Sylvie's Cowboy: Cinderella In Reverse

CHAPTER 14: ICE WATER

A few hours later, the sun was well above the horizon, and Walt was tuning up Harry's Mustang. The hood was open, parts and tools littered the ground, an oily rag hung from the car's bumper. Butch and Maude lay together on the grass, watching the work in progress.

Walt was talking to the dogs as he worked. "Danged pea-brained idea all along. You know what I am?"

He looked at the dogs. He got only blank looks in return. He ducked back under the hood of the car. "What I am is a fool caught between two crazy people. I shoulda said 'No' right off. 'Don't send her to me,' I shoulda said. 'I got work to do, I can't be babysitting no gold-digging female that don't know a ranch from a hole in the ground. Not me. I don't owe you that much, Harry Pace. I don't owe you so much that I gotta lie and pretend and be something I'm not while you go on some tomfool crusade for justice."

He stood and shook his wrench at the dogs to emphasize his words. "Ain't no justice in this life, Harry Pace, and if there was, you wouldn't get it by lyin' and cheatin'. That's what I shoulda told him." He stooped under the hood again. "Why the heck didn't I tell him? She's drivin' me nuts. It's gone too far."

From inside the house a phone rang. Walt stood, put down his wrench, and wiped his greasy hands. The phone rang again. Walt stomped toward the house. The dogs watched him as he passed them, still fuming. "It's gone too danged far."

Walt entered the house and lifted the receiver of the ringing phone. "McGurk."

The caller was Dan Stern, who was sitting in his car in the parking garage of Sylvie's erstwhile penthouse. A sack of groceries occupied the passenger seat beside him. "Is Harry there?"

"Harry doesn't live here."

"Yes, I know, Harry supposedly doesn't live anywhere, but I'll bet you can get a message to him for me."

"Sorry, I don't know what you're talkin' about."

"Listen, Dogpatch. Harry called me and set up a meeting for tonight at the penthouse. You tell him for me that I'll be there -- but Sylvie will be with me. Tell Harry the only thing I want him to say when he gets there is 'The money's in your account in Geneva. Have a nice trip.' Got that?"

"Leave Sylvie out of it!"

"Impossible now, I'm afraid. See that Harry gets my message." Dan hung up.

Walt slammed the phone down. Then he yanked it up again and punched in a number from memory. Cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder, he carried it to the kitchen sink and began scrubbing the auto grease off his hands. While the distant phone could be heard ringing, he muttered, "Come on! Answer the gol-danged phone! Come on!"

He rinsed his soapy hands and dried them on a kitchen towel. He laid the phone on the counter long enough to pull off his shirt, then he pressed the receiver to his ear again.
"Come on, Harry, be there! Aw, shoot!" He slammed the phone down in frustration.

He thought for a second and snatched up the phone again. He punched in a number. Busy signal. He shouted, "Clarice, get off the dad-blame phone! Dang!" He smacked the phone down and raced for the bedroom.

Moments later he emerged from the house, pulling on a clean shirt, and leaped over the two dogs. He slammed shut the hood of the pink Mustang and jumped into the driver's seat. He cranked and cranked and cranked -- but the car wouldn't start. He jerked the door open, climbed out, and slammed the door behind him. "Dang it! I knew this would happen!"

He reopened the hood with a fierce yank, and he started to work in earnest.

....

Two hours later, about a hundred miles away, in the parking garage of the penthouse condominium, a cellular phone rang in its holster. The holster was mounted inside a red pickup truck with yellow doors. The phone rang again and again and again. But the parked truck was unoccupied. The call went to voicemail. Moments later it rang again with the same result. The caller tried a third time, then the phone went silent.