Ben nodded. They finished the sentence together. “ ’If you gots to ask, you’ll never know.’ ”
“Is he gone?”
As soon as Ben left the condo, the other man stepped out of the shadows of the rear bedroom. He paused just outside the living room, waiting for his answer.
“I said, Is he gone?”
Scat plopped himself wearily into a chair. “He’s gone.”
The other man entered the room and fingered the back of a linen chair. “What took you so long?”
“What did you want me to do?” Scat asked. “Push him over the railing?”
“Wouldn’t be a bad idea,” the man growled. “I’ve had about as much of that little turd as I can take.”
“Well, you do what you want. But not in my digs. I don’t want anythin’ to do with it. And I don’t want anythin’ to do with you.”
The man’s eyes lowered. “Bit late for that now, isn’t it?”
“No, it ain’t. I didn’t know what you were plannin’. I didn’t know you were gonna kill anybody!”
The man displayed a thin smile. “Be honest, Scat. Weren’t you just a little bit happy when you saw Lily’s dead body on that stage? After all she’d done to you—didn’t that give you just the tiniest bit of pleasure?”
“No, you sick sucker, it didn’t. Just get the hell out of here and leave me alone.”
An eerie smile crept across the man’s face. “You know what they say, Scat, old man. In for a penny, in for a pound.”
“Yeah, well, now I’m out for a ton, you got it?”
“It’s not that simple.” He lowered himself into the chair opposite Scat, so close their knees brushed together. Much too close for Scat’s liking. “My business isn’t finished.”
“Is that my fault? Are you blamin’ me because you keep—” He stopped himself just short of the punch, but not so soon his companion couldn’t tell what had been coming.
“You’re not going to chicken out on me, are you, Scat?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’d hate to see you go chicken. I’d hate to see you become a problem.” He leaned oppressively forward. “Because you see, I’ve got enough problems right now. I don’t need any new ones. I don’t want to have to deal with them.” His eyes hardened. “But if I have to, I will.”
Scat leaned away, pressing himself against the back of his chair. “Wha—what’re you saying?”
The other man did not break eye contact. “I think you know, Scat. I think you do.”
Scat laughed, a nervous, high-pitched titter. “Whoa, now, let’s back off, man. We’re buds, remember? We’re in this together.”
“Oh, I remember, Scat. I just wanted to make sure you did.”
“You don’t have to worry about me.” He stood suddenly, walking away, an unnatural twitch in his step.
“Good.” The man eased back into the chair, steepling his fingers, peering through the apertures. “The end is near, you know. The fat lady is about to sing.” He allowed himself a small chuckle. “For ol’ Uncle Earl. And his piano-playing pissant friend.”
Chapter 40
BEN WAS ALMOST shaved and ready to leave for the club when he heard a furious pounding at his front door. He wrapped his untied tie around his neck, dried his face, and headed for the living room.
“Jones! What are you doing here?”
Jones rushed in before Ben had a chance to suggest anything different. He was in a bad way. Although he was decked out in his Sunday duds, he was walking hunched, hands clasped and brow furrowed, more like a man on death row than a man about to go out on a date.
“I can’t do it,” Jones said. His voice was hoarse and broken.
“Can’t do what?”
“This.” He paced around the room in an aimless circle. “This … date thing. With Paula.”
“Paula? Oh, right. The cybertramp.”
“She is not a tramp!”
“ ‘I can feel your strong arms drawing me near. I can feel your strength, your hardness.’ Give me a break.”
“She’s not a tramp!” Jones’s face was tight as a drum. “She was just trying to … inspire me to agree to a face-to-face.”
“Well, I think she accomplished that.”
“I thought so, too. But I was wrong. I can’t do it.” He threw himself down on Ben’s ratty sofa, in a would-be fetal position. “I want to meet her. I’ve been thinking about this date all week. But I can’t do it!”
“Just as a point of interest,” Ben said, “how can you meet her when you don’t know what she looks like?”
“She’s going to be at the club tonight at seven-thirty wearing a red carnation.” He shook his head. “But it doesn’t matter. I can’t do it.”
Ben smothered his smile. It was obvious Jones was truly upset and sick about this. He tried to be sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Jones. I can see this is tearing you apart. What’s causing all this worry? I thought you had no doubts about her. I thought you knew everything about her.”
“Oh, don’t patronize me,” Jones said, twisting away. “You said it yourself. No one normal meets in a chat room. She’s probably an axe murderer.”
“Well … perhaps I was exaggerating.”
“Maybe you didn’t exaggerate enough. Maybe she’s a stalker who uses chat lines to lure men to their deaths. Maybe she’s really a he!”
“Jones, come on.” He looked Jones straight in the eyes. “I’ve already agreed to keep an eye on you. This isn’t what’s really bothering you, is it?”
Jones turned away. “No. I suppose it isn’t.”
“What then?”
Jones spoke with the tiniest of voices. “What if she doesn’t like me?”
Now they were getting to the heart of the matter. “Come on, Jones, buck up. You don’t have any reason to think she won’t like you.”
“I don’t have any reason to think she will like me, either.”
“Nonsense. What about all those online chats? You said she was desperate to meet you.”
“Only because she hasn’t met me. Once she has, that’ll all be over.”
“You’re being ridiculous. You’re a very likeable person.”
“I’m a secretary, Boss. Let’s face it. Her heart won’t go pitty-pat over a thirty-two-year-old secretary.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being a secretary. And besides,” he added, “you’re an executive office assistant.”
“Semantic games aren’t going to help me here.” He stared down at the carpet. His voice dropped to a whisper. “She thinks I’m a private investigator.”
“What?”
“I know, I know. Don’t start—”
“Why on earth would you lie to her?”
“I didn’t mean to. It was in my online profile. I didn’t know she was going to read it.”
“Why did you lie in your profile?”
Jones shrugged. “I just—I started writing about some of your cases. Just to make myself a bit more interesting. It was a game, you know? Pretending to be someone I wasn’t. Then she read it and started asking questions. She kept pressing to know what I did and what role I played and—what was I going to say? ‘Well, I typed the pleadings.’ ”
Ben shook his head. “This is bad, Jones. Really bad.”
“I know, I know.”
“You have to tell her the truth. First thing.”
“I can’t.”
“The longer you let the lie fester, the worse it’ll become. If you tell her straight away, perhaps she’ll forgive you.”
Jones swallowed. “There’s more.”
Ben covered his face. “More?”
“I kinda sorta exaggerated my physical description.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Well, what was I going to tell her? That I’m skinny, puny, poorly dressed—”