“But when it was mentioned this morning at breakfast in Joel’s presence,” Adam said, “it was obvious he knew nothing about it.”
If either of them suspected Nadine had sneaked off to meet her brother, they weren’t saying so.
“I think she went to meet this turd,” Dewitt said, pointing at the seething Bingham, “but she’s afraid to admit it, and so is he. Why’s he always hanging around the house, anyway? He’s got no business here.”
“I come to see Nadine,” Bingham said, “whether you like it or not. We’ve been friends since childhood, and I’ve come and gone here whenever I wanted for years.”
“Only to see Nadine?”
“Of course.”
“Well, that’ll soon be over.”
Bingham fumed and Elana smiled. It was as if she were pleased at seeing Dewitt’s true personality exposed under stress. Will the real sleazy seller of doctored engines and tired transmissions please stand up? Yet there was a kind of regret in her eyes.
“If you want to think I met Mel, fine,” Nadine said. “There’s no way either of us can convince you otherwise, so fuck you.”
Dewitt said, “I notice our friend Mel’s not trying very hard to convince me that it wasn’t him you sneaked out to meet.”
“I wish she had met me last night,” Bingham said in a strained but controlled voice. “Or met anybody else but you. She’d have been doing herself a favor. And who needs to convince you of anything?”
The tension level in the room was electric, tickling the nape of Carver’s neck. It must feel that way where lightning was about to strike.
Nadine said, “Hey, calm down, Mel,” and moved closer to him and gently rested a hand on his shoulder.
That seemed to burn Dewitt’s fuse all the way down. He reached around her and grabbed the taller but thinner Bingham by the shirtfront. Nadine ducked low as Bingham pulled back, popping buttons. “For God’s sake!” Nadine said. Bingham raised an arm, elbow crooked, and awkwardly angled a punch over her head at Dewitt. Not with much force. Dewitt blocked it and yanked Bingham around Nadine, who took two off-balance steps and dropped hard to her hands and knees, jarring the room.
“Joel! Stop it!” Adam Kave yelled.
But it was Bingham bringing the fight to Dewitt. The lanky redhead was hurling windmill punches, landing one in four. Not a lot of skill, and too much righteous fury. Each time he threw a punch he grunted with effort and the mindless joy of combat. Forward was the only direction he knew.
Dewitt was all icy determination now, infuriated but calm, slipping punches and weaving and conserving his energy and waiting for Bingham to wear himself out. His blue eyes never blinked, even when Bingham landed a punch.
Finally Bingham stepped back, his scrawny chest heaving. He’d had enough action, worked away his rage. Reason had returned.
Dewitt smiled and said, “My turn,” and neatly kicked him in the groin. A short, economic flight of the foot. Must have had karate lessons somewhere along the line.
Bingham went white and dropped in a hunched position on the floor, his hands cupped between his legs. He rocked forward until his nose touched the thick rug. Dewitt, still with that nasty calm smile, began systematically kicking him, starting with the ribs and working toward the head.
Carver knew Bingham would soon be hurt seriously, if he didn’t already have some broken ribs or bruised internal organs. Dewitt was wearing pointy-toed leather loafers that could do genuine harm; Italian-import Mafia shoes.
Reaching out with the cane, Carver hooked Dewitt’s arm and pulled him away from Bingham. Dewitt whirled and tried to wrest the cane from Carver’s grip. It took him only a second to realize Carver’s superior strength; a man’s upper body developed powerfully from pushing around with a cane, from hours of swimming against strong ocean current.
“You’re gonna hurt him in a way you’ll regret,” Carver said, holding the cane tight and leaning into Dewitt to keep from falling. If he went down, he knew he’d have to drag Dewitt with him; he didn’t want to be kicked like Bingham.
Dewitt let out a long, trailing breath and released the cane. He looked around, his eyes dull and his mouth slack. Blood was dripping from the point of his chin onto the floor. Carver listened to it plup! plup! plup! onto the rug. One drop sounded different; it had landed on the toe of Dewitt’s right shoe.
He stepped over Bingham and stalked out.
“Joel!” Nadine cried, and ran after him, leaving Bingham whimpering on the floor. “Dammit, come back, Joel! Please, honey!” Not hard to see where her loyalty lay. Carver knew she hadn’t met Bingham last night. Or Joel Dewitt.
He and Adam Kave helped Bingham to his feet.
“You hurt bad?” Adam asked.
Bingham, still pale, shook his head. “. . Be okay,” he mumbled. “Pain going away. A little sick to my stomach.”
Adam helped him walk to the sofa. Bingham slumped down on the cushions, clasping his right side where Dewitt had scored with some well-placed kicks. Pain was bending his body forward in a tight coil.
Elana stood up slowly, almost as if she were bored, and without speaking left the room. The lilac scent of her perfume followed her.
“You should get upstairs and rest, dear,” Adam called after her unnecessarily. “Try not to worry about all this.” She didn’t answer. He turned toward Carver. “She seems calm, but inside she’s upset, sucked dry of energy. This kind of scene can. . well, it takes a toll on her.”
“I imagine,” Carver said.
“The bastard!” Bingham groaned, feeling better and getting mad again. “He kicked me in the balls!” As if mayhem were a sport and there were rules.
Carver limped over to the sofa. “I’ll drive you to get those ribs X-rayed,” he said.
“I can drive,” Bingham snapped, acting as though Carver had insulted him. He struggled to his feet. His tall, lanky body swayed, then steadied. His long face was still pinched with pain. He couldn’t quite believe what had happened. The good guys were supposed to win. This was an aberration and an outrage.
“Mel, you need help,” Adam told him. “Go have yourself looked at by a doctor. Promise to do that?”
“A doctor and a lawyer,” Bingham said. Man of the eighties. He hobbled bent-over out the door.
Carver and Adam said nothing while they waited, then they listened to the sound of his Jeep starting and screeching away. Tires counted for nothing in his budget.
“Shit!” Adam said, uncomfortable with this new silence and what had gone before it. “For something like this to happen. .” He glanced up at the beamed ceiling, as if suddenly he’d heard thunder and remembered there was a storm in the forecast. “You’ll have to excuse me, Carver; I better go upstairs and see to Elana.”
“You should. We can talk later.”
Adam clenched and unclenched his fists, as if exercising with invisible devices to strengthen his grip. His spring-trap jaw moved silently; he wanted to say more but couldn’t formulate adequate words to direct Carver’s way. He gave up and shambled from the room with his head bowed.
Carver put weight on the cane and moved out to the veranda; he needed fresh and less vibrant air.
Nadine was seated at the glass-topped table that was still cluttered with dishes and flatware and wadded napkins from breakfast. She was staring at the mess as if it were the remnants of her ruined young life. When she heard the clack of Carver’s cane she looked up at him, and then away. Her eyes were black with a nameless fear. “How’s Mel?”
“I think he’ll be all right,” Carver told her. The steady pulse of the ocean and the vastness of the sky made everything seem more placid out here. Eternity close by. Waiting.