“You know, buddy, I don’t know if this is stuff she needs to be talking about right now.” Sarge had puffed his chest out and squared his shoulders as he spoke. Hannibal was sure it was an unconscious response, the subtle signals he had learned to send in order to get his way as a bouncer without having to get physical with drunks. There was no percentage in conflict with Sarge. Hannibal kept his focus on Marquita LaPage.
“Ma’am, I know this other girl’s problems aren’t your concern, but I’m going to ask you to think about your life since Rod Mantooth left here. From what I saw, you’ve been punishing yourself and here’s why I think you’ve been doing that. I think you’ve been waiting for him to come back. And I think you hate yourself for wanting him to return. You’re doing everything he told you to do, hoping he’ll walk back in that door, but you know damn well that’s not what you ought to want.”
As Hannibal spoke, Marquita’s soft brown eyes widened and her breath became fast but shallow gasps. When she finally looked down, she appeared on the verge of tears. Long blonde tresses dropped over her lowered face like sheer curtains closing on a window that was too easy to see through.
“Stop it, man,” Sarge said, squeezing her hand. “Can’t you see what this is doing to her? Besides, that’s all bullsh…” Sarge’s eyes cut toward her for a second, “that’s all bull, man. The last thing in the world Marquita wants is for that bastard to come back here.”
“Uh-huh.” Hannibal nodded his skepticism, his lips drawn in against his teeth. “Right. So. Where’s the collar, Ms. LaPage?”
Marquita shook her head with such violence that her hair sashaying in front of her like a dancer’s skirt. Then she slowly looked up through the sheer wall of hair.
He asked again. This time it was just above a whisper. “Where’s your collar, Ms. LaPage?”
For a frozen moment, the only movement in the room was the rising of tiny dust motes in the shaft of light falling on the bed. Those bits of matter were so small that they needed only the heat of the sun to put them into mindless flight. For humans, weighed down by guilt and pain and self-loathing, movement can be considerably harder. Eventually, Marquita moved her head to the side, indicating the small table beside the bed on Hannibal’s side. A small sniffle came from behind her hair, and three drops of her soul rode gravity down to thump into the comforter.
Hannibal’s hand moved very slowly to the table, and quietly slid the drawer open. From inside he lifted her hated prize. It was gray suede with a silver buckle and tiny rhinestone studs along its length.
“What the hell?” Sarge said, his face contorted the way it would be if he drank sour milk. “You didn’t actually wear that thing, did you?”
Marquita’s head moved slowly up and down. Hannibal tossed the collar on the bed.
“You kept it close at hand. Symbolic of his ownership right? Evidence that you belong to him. But he abandoned you didn’t he? Cast you aside. Was a part of you hoping he’d appear at the door and require you to wear that collar again? No, more important question. Aren’t you tired of loving and hating this man, this life? Would you like to stop wondering if he’ll come back here?”
When Marquita spoke, her voice was small and distant. “I am so worthless. When he was here, I existed to serve, and I was, God forgive me, I was happy in his service. I did things I never believed I could do, but it gave him pleasure and somehow that became my only goal. I can’t explain. I hated him, hated myself for needing to please him.” When no one responded, she looked up, using one hand to part the curtain of her hair. “How can I ever be free of this man?”
“You’ll be free of him if I break his neck,” Sarge said.
Hannibal didn’t want to go there. “Mantooth has done bad things to other women, Ms. LaPage. He’s also a thief. If I find him, I’ll make sure he can’t come back here. That will take the decision out of your hands.”
“Hannibal can find anybody,” Sarge added.
Marquita stared at the collar in front of her. She raised her hand, then made a frustrated fist and lowered it, as if she was afraid to touch the thin leather strip. “What can I do to help?”
“Atta girl,” Sarge said with a smile. “The only way to get a monkey off your back is to shake it yourself.” He captured her hand again and she held his up, shaking it, as if drawing strength from him. Hannibal figured Sarge for the best tower of strength he knew. She would need it, for what he was about to ask.
“Ms. LaPage,” he began.
“Please call me Marquita. You may have saved my life, and that makes us too close to be so formal.”
“Ms. LaPage, I need to know more about how this man works. I need to know how he met you, and how he insinuated himself into your life.”
Marquita’s face collapsed in on itself, as if her very muscles were at war with each other. Then she nodded her head once, quickly, as if agreeing to something. Then, to Hannibal’s surprise, her eyes came up, clear and bright. When she finally spoke, it all came rushing out.
“How we met? He was a simple handyman when we met. When I moved up here, after daddy passed, I didn’t know anyone. But the investments were here, you see, the real estate holdings and so on. I bought this house, but it’s really too much for just me. Rod helped with the yard work, and did all that landscaping with the flowers out front. He also extended the deck.”
“Jesus, babe, why’d you get such a big house anyway?” Sarge asked.
Marquita’s smile returned for a moment, and her eyes sparkled as she looked at Sarge. “Ah, mon chere, I had to have space for big parties, didn’t I?” Her accent, well hidden at first, began to assert itself.
“Did Mantooth attend your parties?”
“Oh, mon Deux, non! He was not of the station. But we spoke, day to day. He told me he lived nearby and did a lot of work for local residents.”
Hannibal knew exactly where he was living at the time, or more accurately, whom he was living on. “And you liked him?”
“Not particularly at the time. We flirted a little. I guess I was flattered by his attention at first, but it soon became annoying. In fact I fired him.”
“He do something to you?” Sarge asked. His anger was still evident in his voice and his breathing, which had become deeper.
“One day, when I returned from the grocer, he was here working on the yard. He helped me bring the packages in. Then, when I thanked him he said he wanted a more personal thank you. He became very aggressive, and tried to kiss me, to hold me, but I pushed him away. I told him to get out, and that was the last I saw of him for a while.”
“Why would you ever see him again?” Sarge asked through clenched teeth.
Marquita held his big hand in both of hers. “Because I am a stupid, worthless woman, mon chere, that’s why.” Then to Hannibal, she said, “I saw him in Atlantic City. This was weeks later. He was dressed in very expensive clothes this time. I had only seen him in work clothes. And he had a new car, a huge red convertible, like a Cadillac but not really.”
Hannibal saw the confusion on Sarge’s face and said, “It’s a custom job, half Caddy, half Stingray. I’ve got a line on the car. So you saw him in a casino?”
“Yes. He recognized me, and walked right up, so forceful and full of himself. He was with another woman, but he just told her to go away. Then he looked me in the eye and told me I was going to be his. He had money now, and more coming, and I would belong to him.”
“What did you say?” Sarge asked.
“Well naturally I…” Marquita stopped herself, her hands falling to the bed between her covered legs. “Well the truth is, I found it rather exciting. This rough, tough man declaring that he would have me. But I walked away from him. That was on a Friday night. And the very next day, here he was at my door with flowers and tickets to a show, doing it the right way. I don’t know why I went with him. There was something about him that made it hard to say no.”