Another Number for the Road by CJ Verburg

Author:CJ Verburg
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Boom-Books

CHAPTER 16: RAMBLIN’ MAN

Three hours later I was jabbed awake by a legal point.

Not that I’d slept much. I’d left a message for John Otis, promising an update in the morning. Every time I dozed off, the elevator clanked and my ears pricked up. Someone from the front desk? Quasi & Company coming back from Paris? They couldn’t have heard yet that Bear was dead. Maybe Lacey would knock on my door asking for news. Or Terry. Or Dan . . .

No footsteps outside. Maybe the elevator had taken the flics up to search Quasi & Company’s rooms. Did French law require a warrant? Or just M. Vlaemenck’s permission?

What were the rules here on habeas corpus? Extradition? Reasonable doubt? Capital punishment?

That was when I recalled the fax from my subconscious that had woken me. In France, suspects of a crime are considered guilty until proved innocent.

I threw back the covers, pulled my white cotton robe on over my head and slid my feet into slippers.

Lacey’s door was shut. Pressing my ear to the wood, I could make out murmurs. Cops? More likely Lacey and Roach. Either way, I wasn’t about to join them.

Upstairs I braced myself and tapped—lightly, in case he was asleep.

“Who is it?”

“Cory.”

The door opened.

Dan Quasi stood there in only his faded jeans. His bare shoulders and chest looked so beautiful that I caught my breath. Heart-stopping guitar solos, a hundred songs in his head, and this too? I couldn’t meet his eyes. Nor did I dare go on staring at the triangle of shadow contoured by the hollow beneath his collarbone, the silver threads in the curled dark hair between his breasts. I thought: I must have been out of my mind to come here.

He motioned me inside.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I explained defensively. “I started thinking— After you all left I went to the police station. Did you know—but how could you?—they’d only just found out, and you were going to Paris—”

Babble babble! Like a child with a nightmare. Ambulance. CPR. Autopsy. Investigation. Why hadn’t I stayed downstairs with my insomnia instead of making a fool of myself to Dan Quasi?

His reaction answered me.

“Dead. Shit!” He scooped his sport coat off the floor and hurled it at a chair. “I can’t fucking—” Visibly he stopped himself. Then he retrieved the jacket and felt the pockets. “Well, sit down.” His voice flat, angry, frustrated. “Have a smoke.”

“Did anybody at the police station say anything to you about . . . responsibility?”

He shook his head; mimed holding a poker hand an inch from his nose.

“Do you know if they searched the hotel?”

“No.”

“They didn’t, or you—?”

“They didn’t. Local cops, I’d know.” A short laugh as he lit a match. “Just like the good old days, huh? When you’d scout every room you stayed in for hiding places.”

He inhaled; and I recognized with a jolt the comradely odor of marijuana.

Dan held out the joint. I stepped back in disbelief. “What are you doing?”

Dan laughed, which made him choke on the smoke. “Shit, Cory.

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