Chapter Eight

Joe turned into the driveway, the anonymous bulk of the apartment complex ahead framed by the ragged remnants of storm clouds. He pulled up in front of the security kiosk, gave his name and asked to be admitted to see Sylvia Lobo. The guard ducked into his cubicle and returned a moment later. "She says she doesn't know you."

"What do you mean, she doesn't know who I am?" Joe demanded. "I'm here to see my wife Elise, who's visiting her."

The guard stepped back inside and hunched over the telephone. He nodded, then cupped the receiver against his chest. "She says there's no one named Elise at her apartment, and to go away."

Joe was about to say something when Brent murmured to let him handle it. He jumped out and came around to the door of the booth. The guard took a step back, still clutching the receiver. Brent flashed him a grin, put one hand on the sill of the Dutch half-door and thrust out his other hand. "Brent Conner, nice to meet you. And you are...?"

The man didn't move, except to narrow his eyes at this new tactic. "Don Kithra."

"Nice to meet you, Don." Brent pretended not to notice the man refused to shake his hand. "Who've you got on the phone there? Is that Sylvia?"

Don nodded.

"Can I have the phone, please?" When the guard hesitated, Brent rolled his eyes. "Come on, Sylvia and I go way back, and I really need to talk to her. This is important."

"No one but me is allowed to use this phone."

Brent flashed his most charming smile. "You know I'm not going to tell anyone. Now come on, let me have the phone."

Reluctantly, the guard handed him the receiver, still standing as far away as possible as if Brent might have a communicable disease.

Brent grabbed the receiver. "Sylvia? This is Brent Conner. Hello?" He sighed in frustration. "Yes, the guy you used to call Richie Fratboy, as if I was ever really rich." He listened, nodding. "Right. Well, will you let us in? Oh, come on, Sylvia, you expect me to believe that?" He frowned. "How about you just let us come in and crash, then? We've been on the road all night and we're exhausted. Uh-huh. We can sleep on the floor-- that's fine by me. We sure did it enough in the old days, didn't we?" He waved his hand in exasperation. "But Sylvia, where's your hospitality? What about being there for someone, for old times' sake?" He paused to listen. "Right. Holiday Inn. Thanks a lot, Sylvia. I'll remember this." He handed the receiver back to the guard, who took it gingerly, like it might be contaminated. "Thanks, Don." He walked around to the other side of the truck and climbed in.

"Man, something's up," he said. "She wouldn't have anything to do with-- wait a minute." Brent jumped out of the truck and ran around to the security booth again. "Hey, Don!"

The man had just settled himself on a high wooden stool and bent over a newspaper. He looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "What now?"

Brent leaned an elbow on the sill. "Just out of curiosity, what's Sylvia Lobo's apartment number?"

The man put the newspaper aside and folded his arms across his chest. "I can't give out that information."

"Why not? It's not like I can go back there with you here guarding the driveway."

"I can't, that's all."

"But what if I want to write her a letter? How am I supposed to get it to her if I don't know her apartment number?"

"You aren't going to write Sylvia Lobo a letter. You just want her apartment number because you think there's some other way into this complex where you won't have to get past me."

Brent slapped the top of the sill. "Okay, you've got me there. There's no way around it, is there? It doesn't matter what I do--I'm not getting back there?"

"That's right."

"Then it doesn't make any difference if you give me her apartment number, does it?"

Don frowned and jingled the keys hanging from a ring on his belt. "No, I guess not."

"Great. What is it?"

"If I give you her number, will you go away?"

Brent nodded. "Promise."

Don leaned over his computer. "Sylvia Lobo...421, Building 6."

"You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

The guard shook his head. "Now get out of here, like you said you would. I don't want to have to call the cops."

"Thanks, Don. You're terrific." Brent ran back to the passenger side of the truck and jumped in.

Joe shifted into reverse and backed down to the street. "You can be pretty slick when you want to be," he observed. "I knew you liked to charm the ladies, but I didn't realize you were an all-around snake-oil salesman."

"What are you talking about? I got us the information we needed. The guard isn't very bright, and I am. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," Joe said. "Just making an observation. So what's your plan?"

"Make the block. There's got to be some other way into here."

Joe nodded. "Maybe they have an unguarded exit gate or something."

"Either that or jump the fence."

"You aren't exactly dressed for climbing."

"I guess that's my problem." Brent scanned the high spiked fence of the complex as they turned the corner. "That part might be good," he said, pointing. "Over there, where that tree is."

Joe pulled up alongside the curb. "You mean to climb that half-dead tree up to the top of the fence and then jump down?"

"Why not?"

"Have you thought about how we'll get back if Sylvia doesn't let us in?"

"We'll worry about that if it happens. Besides, Sylvia will let us in."

"Like she did back there at security?"

Brent frowned in annoyance. "She misunderstood. It was an error of some kind. But since we can't get in the normal way, we don't have much of a choice."

Joe turned the corner. Ahead they could see two driveways: one in and one out of the complex. A grim guard in a booth similar to the one on the other side was monitoring both gates. "Damn." Joe continued around the block. "We might just have to climb that tree after all."

"I'm telling you, I don't see any other way."

Joe pulled the truck around to the spot where Brent had noted the gnarled tree growing against the fence topped with cruel-looking black spikes. He parked by the curb and cut the engine. "You know," he said, stepping out of the truck, "It would suck if we got arrested for trespassing. I'm too old to go spending a night in jail."

"We won't get caught," Brent said, jumping out of the truck and striding over to the tree. He grabbed a limb and pulled himself up, his smooth-soled loafers slipping against the tree bark.

"Whatever you do, don't fall," Joe whispered to him from below. "I'm not taking you to any damn emergency room if you do."

"I know what I'm doing." Brent stepped cautiously onto a heavy limb while holding on with both hands to the branch above it. He inched along until he was within a foot of the fence, then stepped toward the crossbar between the spikes of the uprights. Finding the bar, he tried to put his weight on it, but his slick loafer slipped off the narrow metal bar, wet with recent rain. The jolt of his lost balance made his other foot slip off the limb, leaving him momentarily suspended in the air, with only the narrow branch above him for support, bending and popping under his weight. Brent's feet waved uncertainly, unable to find either tree or fence.

"I told you you weren't dressed for climbing," Joe muttered. He reached for the lower limb and pulled himself onto it easily, reached for Brent's legs and guided his feet back to the branch.

"Thanks," Brent said.

"Just get over the fence. I don't appreciate having to rescue your ass."

Brent tried again to get onto the fence, and this time he managed to successfully get one foot on the bar and put his weight onto it. Then he swung his other foot onto the crossbar, but caught his pant leg on a spike. He shook his leg a little, but not enough to free it. "Can you help?"

"You've been nothing but trouble since I met you." Joe inched his way down the tree limb, but couldn't quite reach the spot where his pant leg was caught. After a few minutes of trying, he shook his head. "You're going to have to sacrifice those pants."

"Are you sure you can't reach it?"

"Not unless I want to fall and break my neck. Now jump so we can get on with this."

After one last attempt at shaking his pant leg free, Brent leaped to the ground with a loud ripping sound. He landed on his feet, fell to his hands and knees, then jumped up and examined himself. "I've got a four-inch hole in my pants."

"I'm sure no one will notice," Joe said, clambering onto the fence.

"Like hell they won't."

"We've got more important things to worry about than how we look." Joe steadied himself on the crossbar, the grooved soles of his work boots helping him balance. Then he jumped, landing easily on his feet. He cast a glance at the badly torn cuff of Brent's slacks and didn't even bother to suppress a grin of vindication. "I said you weren't dressed for climbing."

"Whatever, man. Let's just find Building 6.