After the Rain Read online

  “Was Aunt Bea a sweet soft thing, dependent on a man?”

  “More like leather braid soaked in vinegar. Outlived two husbands.”

  “Uh-huh. See, Jane says it’s one of those clues buried in the language. That ax is called a labrys. In ancient Greek paintings, like on vases, there’s pictures of the Amazons carrying them in battle. A lot of lesbians and feminists are into the symbolism.”

  “I can dig it,” Ace said, warming to the gin and the conversation. “I’m sort of into Greek mythology myself. You ever read The Myth of Sisyphus?”

  She squinted, thought; decided how to play it. “The guy chained to the rock. The birds come every day to tear out his guts.”

  Ace shook his head. “That’s Prometheus.”

  “Okay, then Sisyphus is the other guy with the rock. He pushes it up a hill over and over as punishment.”

  “Bingo. The original uphill battle. I got this theory that Sisyphus is really a German-Norwegian farmer who’s trying to make a go on eight hundred acres up on the border by Hannah,” Ace said as his best grin spread over his face.

  “You’re turning out different than I first expected,” she said frankly.

  “Yep. I’m not like the others.” He held her gaze for a moment. “So Jane’s an Amazon, huh?”

  Nina sniffed, retreated back into her foul mood, and sounded irritated. “Jane wants to be a lot of things. Since I’ve known her she’s wanted to a poet and a caterer but what she really does is wait on tables in this restaurant in Minneapolis.”

  Ace squinted, thoughts revolving just behind his eyes. “So how’d you two…”

  Nina jerked the corner of her lip up in a sort of smile. “That turns you on, huh? The two of us…”

  Ace shrugged.

  Nina laughed. “Men don’t mind the idea of two women in bed together. You know why?”

  Ace couldn’t help smiling. The way she rolled over you like a wheel, mostly hard parts but now and then enough of the soft showing through to keep you interested. “I got a feeling you’re going to tell me,” he said.

  “Damn straight. It’s ’cause you can see yourself sandwiched in there with them, huh?”

  Ace felt his face get hot. “I guess.”

  She leaned across the table, her face softening, lips going mobile, probably from the whiskey. “But if I told you it turned me on to think of you and a guy naked together…”

  The way Ace sat up straight, narrowing his eyes, put Nina on guard. Hit a nerve. But she pushed on, wagged her finger and said, “Double standard, Ace.” The joke withered in his cold stare and she was more careful now, signaling that she read the palpable heft of danger in his body language. She sat up primly. “Moving right along,” she said.

  He studied her for several beats. “So what you gonna do, Nina Pryce?”

  She tipped her eyes toward the bar. “Maybe I’ll go back to tending bar right here. I could talk about you with the sun-fried sisters.”

  “I don’t think you’re up to all the sky, wind, wheat, barley, canola, and flax,” Ace said.

  “You ever read that play Streetcar Named Desire? Tennessee Williams?”

  Ace shook his head. “I read a lot of Louis L’Amour once.”

  “Well, in Streetcar there’s this woman named Blanche who winds up alone, and she says how she’s always relied on the kindness of strangers.”

  “So that’s me, huh? The kind stranger?”

  Nina raised her shoulders and let them drop. “Maybe kind isn’t the right word. I just hope you’re not mean…Your friend with all the hair…”

  “Gordy.”

  “Yeah, Gordy, he strikes me as being on the mean side. I get the feeling he doesn’t like women.”

  Ace watched her carefully; the way she cast it out there like a lure. Was this where she set the hook? Gordy probably had her pegged right. Some kind of cop. “Maybe he just don’t like you,” he said.

  “But he doesn’t even know me.”

  “You ready for another drink?” Ace said as he swirled the ice in the bottom of his glass.

  “Yeah. Something stronger.”

  They drank together and began the slow dance, bold with their eyes, less and less cautious with their words as one drink followed another and the tabletop became a field of interlocking water rings. They were coming up on the moment of truth.

  “So what are we doing here? You and me?” Ace said.

  The smoky eyes came up. “You can buy me drinks all night, Ace Shuster; don’t mean I’m going to give it up to you or anybody else for a long time.”

  “I ain’t that ambitious. I mean, like where you planning to spend the night?”

  “Motel, I guess.”

  “Only one good motel in town and Jane’s in that. Course, so is your kid.”

  “Let me tell you something. My kid could use a break. And Jane’s good with her.” Real direct.

  “Speaking of Jane. I remember what she said back at my place about you needing to get loaded to be with a guy. Did that bother your husband? You drinking?” Just as direct.

  Nina couldn’t stop the flush creeping up her neck. She lowered her eyes. “Not like I had to get falling down…”

  Ace held up his glass of scotch and peered into it. “I don’t need the details. And sure, I’d like to fool around but I’d kind of like you to be sober. How’s that?”

  Nina’s grin was wary and amused. “If that’s the wager then it looks like nobody’s getting laid.”

  Ace shrugged, drained his glass, and signaled for another round. “You can stay at my place tonight. Got an apartment over the bar. No games, no bullshit, no hidden agenda. I already made up my mind to sleep on the couch. But tomorrow,” he winked, “we’re going to sober up, you and me.”

  The drinks arrived and Nina raised her glass in a toast.

  “To tomorrow.”

  Nina fished her cell phone from her purse. “I’m going to call Jane, tell her I won’t be back tonight, and explain things to my daughter.” She looked around. “And I gotta use the john.”

  Ace nodded, pointed toward the rear of the place. “Door in the hall on the right.”

  Nina got up, walked down the bar, and went into the women’s john. She took a seat in the stall, latched the door and flipped open her cell phone, thumbed down through the phonebook, selected Jane’s number, and pushed “send.”

  “This is Jane.”

  “Nina.”

  “How’s it going, Mata Hari? You catch that four-pound walleye yet?”

  “Very funny. So far so good. I’m invited to his pad for the night. He says he’ll sleep on the couch. And I sort of believe him. He’s this odd mix of Eagle Scout and the Sundance Kid. I can’t tell if he’s going for it or going along with it.”

  “We gotta try, right? Hollywood wants to know how you assess your security.”

  “My first impression, he’s got some dangerous baggage but it takes a while to get down to it. The other guy in the bar was more edgy. But this Ace, he’s…”

  “He’s a tricky guy, Nina; and he’s got some social skills and maybe even some depth of character. But so did Darth Vader.”

  “I hear you. So far he hasn’t discussed his business.”

  Hollywood came on the phone. “We can’t cover you all the time, Nina. Not in a small town. We talked about this. If you go forward you’re on your own.”

  “Understood.”

  “We need some idea of his pattern, his contacts, any sign he’s anticipating something big.”

  “I got it, Holly.”

  “Okay. And we set the ball rolling. Jane has the local cop hunting down your husband.”

  Great, Nina thought, but said nothing.

  “I said…”

  “I heard you.”

  “Okay. Here’s Kit.”

  Nina shut her eyes. The bathroom smelled of cheap disinfectant on monotonous yellow linoleum. The walls and floor closed in; claustrophobic. She was quick to fight it off. It’s not a question of one kid; thousands of kids
out there could be potential victims… Still, she had used her daughter, like a private soldier, to gain position.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “You did great, honey. Thanks.”

  “Are you done working yet?”

  “No, I got to keep going a little while longer. But, hey, Dad’s on his way to pick you up and take you home. What are you and Auntie Jane going to do tomorrow?”

  “She said there’s an outside pool, in a park.”

  “Remember, you need lots of lotion even if it’s cloudy.”

  “I know.” Then Kit’s voice quavered. “Are you going to come home, too?”

  “C’mon, honey, we talked about this.” Nina tapped her teeth together.

  “Fine,” Kit said sharply. “I know—don’t quit, don’t cry unless you’re bleeding.” Kit had obviously mastered Jane’s cell phone because suddenly the call was over. The connection went dead: she had hung up on her mother. Nina couldn’t afford the luxury of remorse when she was working, but she couldn’t stop a memory. Eight years old, about Kit’s age. An elementary school in Ann Arbor. A one-page story assignment: What I did this weekend. “My mom and I went to the VA Medical Center to help the wounded soldiers…” The teacher, in beads and a peasant skirt, had said, “That’s okay, Nina, it doesn’t mean you’re for the war…”

  Focused now, she finished up in the bathroom and washed her hands. She regarded herself in the mirror. The alcohol she’d consumed dragged on her, like the middle of a Ranger run wearing full equipment. Deliberately, to test her timing and reflexes she applied fresh lipstick, taking pains to perfectly match the line of her lips.

  She blotted her lips on a paper towel and surveyed her makeup. So far so good, you floozy.

  Well, this is what she wanted. To be a D-girl and hang it way out there, going after something big. On her own.

  Which brought her to the subject of what was going to happen tonight. Nothing in her training had exactly prepared her for this assignment.

  Would Ace change his story when they were alone and expect to sleep with her tonight? Would he get rough? She took a fast inventory of the men she’d gone to bed with in her life. More than half of them had been a waste of time.

  This was the first time she’d had to evaluate a potential sexual encounter professionally. Like a hooker or a particularly calculating trophy wife.

  She squared her shoulders, grabbed the doorknob, took a deep breath, and pushed it open. Hu-ah.

  She walked back to the table, sat down, and said, totally spontaneously: “I’m a lousy mother.”

  “You’ll live. C’mon,” Ace said, standing up.

  “Where to?” Nina said.

  “Take a ride. Eat supper. Get you a toothbrush.”

  “Big of you.”

  “Got nothing else going,” Ace said.

  Chapter Seven

  An hour later they were in another bar and Ace was still playing Dr. Phil. “I mean,” he said, “we only got a few more years of this.”

  Nina screwed up her face. “What do you mean, this?”

  “I mean, what are you—thirty-five, thirty-six? ’Bout the same as me. We ain’t like wine, you know. We don’t get better as we age. Like, right now—today—bang,” he snapped his fingers, “you can walk into any bar, anywhere, and make something happen because you got some looks and a body. But in five years…”

  Nina slouched in the booth and held up her glass in a grudging salute. “Forty,” she said glumly. She didn’t have to fake this conversation. Uh-uh. This was a subject she thought about all the time.

  “And you know what the stats are on divorced women over forty getting remarried. Ain’t pretty, sweetheart. Us boys definitely got more shelf life.”

  “You’re depressing the shit out of me. No wonder the population of North Dakota is rock bottom, if this is the way you court your women.”

  Ace shrugged. “Just saying, you should probably give the marriage a little more work, that’s all. Bird in the hand.”

  Nina leaned forward. “A bird in the hand bites. My husband is a total asshole.”

  They stared into their empty glasses. Nina had switched to vodka sevens. She’d had a lot of success drinking vodka with a crazy bunch of Russian paratroopers in Kosovo. A new round of drinks arrived. The way Ace spread his hands before he spoke, Nina could see him behind a pulpit.

  “Okay. It’s like this,” he said. “You’re strung out. Strung out means you talk a little too fast. And there’s off-the-wall thoughts come out of nowhere and bash through the conversation at random times. Like just now.”

  “You know this for a fact?” Nina said.

  “Sure. I’m strung out, too. But mine is more long haul, more like holding off deep space. Mine’s sadder. Yours is madder.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Drink. Booze tames down the brightness and buffs the edges off so it don’t make the air bleed.”

  “Jesus. You been thinking about this stuff way too long, Ace.”

  “I’ll say.”

  And that’s the way the afternoon went into sunset: the ironies of marriage counseling, Ace’s slow-hand seduction and booze. One bar, two bar, red bar, blue bar. Not quite a blur. Maintaining. Hey. They were both obviously competent folks.

  They drove east out of town and he got her talking. About growing up an Army brat, schools on bases all over the South. How she’d gone into the Army, served in the Gulf War in a signal company, and moved to Minnesota after discharge. How she was tending bar in this joint called the Caboose by the U of M when she met her husband.

  They stopped, gassed the Tahoe at a Super Pumper. Ace made good on his promise and bought her a toothbrush. They went to dinner in Cavalier, the next town east, and she talked about having a kid, thinking it would improve the marriage.

  They drove back to Langdon in the dark.

  Then Ace suddenly switched off the headlights and the night outside Nina’s open window jumped up so black and shot with stars it took her breath. “God-damn.”

  Stars like she’d seen on night patrols in remote stretches of Bosnia. But more of them here. More sky.

  “Welcome to the prairie, gateway to the Great Plains,” Ace said.

  But then the grandeur plummeted as she looked north. Anything could come across the border and filter down through the empty grid of back roads, run this deserted highway. The interstate just an hour away. Then she looked at Ace Shuster, who was good with women, but who might do anything for money. Him and his pal Gordy.

  He switched the lights back on and drove into town, slowed in front of the Motor Inn, and turned to her.

  “You want to see your daughter? Say anything?”

  Nina shook her head.

  “You sure?”

  “Look. I thought about this a lot. I need a clean break or it’ll be a tar baby, I’ll get stuck in it all over again. Jane. My old man probably coming to pick up Kit. I mean, I took her and didn’t tell him face-to-face. Just left a note, for Christ’s sake. I just need some…time.”

  “Okay, okay,” Ace slowly accelerated past the motel and continued west on 5 toward the Missile Park.

  They found Gordy rolling a dolly, wheeling four cases of booze at a time off the loading dock onto a truck bed. He scowled at Nina and went back to work, hairy and furious. Nina turned to Ace and said, “Maybe you’re right. He doesn’t like me.”

  They went inside and Nina pointed to the cases of booze stacked along the wall by the basement stairway.

  “You got a lot of booze for a bar that’s out of business,” she said.

  Ace scratched his head. “Long story. Tell you all about it in the morning.”

  Nina gathered herself and followed him up the stairs into the apartment. And—hello—it was much cleaner than she expected. Dishes washed and put away, the drainboard in the kitchen clean. And lots and lots of books. A beat-up, old-fashioned desk and a swivel chair. Another well-worn armchair with an ottoman and a lamp.

  No televison.

  One
whole wall was a blowup photomural of grazing buffalo.

  “Moved in here when I split with my wife,” he said as he stripped the bed and put on fresh sheets. She watched him make the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles, folding and tucking in tight hospital corners.

  “You sure you weren’t in the Army, the way you make a bed?” she said.

  “Prison,” he said.

  He took the old sheets out to the couch. Then he handed her a T-shirt and showed her the bathroom. She took the toothbrush from its cellophane wrapper, used his Sensodyne and brushed her teeth, undressed, and put on the shirt. The shirt was an extra-large maroon cotton number that came down to mid-thigh. The sleeves and neck had been cut out way down the side so the shadowed dents and curves along her ribs peeked out.

  She folded her clothing and came back into the living room.

  Ace smiled and looked her over. “Picked the shirt to go with your hair and eyes.” They stood a foot apart, watching each other.

  “Another one of your little touches, huh?” Nina said as she hugged herself. Her word touches turned slowly in the close space between them like a silky scarf, slowly descending. “Now what?” she said, too abruptly, awkward, clearly on edge.

  “Good night,” he said simply.

  Nina, wary, went into the dark bedroom almost on tiptoe, walking a plumb line to the bed, not wanting to disturb or touch anything, fearing sexual trip wires strung in the dark.

  Alert. She braced for him coming through the door.

  Chapter Eight

  The first moment of truth came in Detroit two days ago, just after they broke Rashid. They’d had a real quick sit-down with the Colonel, who’d provided the intell that located Rashid. One of the “Squirrels,” a pure intelligence network so spooky nobody knew its origin, the Colonel was their unofficial link to the databases back at the Pentagon. He could not say yea or nay to their preemptive mission. He could only evaluate. He had a chalky air-conditioned pallor acquired in some unnamed Pentagon sub-basement. He’d told them, just the three of them who were the sharp end—Hollywood, Nina, and Jane:

  “We believe the intelligence is too provocative to pass up. They may have something, possibly a suitcase; one of those KGB tactical nukes. They could be bringing it into the States through North Dakota. Virtually anybody can claim refugee status and enter Canada. We know there’s Al Qaeda activity in Winnipeg, just to the north of Langdon. So it could already be here, and maybe there’s a fresh trail.”