Rescue

“Will any of this come back on me?“
    “No.“
    “How do I know that?“
    “I promise.“
    A cynical laugh. “Yeah, right.“
    “It’s why I’m down here, looking for him.“
    “What is?“
    “A promise. I promised Eddie I’d try to find him.“
    “You promised the kid you’d look for him before he was even gone?“
    “That’s right.“
    “And you always keep your promises?“
    An image of PFC Duquette from the Tet Offensive entered my mind. “For a while, now.“
    Zoe stared at me. “It was kind of unfair, using the kid’s first name to sucker me in like that.“
    “It wasn’t intentional.“
    She broke off the stare, went back to the tassle. “Okay”‘ Which client?“
    “The Reverend Royel Wyeth.“
    Zoe threw her head back and laughed, almost a shriek.
    I said, “What’s the matter?“
    “Mack said he sent the Reverend to me?“
    I thought about it. “Not exactly. Mack said it was one of his men.“
    “Yeah, well, that it was. But it wasn’t the Reverend who came to see me, sugar.“
    “It wasn’t.“
    “Uh-unh. It was Mrs. Reverend.“
    “Mrs.... Lutrice?“
    “Yeah. Oh, she didn’t call herself that, and when I answered the door, it wasn’t her in front of me, but this kind of creepy, redheaded guy.“
    “You get his name?“
    “We weren’t introduced. He just came in first, looked around, then went back out into the hall, and brought her in. She was wearing a wig—or another wig, maybe, I never did think what you see on television was her real hair.“
    “You watch their show?“
    “I’d seen it, channel-surfing with the remote. You have a little toot on from the nose candy, some of these TV evangelists are a caution. Even some of the sixties sitcoms, for that matter.“
    “So you’re sure it was Lutrice Wyeth.“
    “Positive.“
    “What can you tell me?“
    The smile and half-mast expression. “Anything you want to know, sugar.“
    “What was your impression of her?“
    . Of her. Well, you know how most women are interested in romance, and men are interested in sex?“
    “All right.“
    No, really. In order to get romance, women learn to kind of tolerate sex, and in order to get sex, men learn how to fake romance.“
    “ Go on.“
    Well, Sister Lutrice, she wasn’t interested in romance, or touchy-feely, or anything. She’s no lesbian, either.“
    “You’re sure of that?“
    “I can be. No, she showed all the classic signs.“
    “Of what?“
    “Of a woman whose husband has the dead meat.“
    “Impotent?“
    “You’d be amazed how many of these women come to us... ‘therapists.’ I think maybe it’s because they’re afraid of AIDS, too. You know, it’s easier for a woman to get it from a man on account of the fire-hose effect.“
    “Okay, I follow you.“
    Zoe stopped.
    I said, “What’s the matter?“
    “You’re really not getting off on this, are you?“
    “On what?“
    “You’re here in my place—well, my office, kind of. I’m guessing you figured out I don’t exactly live here.“
    “I got that impression.“
    “Yeah, well, the impression I’m getting is you aren’t asking me these questions because they excite you. You’re asking them because you really might need the answers.“
    “That’s right.“
    She shook her head and took a breath. “Anyway, Sister Lutrice wasn’t interested in romance, or tenderness. She wanted to be used, hard. Not abused, just... vigorous?“
    I nodded.
    Zoe said, “I had the feeling she might have kept the Reverend on a pretty short leash in a lot of ways, and this was her way of kicking back without giving him…“ The lidded smile. “I almost said, ‘without giving him his head.’“
    I nodded again.
    “Anyway, after a few routines with a few devices that I’m guessing you wouldn’t be interested in hearing about in great detail, Sister Lutrice went off to use the shower, and I was thinking of joining her—she still had some time on the meter, and she has great juggies, those aren’t fake—when the red-headed guy comes in the bedroom. He’s been in the living room all this time, sampling my scotch.“
    “Your scotch?“
    “Yes.“
    “You sure.“
    “It was on his breath.“
    “And when was this?“
    “Last year sometime.“
    I thought about it. Maybe Severn fell off the wagon down here, but got back on up north.
    “Sugar, you okay?“
    “Yes. What about the redhead?“
    “Well, he comes in the bedroom, saunters in, like, and just watches me. That’s what I mean by