They spent the entire day holed up in the office, like it was the only shelter in the storm that clattered and shook the city outside. Rick called Gloria first thing in the morning and told her to take the day off. She sounded disappointed, but he hung up before she could say why.
He went out once, early in the afternoon, to pick up enough food to last them for awhile. He locked the doors behind him and left Laura with his revolver. He felt incomplete without it--naked, even--as if he'd gone off to fight a dragon without his armor. The city itself was the dragon, looming and lumbering with its clouds of smoke rising higher into the sky, but Rick knew there were worse monsters lurking around, and he was afraid by the time he made it back, Laura would've disappeared again, taking the gun with her.
When he returned, though, with a brown paper bag full of groceries, he found her just where he'd left her. She sat quietly behind his desk with the gun laid out in front of her. She knew how to use one, as Rick well remembered, and her hands were quick enough to reach for it when and if she needed it.
"I picked up a little bit of everything," he said. "You didn't say what you liked, but I've got us some bread and cheese. We can get water from the tap if we're thirsty."
"Is that all? Just bread and cheese?" she asked, nearly stunned. "We can't survive on just that, Rick."
"Survive? How long you think we're going to stay cooped up in this place, anyway?"
"As long as I need to."
She got up from the desk and went to expect the bag of food Rick had brought in. She pulled the long loaf of French bread out of the way and began digging toward the bottom.
"Eggs, onions, potatoes... we haven't got a stove here. How are we supposed to eat these? And this milk--it'll go bad before we even have a chance to finish the bottle!" The tone of her voice seemed urgent and just a little terrified.
"Calm down, doll. They're for later, all right? We can't stay here. We need to leave. We can go back to my place for the night, and you can fix us some breakfast in the morning."
"Oh, Rick, I don't know if I can leave. I just know that Tony's out there. He's waiting for us to step outside, to slip up. I know it!"
"I'm telling you, sweetheart, he ain't going to do a thing as long as I'm around. I've got my revolver, remember?"
He picked the gun up off the desk and tucked it back into his holster, breathing a sigh of relief as he heard it brush against his leather belt and felt the weight of it holding him down.
"Maybe he'll get lucky. Maybe he'll slip up behind us and... and... Oh, Rick, I just don't want anything to happen to you. Not on my account."
"I'm in this for the long haul, baby. Don't worry about a thing. He's the one that's going to slip up, and if we're not the ones to do away with him or put him behind bars, it'll be the boys down at the station."
"What? You told the cops?"
"I'm an ex-cop, myself. Of course I told them. I passed along everything I knew, and they're on the lookout for him. Like I said, don't worry about a thing."
"Do they know who he is?"
"Not that I know. Not yet, anyway."
"So they didn't mention anything about him... or me?"
"You?" asked Rick. He thought it would be best if he pretended to know nothing, at least until they were somewhere safer, where he knew she wouldn't run off. He slipped his hand into his desk drawer and felt around until he found an almost-empty pack of cigarettes, pulling one out and tucking it into the corner of his mouth. "Why would they mention anything about you, gorgeous?"
"No reason. I just thought they might know something more about the case. That's all."
"Mm-hmm. So my place--what do you say?"
She smiled. "I say you better not try anything funny, mister."
"Madam, I assure you, I'll neither try nor say nor do anything funny. I don't have much of a sense of humor."
"I can tell," she said with a mock sigh.
"So's that a yes?"
"I suppose," she said. "For tonight, at least. There's something I need to discuss with you, anyway, and I'm tired of staring at your office walls while I'm trying to think."
"That's the spirit. Now remember, I'll be right beside you the whole time."
They left cautiously, taking extra care to peek out all the windows first to see if anyone was watching or waiting around outside the building. The coast was clear, so they set out onto the sidewalk, legging it toward Rick's apartment before the afternoon rush poured out onto the city streets.
They ate the bread and cheese for their dinner. Laura snooped through the liquor cabinet and found an old bottle of Burgundy tucked away in the back. It'd been a going-away present when Rick left the force, but since he never developed much of a palette for anything beyond whiskey and other hard liquors, it'd gone untouched for years. He didn't even know how to open it, but Laura managed with a rusty bottle opener she found in the kitchen drawer.
"So that's what that's for," said Rick. "I'm pretty sure it's been here since I moved in, but I've never had a reason to use it."
"Well you do tonight. Here, try some."
She pulled a couple of short whiskey glasses from the cupboard and filled it with what looked like a couple of shots each of dark red wine. He took one of the glasses, sloshed the wine around as he stared at it, and drained it in one gulp. He set the glass back down with a sour grimace on his face.
"Slow down!" Laura laughed. "You have to sip wine. Roll it in your mouth, and let the flavors come out. You can't taste it if you just pour it down."
"Believe me, I could taste it just fine. It's a bit too bitter for me."
"Hush. It's called dry."
"Well, whatever you call it, it ain't got nothing on a glass of Baliol."
Rick grabbed a large bottle of whiskey from the cabinet and filled his glass, which still contained purple droplets of wine, half full.
"All right, now that we're settled in, what was it you wanted to talk about?" he asked.
Laura took a seat at the table, plucked a bit of bread from the loaf, and considered it for a few seconds before she ate it. "I want to leave," she said. "I want to get out of the city, Rick."
"Can't say that I blame you."
"And I want you to come with me. We can get a fresh start," she said, perking up at those words.
"Well, now, I don't know about that."
"Please, Rick. You love me, don't you? You said you were in this for the long haul."
She placed a hand on face and stared lovingly into his eyes. Rick just took another sip.
"I'll tell you what--I'll think about it."
She grinned, thinking she'd sunk her nails into him, that he was ready to be molded like clay, but she didn't know Rick Armstrong as well as she thought. She was right where he wanted her.
"There's just one thing I want to ask you about, first."
"Sure, Rick. Ask me anything."
"What do you know about Carlos Berretta?"
She dropped the glass of wine in her hands, and it shattered on the floor. There were chunks of glass strewn everywhere, like diamonds ready to be mined, and a small pool of red wine that reminded Rick entirely too much of blood.
He went out once, early in the afternoon, to pick up enough food to last them for awhile. He locked the doors behind him and left Laura with his revolver. He felt incomplete without it--naked, even--as if he'd gone off to fight a dragon without his armor. The city itself was the dragon, looming and lumbering with its clouds of smoke rising higher into the sky, but Rick knew there were worse monsters lurking around, and he was afraid by the time he made it back, Laura would've disappeared again, taking the gun with her.
When he returned, though, with a brown paper bag full of groceries, he found her just where he'd left her. She sat quietly behind his desk with the gun laid out in front of her. She knew how to use one, as Rick well remembered, and her hands were quick enough to reach for it when and if she needed it.
"I picked up a little bit of everything," he said. "You didn't say what you liked, but I've got us some bread and cheese. We can get water from the tap if we're thirsty."
"Is that all? Just bread and cheese?" she asked, nearly stunned. "We can't survive on just that, Rick."
"Survive? How long you think we're going to stay cooped up in this place, anyway?"
"As long as I need to."
She got up from the desk and went to expect the bag of food Rick had brought in. She pulled the long loaf of French bread out of the way and began digging toward the bottom.
"Eggs, onions, potatoes... we haven't got a stove here. How are we supposed to eat these? And this milk--it'll go bad before we even have a chance to finish the bottle!" The tone of her voice seemed urgent and just a little terrified.
"Calm down, doll. They're for later, all right? We can't stay here. We need to leave. We can go back to my place for the night, and you can fix us some breakfast in the morning."
"Oh, Rick, I don't know if I can leave. I just know that Tony's out there. He's waiting for us to step outside, to slip up. I know it!"
"I'm telling you, sweetheart, he ain't going to do a thing as long as I'm around. I've got my revolver, remember?"
He picked the gun up off the desk and tucked it back into his holster, breathing a sigh of relief as he heard it brush against his leather belt and felt the weight of it holding him down.
"Maybe he'll get lucky. Maybe he'll slip up behind us and... and... Oh, Rick, I just don't want anything to happen to you. Not on my account."
"I'm in this for the long haul, baby. Don't worry about a thing. He's the one that's going to slip up, and if we're not the ones to do away with him or put him behind bars, it'll be the boys down at the station."
"What? You told the cops?"
"I'm an ex-cop, myself. Of course I told them. I passed along everything I knew, and they're on the lookout for him. Like I said, don't worry about a thing."
"Do they know who he is?"
"Not that I know. Not yet, anyway."
"So they didn't mention anything about him... or me?"
"You?" asked Rick. He thought it would be best if he pretended to know nothing, at least until they were somewhere safer, where he knew she wouldn't run off. He slipped his hand into his desk drawer and felt around until he found an almost-empty pack of cigarettes, pulling one out and tucking it into the corner of his mouth. "Why would they mention anything about you, gorgeous?"
"No reason. I just thought they might know something more about the case. That's all."
"Mm-hmm. So my place--what do you say?"
She smiled. "I say you better not try anything funny, mister."
"Madam, I assure you, I'll neither try nor say nor do anything funny. I don't have much of a sense of humor."
"I can tell," she said with a mock sigh.
"So's that a yes?"
"I suppose," she said. "For tonight, at least. There's something I need to discuss with you, anyway, and I'm tired of staring at your office walls while I'm trying to think."
"That's the spirit. Now remember, I'll be right beside you the whole time."
They left cautiously, taking extra care to peek out all the windows first to see if anyone was watching or waiting around outside the building. The coast was clear, so they set out onto the sidewalk, legging it toward Rick's apartment before the afternoon rush poured out onto the city streets.
They ate the bread and cheese for their dinner. Laura snooped through the liquor cabinet and found an old bottle of Burgundy tucked away in the back. It'd been a going-away present when Rick left the force, but since he never developed much of a palette for anything beyond whiskey and other hard liquors, it'd gone untouched for years. He didn't even know how to open it, but Laura managed with a rusty bottle opener she found in the kitchen drawer.
"So that's what that's for," said Rick. "I'm pretty sure it's been here since I moved in, but I've never had a reason to use it."
"Well you do tonight. Here, try some."
She pulled a couple of short whiskey glasses from the cupboard and filled it with what looked like a couple of shots each of dark red wine. He took one of the glasses, sloshed the wine around as he stared at it, and drained it in one gulp. He set the glass back down with a sour grimace on his face.
"Slow down!" Laura laughed. "You have to sip wine. Roll it in your mouth, and let the flavors come out. You can't taste it if you just pour it down."
"Believe me, I could taste it just fine. It's a bit too bitter for me."
"Hush. It's called dry."
"Well, whatever you call it, it ain't got nothing on a glass of Baliol."
Rick grabbed a large bottle of whiskey from the cabinet and filled his glass, which still contained purple droplets of wine, half full.
"All right, now that we're settled in, what was it you wanted to talk about?" he asked.
Laura took a seat at the table, plucked a bit of bread from the loaf, and considered it for a few seconds before she ate it. "I want to leave," she said. "I want to get out of the city, Rick."
"Can't say that I blame you."
"And I want you to come with me. We can get a fresh start," she said, perking up at those words.
"Well, now, I don't know about that."
"Please, Rick. You love me, don't you? You said you were in this for the long haul."
She placed a hand on face and stared lovingly into his eyes. Rick just took another sip.
"I'll tell you what--I'll think about it."
She grinned, thinking she'd sunk her nails into him, that he was ready to be molded like clay, but she didn't know Rick Armstrong as well as she thought. She was right where he wanted her.
"There's just one thing I want to ask you about, first."
"Sure, Rick. Ask me anything."
"What do you know about Carlos Berretta?"
She dropped the glass of wine in her hands, and it shattered on the floor. There were chunks of glass strewn everywhere, like diamonds ready to be mined, and a small pool of red wine that reminded Rick entirely too much of blood.
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