Malicious Intent by Mike Walker

Author:Mike Walker [Walker, Mike]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781890862053
Amazon: 1890862053
Goodreads: 733982
Publisher: Bancroft Press
Published: 1999-10-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 34

9:28 A.M.

I-95 North

Florida/Georgia Border

Charmain goosed the rented Mustang GT convertible north up I-95 toward the Florida-Georgia border. She felt strange, tingly and numb all at once. Sad, yet weirdly jazzed. Patrick was gone. A ghost. But the blood debt was paid. It was as right as it could be.

Her skin twitched the first few times she spotted a state trooper, but she got over it fast. Fuck it. They caught her, fine. She really didn’t care. It was all fate, anyway. A life lesson: bad shit can happen to beautiful people. Okay. Got it. No one ever fucks me over again.

No one.

Just before she hit Jacksonville, a huge DOT sign posted destinations. First listing for North was “Savannah.” Charmain’s chest heaved. She swung the wheel toward the setting sun, shot across the interchange marked “West! I-10.” And cried until there was nothing left.

She drove all night across the Florida Panhandle, stopping once for coffee and pancakes at a Waffle House and again at a deserted rest stop to do some cocaine she’d bought in Miami. Keep her awake, she figured. Halfway between Tallahassee and Pensacola, she had a strong urge to leave the I-10, turn north toward Citrus Corners and fall into Millie’s arms. No, she thought, past is past. Over. Done. Head for the sun. Hollywood, here I come. Ha, ha.

Just before dawn, Charmain pulled into a Red Roof Inn outside Mobile, Alabama, and crashed until late afternoon. She awoke ravenous. Drove into Mobile, ate a huge steak, then pushed the Mustang through the night to New Orleans. The Big Easy. Patrick’s hometown.

She checked into the Royal Sonesta Hotel on Bourbon Street, but didn’t sleep. She showered, called room service, ordered coffee and binets, a local confection of delicate fried bread and powdered sugar. Patrick had told her about binets, said they’d share them at their first New Orleans breakfast together. Two words: Dee-lish.

She left the hotel, walked through the French Quarter until she reached the Mississippi. She wandered along the bank, watching barges and paddlewheel boats drift up and down the river; imagined Patrick as a boy playing around the docks, diving into the river on hot summer days, fishing from the banks. Suddenly, she stopped, shook her head. What had she expected? That he’d magically reappear, speak to her again? That she’d feel his spirit as strongly as she had that day in Savannah, in the garden? Stupid.

“Goodbye, baby,” she said.

She turned away from the mighty river, walked back through the French Quarter, checked out of the hotel without sleeping. And left him behind forever.

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