Bad Bunny Heart
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The first thing he wanted to do after getting rid of the body got his clothes back. He couldn’t wait for them to be laundered or pressed by some servant because they were stiff with blood and dried sweat. The shirt was stained with it, and so were his pants. It would be like putting mud in a hole that wasn’t plugged yet. That’s how badly he needed his clothes washed.
He’d have to find a laundry himself—the thought made him feel guilty since he was a wealthy man. Then again, what did one more dirty load really matter when there were so many other things to worry about? He just hoped no one recognized him from the train depot or the hotel.
He’d been too busy hiding out in this city to take note of it. But that was all going to change now, and soon enough he’d make sure it became the kind of city where no one knew who the rich men were until they walked into their bank or law office or bought up half the land under it.
His second goal was to find a doctor to check his wounds. His bullet had struck him high on his chest, right between the two big bones that made up the sternum bone and the rib cage above it. Both hit spots that were hard as granite and didn’t allow much movement.
So even though the bullet had broken through both ribs, neither one showed any sign of healing yet. When his wound was bandaged properly, he’d probably look like a mummy.
But that would only last a day because once he got back home to Colorado Springs and found out exactly how much money his father had left behind for him, he’d hire a tailor to remake everything.
If it wouldn’t be too expensive, he’d order new suits of clothing for himself, but that wouldn’t happen until next year anyway when spring thaws gave way to summer growth. In the meantime, he could still use the clothes he already owned.
There was plenty of room in the wardrobe of this hotel, although it was a bit smaller than those at most hotels where the wealthy stayed. The room was also quite a bit darker than he liked, and he hated the fact that he hadn’t brought any reading material with him.
It would’ve been nice to curl up on the bed and read a book before bedtime instead of watching TV or playing cards for an hour or so.
“Come on,” he told himself. “You’re not going to let a little pain keep you from doing your work.”
So he went downstairs and headed straight for the restaurant and bar, hoping there was another guest or two there who could tell him about a good doctor—or maybe a hospital. But there weren’t any guests. Only a waiter was waiting to clear away a table. He looked at the young man curiously as if asking, What are you doing here?
“I’m looking for someone,” he replied, trying to sound casual. “A friend I might have lost during my travels. Do you know anything about this?”
“No, sorry. This is the first time I’ve seen you.” He glanced around again. “Maybe you should try upstairs in the library, sir. You never can tell what’s in those books, or where you might find some answers.” He pointed toward the double doors near the lobby entrance. “The librarian is usually there at night. She has her own desk there. Maybe she’ll help you find what you’re looking for.”
“Thanks.” He followed the waiter’s advice and went over to the door nearest the elevator. Opening it, he walked into a small hallway where the lighting was dim and the air smelled slightly musty.
A row of desks ran along the wall, each of which was occupied by a middle-aged woman reading newspapers or magazines or books. The only exception was one open desk where a librarian was sorting through a stack of papers on top of a large wooden counter. As she turned and looked at him, he remembered her face, so he walked toward her desk.
“Excuse me—”
She looked up, startled by the interruption. “Yes?” she said as soon as she recognized him. “Do you need something?”
“Yes, ma’am. Can you tell me where the library is?”
“Oh! Yes, of course. Follow me.”
He followed her through the long hall until they reached a door marked LIBRARY on it. After unlocking it, she held it for him while he opened it and stepped inside. It was much larger in here, and the shelves that lined three sides of the room held thousands of books.
The walls were white, the ceiling tall and wide. Two windows gave him a light for reading, although it was so dark outside that the sky had turned black with clouds.
“Can I help you find anything?” she asked as he walked slowly down the aisle of books, searching for something to read.
“I don’t want to get into a book right now,” he explained. “But I need to know more about this area.”
“This is the Southwest Collection. We have books on Arizona, New Mexico, California, Oklahoma, Texas, and parts of Kansas, Nevada, Utah, Colorado, and Wyoming.” She nodded toward a row of books. “These are all titles that focus on Texas and its history.” She paused and smiled as if thinking. “And then there are our biographies about famous people throughout the state.”
He picked up a biography that caught his attention and started leafing through it. Most of the pages had already turned yellow. “What are you reading?”
“A biography of William P. Hobby.”
“Who’s that?” He looked back at her.
“A Texan.” She shrugged. “It seems like he did a lot of things in his lifetime. And I guess that makes him interesting enough for someone to write a book about him.”
“Sounds like an important person. I bet he died a rich man.” He pulled the book off the shelf and handed it to her. “Would you mind putting this one on hold for me?”
“Sure.” She took it with a smile. “Is there anything else I can help you find? Or any other information you need?”
“Well…”
He hesitated. “Do you know where I might be able to learn how to ride a horse?”
“Of course!” She looked surprised. “We even have riding lessons.”
He smiled. “That sounds wonderful. Could you tell me where they take place?”
“Right here on this very property, just outside the stable and out in front of the hotel. They meet every day after breakfast at seven o’clock unless there’s a storm or bad weather.” She motioned toward a doorway near the rear wall. “You should see them practicing when you get to the stable. You wouldn’t believe it!”
“How often do they meet?”
“Every morning except Sunday.”
“Then I’ll be sure to come tomorrow.” He put the book back on the shelf and started walking toward the desk. “Thank you.” He tipped his hat, and turned to leave.
As he walked through the hallway, he wondered how many times he’d been told not to go into the library. He didn’t think he would ever get used to it, especially since the library was the only place where he could relax.
But he knew he needed to follow the rules if he wanted to get away from here. Even though he found the librarian pleasant, he still felt as if she watched him constantly—almost like she suspected him of doing something wrong.
The rest of his night passed pleasantly without incident. After dinner, he returned to the library and spent two hours paging through the biography of William Hobby as well as browsing the other books before finally going back to his room. He was exhausted and fell asleep almost as soon as he laid down on the bed.
***
He was awakened by the loud ringing of the telephone. It was five minutes past ten, and it sounded as if someone was trying to call the room upstairs.
Wondering who the caller could be, he got out of bed and padded across the floor toward the phone. The room was dark but he could make out the shape of a lamp next to his desk. He grabbed it and turned on the light. A glance at the clock confirmed that it was early morning—the middle of the night for others back home.
“Yes?”
“Good morning.” The voice was soft and low. “This is Mr. Davenport’s room.”
“Mr. Davenport?” He couldn’t remember anyone calling his room before. Not knowing what else to do, he answered. “Yes.”
“Are you the gentleman who stayed in room twenty-one last evening?”
“Uh… yes.”
There was a pause. Then: “Good morning to you, sir!”
“Did I wake you up?”
“No, no. It’s fine.” His voice sounded friendly. “In fact, I’ve been waiting to hear from you. My name is Mr. Davenport.”
“Oh! Right! I mean — uh, thank you.” He sat on the edge of the bed while listening to what sounded like music playing softly over the line. He glanced at the window curtain and noticed that it hadn’t been drawn all the way closed. If someone could see inside, they would have a clear view of everything in the room. Was that why someone called for him?
“I understand you’re having trouble sleeping. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“Not at all.” He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “If you don’t mind, can you repeat your question?”
“Certainly.” There was another brief pause. “Why don’t we start with some background information about yourself? Where were you born? How old are you now?”
“Uh…” He thought for a moment. “My parents gave me a birthday card every year. I never really cared for birthdays, so I just stopped asking them.”
“So you had no idea when your birthday was?”
“No. Why?”
“I just want to make sure everyone has their own identity before I get started.”
He nodded and decided to answer whatever questions she asked. “What else should I say?”
“Just give me a rundown on your family members and what happened to them.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. What happened to them?”
“They died of natural causes, right?”
He didn’t know what to say to that.
“You didn’t lose any loved ones recently?”
“None that I’m aware of,” he said cautiously.
“And none of them ever came to stay at the hotel.”
“No.” That wasn’t true; he had met several people who lost relatives at the hotel over the years.
“How did they die?”
“Car accidents.”
He waited for her next question but heard nothing more over the line. When he realized she must have gone silent because she was writing, he picked up the receiver again and listened closely. “I was just wondering if there’s anything else you’d like to ask about my family.”
“Not right now.” The voice sounded relieved. “But if you’re having trouble falling asleep, I hope you’ll call back.”
He hung up, feeling as if he was under surveillance, which bothered him enough to keep him awake until almost eight. He lay on his side and stared at the ceiling as he counted sheep over and over.
By the time the sun was high in the sky, he finally managed to sleep for most of the day. It seemed as if he only woke up once or twice for short periods of time. But as usual, he awoke with the first light of dawn. This time, the alarm clock on his desk told him it was seven o’clock. He showered and dressed, then went downstairs.
After breakfast, he went to the front desk to inquire where Ms. Davenport might be found. No one knew, so he walked around town and looked for her but could find no trace of her anywhere. Finally, he returned to the hotel, hoping to catch sight of her in the lobby.
She was there, but not alone. In a corner by the registration counter was a young black girl, probably no older than nine, holding a baby in her arms. They both watched him curiously as he approached them.
“Morning,” he said to her companion. “Is this your child?”
The girl nodded and smiled broadly.
“What’s his name?” he asked, noticing the baby boy looked like he’d had something for lunch.
“It’s Samuel.”
“Well, Samuel, welcome to Fort Smith. I hope you’re having a good trip here.”
Samuel giggled.
“Do you live with your family?”
“Yes!”
She nodded vigorously.
“Where?”
“At our house.”
“Your home?”
“Yes.”
When he hesitated, she continued. “Please come. You can visit us after work. My mom won’t mind.”
She spoke so eagerly that he didn’t need much convincing. He turned to leave but stopped and looked back at the girl. “Wait! Can you tell me your name?”
“It’s Lila.”
“Lila, thank you very much for inviting me to your home. I hope to see you today.”
He walked away quickly so she wouldn’t have a chance to change her mind. On his way down the stairs, he saw a familiar face coming toward him—the pretty woman who had called him the night before. She smiled warmly when she noticed him approaching her from behind.
“Good morning, Mr. Blake. I hope everything’s going well.”
“Fine so far,” he said cautiously. “Can I help you?”
She took the elevator to the second floor and stepped out into the hallway that led to the women’s quarters. He followed her, looking over his shoulder when she reached her door.
“We’ll meet at the bar after dinner tonight. Is six o’clock too late for you? We’ll have some drinks and talk about the job.”
“Six works fine.” He tried to imagine what they would talk about since she hadn’t given him any clues.
“Great. See you then.” She unlocked the door and walked inside. As he walked away, he wondered how many other men were going to show up unexpectedly at her door.
***
Davenport and the girl showed up for work right on time and were waiting at the bar as promised. Davenport wore blue jeans and a white cotton shirt with a green vest over top. The outfit reminded him of his mother; he could easily imagine her in such an outfit.
The girl also had on a green shirt but her hair was tied in tight braids and held with two large yellow bows. Both women ordered drinks. The little girl had a glass of milk, while Davenport opted for a vodka tonic.
“This is nice,” she said, sitting down at the nearest table. “I’m sorry I don’t have much to offer you.”
“No problem.”
“So what did you think of our city last night?”
“It was impressive.” He couldn’t wait to hear about her family and what made their house special.
“Come on. I know you must want to ask me something.”
“How do you know?”
“You’ve got your ears tuned in, just like you did in Chicago.”
His lips twisted. “Are you sure the reason we worked well together there wasn’t because you hired me? It seems that’s how I always get assigned to the most unusual jobs.”
Her laugh sounded genuine. “Maybe you should start asking yourself why the assignments seem to fall into place for you.”
“Because people trust my judgment.”
“Not everyone does.”
“That’s why I keep doing what I do.”
They finished their drinks and left the bartender a generous tip. When Davenport paid, he noticed she gave him a twenty-dollar bill.
“What’s that for?” he asked, handing it back to her.
“It’s for your lunch.”
“My lunch? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It makes perfect sense. I’ve been thinking about our conversation yesterday, wondering if it will happen again. You never told me your name or where you lived. Now, you pay for my meal and invite me to your home after work, which means we’ll likely end up talking until closing time.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Blake,” she interrupted. “If you want to know how I knew your name and address, call me Lila. And yes, I know exactly how we can spend hours discussing this assignment and getting nowhere fast.”
As soon as they left the bar, she took him by the hand and headed to the ladies’ room. While washing his hands, she whispered into his ear, “The bathroom is private. I don’t care if anyone walks in on us while we’re using the facilities.”
After drying his hands, he followed her through a door to another part of the building. They walked along several hallways until she stopped in front of a door. “This is my room.”
“Why are you showing me this?”
“To prove that you won’t embarrass me with anything inappropriate while I’m alone in my home.”
“That’s not true. If you wanted privacy, you’d be locking yourself in one of these rooms.”
“Exactly. I have no need for a lock on my door.” She opened the door and entered. “Come in so I can show you around.”
He walked in and found the room small. There was only enough space for a bed, nightstand, dresser, and chair in one corner. On the opposite side of the room was a narrow closet with a single window looking out onto the street. A thin layer of dust covered the furniture and floorboards.
“Where are your parents?” he asked as she sat on her bed.
“I’m not sure.” Her smile faded as she looked at the floor. “When I was eight, our house caught fire. We escaped and ran across the street. No one came to help us. My father died of smoke inhalation, and my mother suffered burns on her body. She didn’t recover for long and was hospitalized for years afterward.”
She reached for his hand. “We were living on Social Security benefits when the accident happened.”
“That would be tough. How did you manage?”
“I helped out wherever I could at the local orphanage.” She pulled his fingers to her mouth and kissed his knuckles before releasing them. “Then, when I turned ten, they took me to live here.”
“Here?”
“In Chicago.”
“Why here? What’s different about this town from other cities?”
“There’s nothing different about it.”
“Nothing?”
“I’ve learned to survive. To find food and shelter. This is all I know, so it isn’t a hardship.”
“You don’t miss living with a family or having friends?”
“Friends? Do you mean those who aren’t honest with others? Who lies about their real identity? Why bother?”
“Well, I suppose there’s no harm in lying to strangers.”
A frown formed between her eyebrows as she stared out the window. “You’re right. But sometimes lies come back to bite you on your butt, even in small towns.”
He waited for her to say more but she remained silent. Finally, he said, “So, this is what you wanted to show me. Nothing else?”
“Yes, it’s fine.” The look on her face suggested that if he tried to stay longer, she might just leave him there. “I hope we can spend some time together tonight and tomorrow.”
“Me too,” he replied. “How about dinner and a walk afterward?” He stood up and offered his hand to her. “Now, let’s go outside so you can meet my friends.”
Outside he showed her around the neighborhood. Most of the buildings were two stories tall and built of brick. All the windows had glass in them, and the street lamps burned brightly at night. It seemed that every business was either closed or in the process of closing when they arrived.
They walked down to the waterfront and found that most of the boats had already been taken away. The docks were deserted except for a few rowboats tied up against the pilings.
The pier jutted out into Lake Michigan. The sun was setting and the water reflected the orange glow of the sky above. A cool breeze swept over the lake.
The End