“What do you think, Hanratty? How would our boy Victor look in orange?”
“Peachy,” said Hanratty.
20
When I got home from the Roundhouse, I set a little bonfire in the bathroom sink. Then I took a long shower to wash off the sweat from the interrogation and the gunk from my hair and the oily sheen left on my skin from proximity to Sims. Showered and shaved, powdered and puffed, I put a towel around my waist and called Julia.
“How are you?” I said.
“Bewildered.”
“I understand. Today was a shock, I’m sure. Do you want me to come over?”
“No.”
“But I need to see you. Right away.”
“I don’t think we should see each other,” she said. “Not now and not for a while.”
“Why not?” I tried to hide the whine in my voice but failed abysmally. I was showered and shaved, powdered and puffed, and ready for action. “There is something important I need to talk to you about.”
“So talk.”
“I don’t want to do it on the phone.”
“I’m surprised. It’s easier taping a phone call than wearing a wire.”
“Julia?”
There was a strange pause, and then she said, “Where were you this afternoon, after you left my husband’s office? Why didn’t you call me right away?”
“I was detained.”
“Lawyers are always so busy.”
“No, really detained. By the police. They picked me up at my apartment. They had questions.”
“And you had answers, I’m sure.”
“They didn’t want my answers, they wanted your answers. What are they asking you? What are you refusing to give them?”
“They keep asking about Wren’s business affairs. But I don’t know anything about Wren’s business affairs. I never cared enough to learn. I guess that makes one of us.”
“Julia?”
“You should have seen your face, Victor, when that Nettles character told you my husband didn’t have any money. It was like one of your pathetic little dreams was crawling underfoot and he had stepped on it and squashed it flat.”
“I was simply surprised. Weren’t you?”
“Not about that. I could tell that things had gone wrong with Wren’s business. By the end his mood had turned so sour it could only have been caused by financial disaster. What surprised me was you. You were so shocked I almost felt sorry for you, even though it wasn’t your money. And then I learned you were at the police, blabbing away, and I figured you found a way to deal with your disappointment.”
“Who told you I was at the police?”
Another pause. “Did you do what you promised? Did you tell them about Miles Cave? Did you start them on the chase?”
“No,” I said. “I couldn’t. Something happened.”
“Yes, something has happened. I hoped we could trust each other. From the start that’s what I hoped. And you promised me that we could.”
“We can, still.”
“I don’t think so. Not anymore.”
“All I want to do is help you.”
“No you don’t, Victor. You can’t forgive me, so you’re going to pay me back.”
“That’s not true.”
“Even if you don’t recognize it yet, that’s what you’re doing.”
“Julia, listen. Things are getting hairy.”
“Shave.”
“Someone’s trying to set me up.”
“I feel the same way.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the prenup?”
“Would that have tempered your interest?”
“It would have been nice to know about a prenuptial agreement between my old fiancée and her murdered husband when I’m being questioned about the murder. Julia, we need to stick together if we’re going to get through this. I know you didn’t kill your husband, and you know I didn’t kill your husband.”
“Do I?”
“Stop it. Just stop it. This is going from bad to worse. Someone is playing us both, one against the other.”
“Oh, Victor. All the scheming and plotting, the whispered warnings and secret messages.”
“What whispered warnings?”
“When did love get so hard?”
“I had that very same thought.”
“It’s not supposed to be like this. Why can’t it just work out and everyone be happy until they die?”
“It can. We still have a chance to make it work.”
“No, I don’t think so anymore. I thought we did, truly, but I can see now any chance we had was murdered along with Wren.”
Another pause, and the soft whisperings of a voice not Julia’s.
“Is somebody there?” I said.
“Take care of yourself, Victor.”
“Who’s there? Julia? I’m coming over.”
“Don’t. We need to stay apart. They’re watching us both.”
“Are you okay?”
“No, no I’m not, Victor.”
“Let me come over.”
“Gwen will take care of me, she always does.”
“Is she there now, Julia? Is it Gwen who’s with you?”
“I’m sorry, Victor. For everything I’ve done. And everything I’m going to do. I’m sorry.”
“Julia?” I said. “Julia.”
But I was talking to the ether, because she was gone, leaving me with the peculiar sensation that I had just been involved in a three-way skirmish between a horny toad, a chameleon, and a snake.
And the horny toad had lost.
21
Something woke me up that very night. I couldn’t tell if it was a dream or a noise doing the waking, but I was already awake when I heard the refrigerator door open. You know the sound, the pull of the handle, the thwump of the door unsealing, the rattle of bottles, as prosaic a domestic sound as exists in this world.
Except I live alone.
I rolled out of bed and landed on my feet as quietly as I could manage. Light was slipping through the crack at the bottom of the bedroom door. I looked around for something to grab. My clock radio read 4:06 before I yanked the cord out of the wall and raised overhead the heavy rectangle with its sharp edges.
The hiss of a beer bottle being opened. A swallow. Some sort of soft conversation and then the television being turned on. There were at least two of them, and they weren’t trying not to be heard, which was troubling. Did they even know I was here?
I crept to the bedroom door, slowly turned the knob, gently pushed the door ajar, silently peeked through the crack, the clock radio held high and ready.
I guess I wasn’t as silent as I thought.
“Hey, bo,” said Derek Moats, sitting in my easy chair, feet propped on the coffee table, remote in one hand, beer in the other. He stared right at me with a not-so-bright smile. “You want to join us?”
I pushed the door fully open, the clock radio still hoisted, and took a step forward.
“What the hell are-” was all I got out before I saw the other man, standing by my dining table, tall and broad, with tattoos and dark glasses and a porkpie hat. It was the big guy from the Jamaican juke joint. And he wasn’t looking too pleased.
“You remember Antoine, hey, bo?” said Derek.
“Yes, of course.” And strangely, even though they had broken into my apartment, as I stood before the two of them in my boxers and T-shirt, I suddenly felt humiliatingly underdressed. “What’s going on?” I said, lowering the clock radio so it covered my crotch.
“Antoine just wanted to go for a ride,” said Derek. “Catch you up to date on the news.”
“News?”
“I guess you haven’t heard.”
“No,” I said. “I haven’t heard. But couldn’t we discuss this at a reasonable hour, and maybe at my office?”
“Antoine thought you’d want to hear it right away and see it in person.”
“That was kind of you, Antoine.”
“And without no delay.”
I looked at Derek, who was no longer smiling, and then at Antoine, who was just then scratching a thick bicep.
“You mind if I get something on?” I said.
“It’d do us all a favor if you did,” said Derek. “But don’t take too long, and don’t make any calls, all right? Antoine is feeling a little antsy right about now. Ain’t you, Antoine?”