2.
Gina Monteverdi crossed her arms on the window sill, her cup of coffee by her right elbow, and enjoyed how the smell of the dark roasted brew mixed with the pungent smell of the street after a spring rain.
It was sunset. As if to prolong the day the street lights were lit. She looked a block down the boulevard and watched, waiting for the neon sign of her workplace to go dark. It was then that the day officially ended.
There. The sign darkened. 'Nordic Swiss Insurance' went the way of the sun, down and out. Only the dim security lights remained, like the golden twilight. But soon they would be as a cluster of stars, joining the night outside.
Next door to it 'Jimmy Kedd's Bail Bonds' stayed stubbornly on, flickering red and green like a faulty traffic light that could not make up its mind.
Gina was the office manager of Nordic Swiss. The company under wrote Jimmy Kedd's bonds. As a consequence she knew Jimmy and his secretary as well as a professional relationship demanded, but no more than that. There was some concern that her district manager might choose not to renew the contract with Jimmy. That would put him out of business, temporarily at least. Just that morning she had warned Jimmy that another large forfeiture that wasn't resolved quickly would quite likely end his arrangement with her company. It was things like this that kept her from any warm friendships with clients. Be polite. Feign sympathy. Offer empty hope. But don't get emotionally involved.
No... she musn't. Remember what happened with Ralph Simon. What a disaster THAT had been, she thought, smiling in that curiously sad way as she picked up her coffee cup and stood erect, her left hand caressing the outer edge of the sill as if to comfort it, to say to it, 'It wasn't your fault, and anyway, it's over now.' That particular sunset had refused for the longest time to go dark. The street lights had kept it burning, and like the bail bond sign it flickered, stubbornly denying the death it deserved. Thank God the night finally came. The moon promised to bring her another opportunity. Of course it did. The moon was all about romance. It was the sun that burned all the illusions away, destroying what the moon had planted.
And so Gina Monteverdi enjoyed sunsets and felt a bit of resentment toward the street lights. Who needed them? Let the stars bathe the streets.
Stars... Claus Staarsmann. The new sales agent she hired two weeks ago. It was as if he brought an end to winter when he walked into the office for his interview. He had a cold weather look about him. How appropriate, she remembered thinking, that Nordic Swiss was visited by such a prospect. A Swiss German who came of age in Sweden, Claus had the look of a finely tuned, exceptionally civilized barbarian of chiselled ice with a smoldering fire within him.
Gina sniffed the steam of her coffee. A shame the destiny of fresh coffee was to go cold, its flavor soured. Until then she liked the smell better than the taste. Considering what life had dealt her, perhaps it was better to... to sniff at life rather than taste it. You got the flavor of it without the indigestion.
Her apartment doorbell played its three-note chime.
Who could THAT be? Her best friend Hermione was still on a business trip. Her sister Lola was on a second honeymoon. Her neighbor, Mrs White, was visiting a grandson in Cedar Rapids. Seemed like everyone was going places except her. Her and... whoever was ringing her door bell.
Could it be Claus? The slight possibility took her to the oval wall-mirror by the door where she gave her rounded fine-featured face a quick looking over. A pat or two and her shortish sienna hair settled itself along her cheeks. Thank God she hadn't removed her eye makeup.
She touched the door knob and said, "Yes? Who is it?"
"Russ."
"Russ who?" she said with pronounced suspicion.
She could feel impatience radiating through the door.
"Russell Mott," said the deep masculine voice.
She had faintly thought so, though he was the last person she expected to come calling-- Jimmy Kedd's bounty hunter-- but he was the only Russ she knew.
After another glance in the mirror to see if her expression suited the occasion, she unlatched the door and opened it. Turning, she said over her shoulder, "Come in, Mr Mott," knowing he would not particularly like the formality; not coming from a female acquaintance, he wouldn't.
Russ came in. Another thing he didn't like was having to close the door for her. She was already at the window lifting her coffee to her lips, not smiling at him. Her back was to the open drapes, the blend of sunset and street lights setting fire to her hair. He had not forgotten the impression he had of her that first time they met.
Russ felt no need to have his brutal good looks confirmed by the mirror. As usual he was dressed in casual cowboy fashion, but a hybrid one, as if his parentage was a rancher and a gypsy, as seen in his choice of a black Greek fisherman's cap instead of a Stetson.
He brought his tall, lean, but muscular frame into the sitting room. "A nice place you have," he said.
"You've been here once before, with Mr Kedd."
"Did I like it the first time? I don't remember."
He's been drinking, she thought. Was that his motorcycle parked at the Wicked Ways Bar when she was walking home from the office? Gina frowned with her lips just barely forming a pucker on her cup rim. Why would she even notice? What could make her think of this mercenary?
This reminded her to ask the obvious. "Did Mr Kedd send you? Is this about a forfeiture?"
"A big one. Two hundred thousand."
"The Thornton bond? How much time before the judge calls it in?"
"A week, unless we get a second extension. And Judge Ridley is not a fan of Jimmy's."
Gina understood why. "Do you have a lead on this Thornton character?"
"Back in ancient history I did. Now I haven't a clue where he is. He vanished like a soap bubble when it pops. Have you got anything to drink?"
She knew he would ask that.
Well, let's not be unreasonable, she told herself, this DOES call for a drink.
She stepped away from the window, then stopped abruptly when he came toward her. It was his way of expressing urgency. The situation was dire for Jimmy. If the Thornton bond was called in and Nordic Swiss must pay the two hundred grand, Jimmy's contract with her company was as good as dead.
But why should this trouble Russell Mott? He would be out a twenty thousand dollar fee, yes, too bad, but there were other bail bond agencies for him to work for. She knew that he was not on a retainer. He was a lone wolf. He came, he saw, he conquered, he left.
"Of course you know that I can't myself do anything to alleviate the problem," she said and smiled in her best professional manner, walking too close past him as she went to the liquor cabinet in the kitchen. Too close. His body heat was a sunset of dispelled illusions.
"You can talk to your boss," he said. "No, Jimmy didn't send me. It's his great granddaughter's birthday." He sat on a bar stool at the kitchen counter, his arms crossed on the tile-top, looking at her, she suspected, exactly as he would look at a bail applicant.
"Mr Ubrecht knows the situation," she remarked, referring to the district manager. She took down a bottle of brandy. "Would you like coffee with some brandy in it?"
She kept her back to him.
He knew what she was hinting at. "I suppose it's time to ease off a little. But make it a brandy with some coffee in it."
She reached for a coffee cup on the lower shelf, hesitating between the pale green cup and the black one. She chose the black cup. "I can talk to him but I can't promise anything."
He said nothing. When she turned to the bar counter with the cup extended she saw that he was thinking of something satisfying. It was something that balanced the Thornton forfeiture with a weight of good fortune. She shied from asking him what it could be, just as she had shied from the pale green cup
He volunteered the information. "A bounty hunter in Boston called me while I was relaxing at Bob's place--" she knew he meant Wicked Ways-- "with an offer to split a ten grand fee. The guy he's after is here in Tamecula. A Swede. Charged with embezzlement. Insurance business stuff. I'm to make the pinch on him, if I confirm he's here. The info looks solid."
Gina set the cup on the counter. She wiped her hands on a stove glove, then rearranged the napkin holder and toaster.
"What's the Swede's name?" she asked with a strained casualness, facing the stainless steel fridge.
She looked back at him, her brows raised.
Russell Mott grinned.
Claus, an embezzler on the lam! She certainly didn't want to believe it. But this wasn't a rumor. Russ said the info from Boston was "solid." He needed just one more piece of confirmation: herself.
So, she thought, opening the fridge to hide her flushed face from him, this is why he's come to see me. The icy coldness of the fridge gripped her. She smelled its various contents. Life again, coming at her like a drastic change in the weather.
"I'll take you to dinner," Russ said matter of factly, "and we'll discuss it."
She was stunned. Her heart seemed to push her lungs against her ribcage. Slowly she closed the refrigerator door, her reflection a silhouette on the steel. It stared at her exactly as--
She turned to him. In the calm strength of his stare she was utterly naked. Her feminine instincts were pulling her into his eyes like getting into bed with him. Her intellect revolted from the very idea. A lone wolf. A rootless man. I'm acting like a silly schoolgirl, she thought. Then she realized that he could read her mind. In her condition anyone could have done so.
"Nothing fancy," said Russ, standing up from the stool. "The Moon Bay Cafe. I eat there so often I'm surprised they aren't charging me rent."
Gina gazed at the window. It was the time of day when reality sets and illusions rise. The sky was almost dark. There was a faint image of a three-quarter moon.
Promises. The false sympathy and the empty hope. And nothing could stop it, not even the street lights.
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