"You little bitch!" His fantasy would finally be realized, and he was going to teach her a lesson at the same time. He rushed forward and then stopped just as quickly when the pistol swiveled in his direction. It must have been hidden under the bedcovers.

"Get out." This was the first time she'd spoken in a normal tone to him. He didn't recognize the voice. However, he wasn't focused on that. His gaze was on the gun that moved up and down, aimed first at his head and then at his crotch.

Kyle started to back up, his hands up in front of him as though to deflect a bullet. "Hey, just stay cool, lady. I'm going."

"Now," she said in a louder voice. She wrapped the blanket around her and stood in front of him, holding the gun with both hands like she knew exactly how to use it.

He raised his hands even higher. "I'm going. I'm going! Damn!"

He turned to leave.

"Put the money on the table," she said.

He turned slowly back around. "Excuse me?"

"On the table, the money." She motioned with her gun.

"I brought you what you wanted. That costs money. "

In response she let the blanket drop once more and ran one hand along her curvy, nearly naked body. "So does this," she said very firmly. "Take a good look, little boy, it'll be the last time you see it."

He bristled at this insult. "A thousand dollars! For what? A frigging peep show? I wouldn't pay a thousand bucks even if I got to screw you."

"No amount of money would be enough to let you even touch me," she said bluntly.

"Oh, yeah? Boy, you're quite the catch. A druggie exhibitionist living in a room in a strip club? And hiding behind a scarf and those big dark glasses. Waving your naked ass in front of me and then not giving it up. Who the hell do you think you are? Huh?"

"You're boring me. Get out."

"You know what? I don't think you're going to fire that gun, not with lots of people around." He looked at her in triumph. The look was short-lived.

She tapped a cylindrical object attached to the gun's muzzle and said, "This is a suppressor. Really makes for a silent shot." She pointed it once more at his crotch. "Would you like a quick demonstration?"

"No," he yelled, backing away. "No." He dropped the money on the table, turned and ran out of the room, slamming the door closed behind him.

The woman locked the door, went back to her bed and swallowed several pills. A few minutes later she was moaning on the floor, happy again.

Outside the woman's door, Sylvia ducked out of the way right before Kyle came running past. She had heard everything. Rushing back outside, Sylvia was just in time to see Kyle spit gravel out of his Jeep's tires as he raced out of the parking lot. Sylvia slipped the hat off her head and let her hair down. Her suspicions had been confirmed. Kyle was stealing drugs and then selling them to the woman in the room. Sylvia decided to wait out in the parking lot to see if she came out.

Hours passed. It was very early in the morning, and Sylvia had watched well over a hundred people, mostly men, leave the building. She was just about to give up when someone emerged. It was a woman, her head was wrapped in a scarf and she wore sunglasses even though it was very dark outside. She seemed a little wobbly on her feet but got into a car parked near the rear of the building and drove away. Sylvia did not follow, because she would have been too easily spotted. However, she did see the car the woman got in. She drove off. While some questions had been answered tonight, troubling new ones had taken their place.

CHAPTER 49

THE DAY OF ROBERT E. LEE Battle's funeral started out under a blue sky that soon turned cloudy. By the time the procession reached the cemetery, a warm, gentle rain was falling. The army of black sat around the freshly dug hole under an enormous white tent.

King looked at many faces he knew and many he didn't. It was said that the regional airports in Charlottesville and Lynchburg were lined wingtip-to-wingtip with private jets belonging to friends of the Battles' who'd come to pay their last respects. Morbid curiosity had probably enticed more than a few attendees.

Michelle sat next to King. She was actually wearing a dress! King knew better than to make any comment. His arm was still aching from his last wisecrack.

The Battles were in the front row, Eddie and Savannah on either side of their mother. Chip Bailey was next to Eddie. Dorothea sat at the end of the row, arms crossed. Mason stood off to one side, his gaze on the heavily veiled Remmy.Ever the dutiful servant, thought King.

On the other side of King sat Harry Carrick. The man was dressed as dapper as ever, his white hair even more striking against the backdrop of his dark suit. He'd given Michelle a peck on the cheek and King a firm handshake before sitting down.

"Quite a crowd," King whispered to him. Michelle leaned over to listen.