As McDonald had thumbed through his box of mentallabels, hed been forced to discardhousewifeandhelpmeet, lesboandbimbo. When word inevitably got around about the tarot, McDonald had relaxed and stuck thehippielabel on her. The label might not explain the hunting, or the manner in which shed cut her way to the top at the bank… but it was good enough for him.
Fuckin moron.
ODell laid out the Celtic Cross; and got a jolt when the result card came up: the Tower of Destruction.
She pursed her lips. Yes.
She stood up, cast a backward glance at the spread of cards, the lightning bolt striking the tower, the man falling to his death: rather like Kresge, she thought, coming out of the tree stand. In fact, exactly so…
She shivered, pulled a cased set of books out of the bookcase, removed a small plastic box, opened it. Inside were a dozen fatties. She took one out, with the lighter, went out to her balcony, closing the glass doors behind her. Cold. She lit the joint, let the grass wrap wreaths of ideas around her brain. Okay. Kresge was dead. Shed wanted him dead gone, at any rate, dead if necessary, and lately, as the merger deal crept closer, dead looked like the only way out.
So shed gotten what she wanted.
Now to capitalize.
TERRANCE ROBLES HOVERED OVER HIS COMPUTER, sweating. He typed:
Switch to crypto.
Youre so paranoid; and cryptos boring . Switching to crypto…
Once in the cryptography program, he typed:
What have you done?
Why?
Oh shit. Somebody shot Kresge today. Im a suspect…
My, my…
Even with the crypto delay, the response was fast. Toofast, and too cynically casual, he thought. More words trailed across the screen.
So, did you do it?
Robles pounded it out: Of course not.
But you thought I did?
He hesitated, then typed, No.
Dont lie to me, T. You thought I did it . No I didnt but I wanted you to say it.
I havent exactly said it, have I?
Come on…
Come on what? The worlds a better place with that fucking fascist out of it.
You didnt do it.
A long pause, so long that he thought she might have left him, then: Yes I did.
No you didnt…
No reply. Nothing but the earlier words, half scrolled up the screen.
Come on… A label popped up:
The room is empty.
Bitch, he groaned. He bit his thumbnail, chewing at it. What was he going to do? Looking up at the screen, he saw the words.
Yes I did .
MARCIA KRESGE OPENED HER APARTMENT DOOR AND found two uniformed cops standing in the hallway.
Yes?
Mrs. Kresge? The cops looked her over. Late thirties, early forties, they thought. Very nice looking in a rich-bitch way. She was wearing a black fluffy dress that showed some skin, and was holding a lipstick in a gold tube. She had a lazy look about her, as though shed just gotten out of bed, not alone.
Yes?
They kept it straightforward: her husband had been killed in a hunting accident.
Yeah, I heard, she said, leaning against the doorpost. Her eyes hadnt even flickered; and to the older cop they looked so blue he thought he might fall in. Should I do something?
The cops looked at each other. Well, hes at the county medical examiners office. We thought youd want to make, er, the funeral arrangements.
She sighed. Yeah, I suppose that would be the thing to do. Okay. Ill call them. The medical examiner.
The older of the two cops, his experience prodding him, tried to keep the conversation going. You dont seem too upset.
She thought about that for a moment. No, Id have to say that Im not. Upset. But Im surprised. She put one hand on her breast, in a parody of a woman taken aback. I thought the asshole was too mean to get killed. Anyway, I just dont… mmm, what thats colorful redneck phrase you policemen always use in the movies? I dont give a large shit.
The cops looked at each other again, and then the younger one said, Maybe we got this wrong. We understood…
Yeah, Im his wife. In two weeks we wouldve been divorced. We havent lived together for two years, and I havent seen him for a year. I dont like him. Didnt like him.
Uh, could you tell us where you were…?
She smiled at him sleepily. When?
Early this morning?
In bed. I was out late last night, with friends.
Could anybody vouch for you being here last night? The older cop was pressing; once you had somebody rolling, you never knew what might come out.
But she nodded: Sure. A friend brought me home.
Im talking about later, like early this morning.
So am I, she said. He stayed.
Oh, okay. Neither one of them was a bit embarrassed, and she was now looking at him with a little interest. Could we get his name?
I dont see why not. Come on in, she said. Ill write it down.
They followed her into the apartment, noted the polished wood floors, the Oriental carpets, the tastefully colorful paintings on eggshell-white walls.
You havent asked me how much Id get from him, if he died before the divorce, she said over her shoulder.
The older cop smiled, his best Gary Cooper grin. He liked her: How much?
I dont know, she lied. My attorney and I took him to the cleaners.
Good for you, he said. She was scribbling on a notepad, and when she finished, she brought it over and handed it to him. George Wright. Heres his address and phone number. Im going to call him and tell him about this.
Thats up to you, the older cop said.
Thats my number at the bottom, in case you need to interrogate me. Its unlisted, she said. She looked at him with her blue eyes and nibbled on her lower lip.
Well, thanks, he said. He tucked the slip of paper in his shirt pocket.
Do I sound like a heartless bitch? she asked him cheerfully. And as she asked, she took his arm and they walked slowly toward the door together.
Maybe a little, he said. He really did like her and he could feel the back of his bicep pressing into her breast. Her breast was very warm. He even imagined he could feel a nipple.
I really didnt like him, she said. You can put that in your report.
I will, he said.
Good, she said, as she ushered him out the door. Then maybe Ill get to see you again… You could show me your gun.
The cops found themselves in the hallway, the door closing behind them. At the elevator door, the younger one said, Well?
Well, what?
You gonna call her?
The older one thought a minute, then said, I dont think I could afford it.
Shit, you dont have tobuyanything, the young one said. Shes rich.
I dunno, the older one said.
Take my advice: If you call her, you dont want to jump her right away. Get to know her a little.
Thats very sensitive of you, the older one said.
No, no, I just think… She wants to see your gun?
Yeah?
So you wanna put off the time when she finds out youre packing a.
22.
Jealousys an ugly thing, the older cop said complacently. As they walked out on the street to the car, he looked up at the apartment building and said, Maybe.
And even if not, he thought, the woman had made his day.
AUDREY MCDONALD, COMING IN FROM THE GARAGE, found her husbands orange coveralls on the kitchen floor, and just beyond them, his wool shooting jacket and then boots and trousers in a pile and halfway up the stairs, the long blue polypro underwear.
Oh, shit, she said to herself. She dropped her purse on a hallway chair and hurried up the stairs, found a pair of jockey shorts in the hallway and heard him splashing in the oversized tub.
When Wilson McDonald got tense, excited, or frightened, he drank; and when he drank, he got hot and started to sweat. Hed pull his clothing off and head for water. Hed been drunk, naked, in the lake down the hill. Hed been drunk, naked, in the pool in the backyard, frightening the neighbors daughter half to death. Hed been in the tub more times than she could remember, drunk, wallowing like a great white whale. He wasnt screaming yet, but hewould be. The killing of Dan Kresge, all the talk at the club, had pushed him over the edge.