“I did,” Bobby said. “Why? You like them?”
“It looks like something they’d have hanging in a museum,” Angela said. “You didn’t tell me you were an artist.”
“It’s just a little hobby of mine,” Bobby said.
“I love the way they’re all different sizes. It’s like you’re saying that women are different, but they’re the same, like – I don’t know what I mean, but I like them.”
It crossed his mind that maybe she wasn’t playing with a full deck.
Now that they had gotten the first time out of the way, Bobby’s old confidence was back. They went at it again and this time Bobby wasn’t worried about anything. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to meet a girl like Angela who didn’t treat him like he was a freak.
Angela lay next to him in the dark. Cool jazz was playing, the soft music seeming to fit the mood. Angela was running her long fingernails through Bobby’s thick, sweaty chest hair.
“You know it could be easier for you the next time we get together,” Bobby said. “I can use a vacuum pump or get one of those injection devices. You just shoot some medicine into the side of your dick and you stay hard for hours.”
“Maybe you could take Viagra.”
“Tried it,” Bobby said. “Didn’t do shit for me.”
“You know what would be great?”
“If you moved in here and I could fuck you stupid every night?”
“That too.” Angela caressed his chin and stared into his eyes. “But it would be great if you could get rid of Popeye.”
“What do you mean, get rid of him?”
“You have that gun. I mean, I saw it. Maybe you could, like, scare him, or do something to make him leave, go back to Ireland.”
“That’s where he’s from?”
“Or maybe you could… I don’t know. I’m just worried about him, that’s all. I think if he kills you, Max might send him after me next.”
“Kill me? Whoa, I did two tours in Desert Storm. Nobody’s gonna kill me, especially some crazy, grey-haired Irish fuck. No offense.”
“So you’ll protect me?”
Angela was twirling the hair below his bellybutton now and he couldn’t believe it – he was getting more liftoff.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll take care of Popeye,” Bobby said, grabbing Angela and pulling her back on top of him. “Now how about you take care of me?”
Nineteen
I pictured his mouth open and the powerful cleaning fluid filling his mouth, his lungs, stomach – pooling in his ears, penetrating into his skin, burning through the tiny pipe of his cock, tearing its way like a knife up his asshole. He would soon be cleaner than any human ever got. His stench would be filtered and dumped with the toxic waste.
Homicide Detective Louis Ortiz pressed the record button on the digital recorder on the desk and said, “As you might’ve heard we have a suspect in the case. There’s also been another victim.”
“Why are you taping me?” Max said. “I don’t get it – am I being interviewed or interrogated?”
“Maybe you should answer that question for me.”
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on here. I thought you were going to fill me in on what happened to my wife and niece. But if this is some kind of-”
“If you want to call a lawyer you can.”
“What do I need a lawyer for? Only guilty people need lawyers.”
“Then shut up and answer my damn questions,” Ortiz said. “As you may have heard, my partner, Kenneth Simmons’ body was discovered this afternoon.”
“Yeah, I heard about that on the news.”
“What did you hear?”
“That a Detective Simmons was killed.”
“And you realized that this was the same man who was working on your wife’s murder case?”
“The name rang a bell.”
“Did the news come as a surprise to you?”
“Excuse me for getting off topic here,” Max said, “but I don’t see why you’re talking to me. From what I heard on the news the suspect you’re looking for is a skinny guy with gray hair. Does my hair look fucking gray to you?”
Max had some extra edge in his tone, letting this prick know he was a respectable businessman, a pillar of the community, the guy who paid the cops’ goddamn wages.
Ortiz breathed deeply then said, “Kenneth Simmons was following you when he was killed.”
“Following me?” Max said. “What the hell for?”
“That’s not important now,” Ortiz said. “What’s important is we found his car in front of the Hotel Pennsylvania on Thirty-third Street. Can you tell me what the car was doing there?”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea,” Max said. He had always been a horrible liar, especially under pressure. Foggiest. What the fuck was he, British?
“Maybe it’ll come back to you,” Ortiz said. “I questioned the clerks at the hotel. They said at around eight o’clock on Monday evening, Detective Simmons inquired at the desk about a couple that had checked in under the name Brown in room 1812. You don’t have an idea who that couple is, do you?”
Max was shaking his head.
“I don’t have to tell you what I think,” Ortiz continued. “Unfortunately, the woman who was working at the desk that night said she couldn’t remember what the couple looked like, but I have people taking a look at the security video from that night and I think it’s going to show you and a woman checking into that hotel. Now if you’re as innocent as you say you are you could just save us some time and tell us who that woman is.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Max said as calmly as he could. “I was never in that hotel.”
“All right,” Ortiz said. He turned off the recorder then got up and went behind Max. Resting his hands on the back of Max’s chair, his mouth almost touching Max’s left ear, he said, “You wanna do this the hard way, we’ll do it the hard way. But I’ll tell you right now – if I find out that was you in that hotel I’m gonna make your life a fucking nightmare. You ever get fucked up the ass? Well, I hope you enjoy it because I’m gonna put you in a cell with a psychotic, white-boy-hating motherfucker who’s got a big, fat, fourteen-inch dong. Then we’ll see how much you like fucking around with Louis Ortiz.”
Ortiz stayed there for a few seconds, letting his words sink in, then he returned to his seat and turned the recorder back on.
Max felt wetness on the back of his neck – either sweat or his spray-on hair was dissolving. He wasn’t sure what he was accomplishing by not admitting he was in that hotel; when Ortiz saw that surveillance tape that ridiculous wig would be no disguise. But, at this point, he didn’t see what he had to lose by continuing to lie.
“Look, I want to do everything I can to help you,” Max said, “but I think you’re forgetting that my wife and niece are dead. You know what it’s like to come home and find the brains of your loved ones splattered on your wall? Believe me, it’s not very pleasant. But what’s even worse is having to put up with some ignorant fucking detective, making up ridiculous stories, trying to implicate you. Don’t you people have any sense of decency?”
Max thought that his speech had affected Ortiz and was proud of himself for performing so well, but then Ortiz said, “You want me to spell it out for you, Fisher? I think you hired somebody to kill your wife. I think your niece was just unlucky, got mixed up in it by accident. Detective Simmons thought the same thing – fact, he was more sure about it than I was. That’s why he was following you that night. Oh, and by the way I do know what it’s like to lose somebody close, like a partner you’ve been working with for the last seven fucking years.”
Max said, “That’s it. I’m not doing any more of this bullshit without my lawyer.”
“I thought you told me only guilty people need lawyers?”
“Guilty people and people who are being harassed.”
“All I’m asking is that you tell me the truth.”
“I’m telling you the fucking truth, but you don’t want to hear it.”