"Myra Evans?"
"No, not her, you idiot. She was the bitch, I'm talking about the beast-Dr. Daughter. Kill-Me Kate-thank you, I already have."
High-pitched laughter. The gun moved back some more and I stared into its single, black eye.
The dog began scratching again, but Coburg didn't notice.
"When the beast finished with Delmar, he was drooling and crapping his pants and banging his head against the wall."
"What did she do to him?"
"What did she do? She did a number on his head. And other parts of his body."
"She molested him?"
His free hand touched his cheek and he arched his eyebrows.
"Such shock, the poor man is shocked! Yeah, she molested him, you idiot. In ways that hurt. He'd come back from sessions with her crying and holding himself. Crawl into bed, weeping. I had the room next door. I'd pick the lock and sneak him something to drink. When I asked him what the matter was, he wouldn't tell me. Not for weeks. Then he finally did. I didn't know much about sex, period, let alone ugly things. He pulled down his pants and showed me the marks. Dried blood all over his shorts. That was my introduction to the birds and the bees. It altered me, it altered me."
His lips vibrated and he swallowed hard a couple of times. The gun arm like steel.
The glass door vibrated.
"So he took the truck," I said. "To escape what she was doing to him."
"We took it. I knew how to drive because Evil had a farm in Connecti- a summer place, lots of trucks and tractors. One of the farmhands taught me. Planning the break was hard because Delmar had trouble remembering details. We had a bunch of false starts. Finally we made it out, late at night, everyone asleep. Delmar was scared. I had to drag him."
The gun barrel made tiny arcs.
"I had no idea which way to go, so I just drove. The roads kept getting curvier. Delmar was scared out of his mind, crying for his mama. I'm telling him everything's okay- but some idiot left sawhorses in the middle of the road- a ditch, no warning lights. We skidded… off the road… I yelled for Delmar to jump free, tried to pull him out, but he was too heavy- then my door flipped open and I was thrown out. Delmar…"
He licked his lips and breathed with forced deliberation. His finger tapped the trigger.
"Boom. Kaboom," he said. "Life is so tenuous, isn't it?"
He looked winded, dripping perspiration. The big smile on his face was forced.
"He… it took me two hours to walk back to hell. My clothes were torn and I'd twisted my ankle. It was a miracle- I was alive. Meant for something. I managed to crawl into bed… my teeth were chattering so loud I was sure everyone would wake up. It took a while till the commotion began. Talking, footsteps, lights going on. Then Hitler came stomping into my room, tore the covers off me, and stared at me- foaming at the mouth. I looked right back at him. This crazy look came into his eyes and he lifted his hands- like he was ready to claw me. I stared right back at him and pulled my pud. And he just let his arms drop. Walked out. Never spoke to me again. I was locked in my room for three days. On the fourth day, Mummy came and picked me up. Go east, young victor."
"So you won," I said.
"Oh, yeah," he said. "I was the conquering hero." Jab. "My victory bought me more dungeons. More sadists, pills, and needles. That's what your places are about, whether you call them hospitals or jails or schools. Killing the spirit."
I remembered the flash of anger he'd shown in his office, when we'd talked about Dorsey Hewitt.
He should have been taken care of…
Institutionalized?
Taken care of. Not jailed- oh, hell, even jail wouldn't have been bad if that would have meant treatment. But it never does.
"But you got past that," I said. "You made it through law school, you're helping other people."
He laughed and the gun retreated an inch or two.
"Don't patronize me, you fuck. Yeah, let's hear it for higher education. You know where I learned my torts and jurisprudence? The library at Rahway State Prison. Filing appeals for myself and the other wretches. That's where I learned the law was written by the oppressors to benefit the oppressors. But like fire, you could learn to use it. Make it work for you."
He laughed again and wiped his forehead. "The only bars I ever passed, were the ones on my cell. For five years, I've been going up against yuppie careerist assholes from Harvard and Stanford and kicking their asses in court. I've had judges compliment my work."
"Five years," I said. "Right after Myra."
"Right before." He grinned. "The bitch was a gift to myself. I'd just gotten the gig at the center. Gave myself two gifts. The bitch and a new guitar- black Les Paul Special. You remember my guitar, don't you? All that rapport-building crap you slung at me in my office?"
The guitar-pick tiepin…
What do you do mostly, electric or acoustic?
Lately I've been getting into electric.
Special effects, too. Phase shifters…
He grinned and raised his free hand as if for a high-five. "Hey, bro, let's jam and cut a record."
"Is that the offer you gave Lyle Gritz?"
The grin shrank.
"A human decoy," I said. "To throw me off the track?"
He jabbed me hard with the gun and slapped my face with his free hand. "Shut up and stop controlling, or I'll do you right here and make your little friend in there clean it up. Keep those fucking hands up- up!"
I felt spit hit my cheek again and roll over my lips. Silence from the bedroom. The dog's struggles had become background noise.
"Say you're sorry," he said, "for trying to control."
"I'm sorry."
He reached over and patted my cheek. Almost tenderly.
"The bitch," he said wistfully. "She was given to me. Served on a plate with parsley and new potatoes."
The gun wavered, then straightened. He crossed his legs. The soles of his shoes were unmarked except for a few bits of gravel stuck in the treads.
"Karma," he said. "I was living out in the valley, nice little bachelor pad in Van Nuys. Driving home on a Sunday. These flags out at the curb. Open house for sale. When I was a kid, I liked other people's houses- anything better than my own. I got good at getting into other people's houses. This one looked like it might have a few souvenirs, so I stopped to check it out. I ring the bell. The real estate agent comes to the door and right away she's giving me her pitch. Da da, da da, da da, da da.
"But I'm not hearing a word she's saying. I'm looking at her face and it's the bitch. Some wrinkles, her boobs are sagging, but there's no doubt about it. She's shaking my hand, talking about pride of ownership, owner will carry. And it hits me: this is no accident. This is karma. All these years I'd been thinking about justice. All those nights I lay in bed thinking about getting Hitler, but the fuck beat me to it."
He grimaced, as if stung. "I thought I'd put that behind me, then I looked into the bitch's eyes and realized I hadn't. And she made it so easy- playing her part. Turning her back and walking right in front of me. Open invitation."
He coughed. Cleared his throat. The gun bumped against my sternum.