“Thank you very much, Your Grace.”
She looked at the mess in his room. “I can’t concentrate anymore.” She thought a moment. “I don’t have all the registers from the Lodge in Albuquerque—just for some selected days. Let me hunt around a little more.”
“No way, no way!” Ben shook his head. “George knows that I obtained the names illegally, but he doesn’t know how. We’ve gotten out of this alive. If you get caught, it’ll ruin your life. Please promise me you’ll stop.”
“Why should I? You don’t promise me anything. And even when you do, you renege.”
Ben took her in his arms. “It’s bad enough that you’re still working at the Jackson. You really shouldn’t press your luck. You should quit.”
“Vicks, if he’s onto us—and just maybe he is—he knows what I’m doing there, so . . . maybe it’s better that I’m there.” She pulled away but kept her arms around his waist. “You know what that crime show says: keep your friends close but your enemies closer.”
“Actually, I think Sun Tzu said it in The Art of War.” Ro was silent. He said, “I looked it up.”
This time she broke away. “I’m hungry. To make up for your sins with Lisa, you may take me out for dinner. You can clean all this up later.”
“I should clean it up now. I have to get back to Albuquerque. I’ve got a big test tomorrow and . . .” Her look made him wilt. “I thought you were going out to the movies with JD.”
“We’ll catch a later show. And if he gets pissed, I don’t care.” She was glaring at him, daring Ben to contravene her orders.
Pick your battles, Vicks.
He said, “Where would you like to go eat?”
She picked up her purse, flipped her hair, and tossed him a look over her shoulder. “Kiki’s is just fine. Although if you should opt for something better, I wouldn’t say no.”
Chapter 6
Weapons weren’t his thing. If it couldn’t be done with the hands and the brain, it was a cop-out. Still, there was something thrilling about holding a killing machine in one’s hands. Something so powerful, so strong, yet so compact. Weapons were the ultimate combination of art and mechanics.
He knew he was taking chances. It wasn’t that he wanted to be caught—that would be disastrous—but it seemed that over the years he’d needed more and more to keep up the thrill. It was like sex. The act was fine, but sometimes the foreplay was even finer. And as he got older, it seemed he needed more and more foreplay, hence the weapon. It produced a thrill, holding something potentially lethal. It gave him power.
And that’s what it was all about really.
Power.
“Stop squirming.” Laura Vicksburg put down her phone and adjusted the camera attachment. “If you stop moving, I can finish quicker.”
“I’m not moving on purpose. The tux doesn’t fit.” Ben was annoyed. “Why are you even doing this? There’s a photographer at the prom. I promise I’ll order extra photos.”
“He or she will not have a mother’s love. And stop glaring at me. It wrinkles your forehead.”
His father, hiding behind a newspaper, was laughing. Haley put up her hand. “Wait.” She straightened his clip-on bow tie. “I can’t wait for my prom.”
“Want to go instead of me?”
She ignored him. “We have morp in two weeks, but it’s not the real thing. It’s, like, homemade decorations and weak punch. And we’re not allowed to wear strapless or minidresses or gowns. That doesn’t leave too much in the fashion department.”
“You’ve hit on something,” Ben told her. “Prom is really all about chick fashion.”
“You just realized this?” Haley patted his cheek. “You really do look handsome, Ben. You clean up very nicely.” She backed away and his mother took another picture.
“Can I go now?”
“Where are your six friends, Grumpy?” Laura waved her hand. “Yes, you can go now!”
“If I had my choice, I’d rather take you or Haley or even Lilly . . .” He looked at his sister. “Where is Lilly? I never see her anymore.”
“We’re going shopping together this weekend for dresses.” She looked peevish. “She’s going with Ezra to morp. She has a life without me.”
“I’m just used to seeing her, that’s all. No need to get snippy.”
She stuck her tongue out. Laura’s eyes had turned wet. “Promise me you’ll try to have a good time. I know this isn’t your thing, Ben, but you won’t regret it. It’s what . . . you should be doing at your age.”
Ben nodded, knowing exactly what she meant.
This first time should have been Ellen’s moment. He was a piss-poor substitute, but he was all that Mom had.
Lisa decided to do a modern twist on her usual garb. The dress was black lace but had an underlay of gold. Supersexy and contemporary and very short, like a baby-doll nightgown. Her long legs were encased in seamed stockings held up by a garter belt that peeked from under the micromini hemline. Her shoes were ultrahigh heels and they glittered like the stars.
Ben complimented her. She complimented him. Her mom took pictures while criticizing Lisa’s dress (too short), her makeup (too much), and her hair (“you should have done an updo”). Had she been Ben’s mother, he would have taken drugs too. On the ride over, Lisa was sulky and silent.
“You look great,” he told her.
“Thanks.” She was fiddling with her hair, which had been tied in an elaborate braid. “My mom’s a bitch.” Her eyes were hot. “God, I can’t wait to get out of there ’cause it’s either I leave or I’ll commit homicide.”
“If she meant to embarrass you in front of me, it didn’t work. You look superhot.” He parked the car and helped her out. “Take it from me as a guy: you couldn’t do any better.”
“Should I have done an updo?”
“You should let your hair loose. Guys love long hair.”
She began to undo the braid, her carefully designed coif falling over her shoulders in waves.
“Perfect,” Ben said. “Should we go in or would you like more time?”
“I suppose we have to take the plunge.”
Ben took her hand and together they walked inside. The gym wasn’t exactly transformed—it still smelled of sweat and dirty socks—but it did look festive. There was bunting and banners, there was colored lighting, and there was a disco ball. Onionfeather—the band—was dressed in retro suits with skinny ties: white jackets and black cuffed pants that showed their socks. There was a full-sized buffet table with desserts and punch and coffee. The dance floor was half filled with couples gyrating to terrible music. The guys were in rented tuxes and the girls glittered like tinsel. Ro was holding court near the coffee urn. JD had his arm around her waist. Ben sighed. The girl was an absolute knockout, wearing something long and slinky, with silver and gold threaded through it and a big slit that revealed a good deal of leg. The entire dress showed off that incredible body.
“Balenciaga,” Lisa said.
“Pardon?”
“Ro’s gown. It’s designer. You can’t even get the label here. She must have bought it in New York or something. There’s one thing I can guarantee you: it must have cost a fortune.”