“He had his roll-aboard with him, right?” Drex thought he remembered correctly, but he wanted to check Mike’s computerized memory to be sure.
“He placed it in the back seat with him.”
Drex resettled, turned his head, and stared out the rain-streaked car window. Jasper had left behind a custom-tailored wardrobe and took with him only what he could pack into a roll-aboard. He fit his whole life into a piece of carry-on luggage. With the tip of his finger, Drex followed a rivulet of rainwater as it trickled down the outside of the glass.
What had he packed into that roll-aboard? Where was it now?
Gif drove them to the suite motel where he and Mike were already checked in. Gif pulled under the porte cochere. Mike said to Gif, “I’ve got this, Reverend Lewis.” He turned to Drex. “Every suite has two bedrooms.”
Drex didn’t rise to the bait. “Then it works out even.”
Mike shot a look at Talia, then squeezed himself out of the passenger door and lumbered into the lobby.
“Understating the obvious,” she said to Drex, “he doesn’t like me.”
“Don’t take it personally. He doesn’t like anybody.”
A few minutes later Mike returned and passed a card key to Drex. “Not that you asked, but we brought all your stuff from the garage apartment.”
“Thanks.”
“We didn’t figure you’d be returning for it,” Gif said.
In a lame attempt to lighten the mood, Drex said, “I miss the place already.” No one reacted.
Gif said, “What about your car?”
“Temporarily abandoned. They may impound it. I don’t know. Don’t care. I’ll worry about that after…After.”
Gif parked. They all got out. Mike said, “Here’s ours. Yours.” He pointed to another of the suites, facing his and Gif’s from across a gravel courtyard dotted with dwarf palmettos.
“I’ll see Talia in, then come and get my things,” Drex said.
Without further discussion, he walked Talia to their door, unlocked it, and told her he would be back within a few minutes. “Keep the chain on.” Looking as downcast as he felt, she nodded.
He waited until he heard her secure the lock then, heedless of the rain, strode across the courtyard and rapped on the door. Gif opened it. Drex went past him and made a beeline to Mike, who was sprawled in a chair in the living room looking not dissimilar to Jabba the Hut.
“Cut it out, Mike.”
“What?”
“Give me a fucking break. You know what.”
“All right.” Mike raised his hands as though in surrender.
“I mean it,” Drex said, stressing the words.
“Be nice or take my leave?”
“I couldn’t have phrased it any better. I need you. But I don’t need your shit. The situation is bad enough without it. Be nice. Or leave.”
Mike raised his hands higher. “I said, all right.”
Drex backed away. Now that the air had been cleared between them, he said, “Rudkowski has probably already blacklisted you. Do you think you can hack the autopsy report on Elaine?”
“Won’t have to.” Mike nodded toward Gif. “He bullshitted it out of somebody in the coroner’s office.”
“Email it to me, please, Gif.”