all things. In my haste, I'd simply missed the airline envelope. If I'd just grabbed the ticket or, better yet, held on to the bag itself. Now all I owned were the odds and ends I carried on my person. I was nearly sick with regret. The plane ticket represented not only my return home, but most of my liquid assets. I banged on the steering wheel. "Goddamn it," I said.