Jane smiled sadly. “I love him, Favor. We have two children together.”
“He murdered your father.”
“We talked about that, on the way over here. I told him what I knew and we talked about it.” She reached out and took his hand. “This isn’t a very pretty thing to say about myself, Favor, but it’s true. I’m used to living a very lavish lifestyle. That’s the first thing David said to me after I told him that I knew what he and Evans had done to my father. He said, ‘I did it for the sake of our family. If I hadn’t, we’d be broke today. He was dying anyway, he didn’t have long to go. The company needed that key-man insurance payoff.’ That’s what he said, and you know, he’s right.”
“Oh, shit,” Favor said. “You mean you don’t mind he killed your father?”
She leaned forward on her tip-toes and kissed him on the cheek. “I knew you’d be disappointed in me.”
“He killed your father. In cold blood.”
“He saved our family. Me. The girls. Himself. He didn’t have any choice. Daddy was dying anyway, don’t forget.” Done kissing him, she leaned back and said, “My father would have done the same thing in David’s circumstances. They’re the same kind of man, really. I’m sure that, sub-consciously, I knew. That’s why I married him.”
“I should go the police.”
“You’d destroy my life, Favor. Do you really want to do that?”
He looked at her. She was a stranger suddenly. “I guess not.”
“I knew you’d say that. I said that to David on the way over here. I said Favor’s an honorable man. He wouldn’t let me be hurt that way.”
This time, she kissed him on the lips, quickly but with real tenderness. “We just come from different backgrounds, Favor,” she said. “I guess I can’t expect you to understand me sometimes.” She looked back at the closed door.
“Now I’d better go.”
“Yeah. I guess you’d better.”
“I know you’re disappointed, Favor. And I’m sorry.”
“Sure.”
“Goodbye, Favor.”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll always remember you. Really.”
And then she was gone.
Princess Jane was gone. Forever, Favor knew.
Forever.
When Sam Evans came through the door, Favor was in the kitchen helping himself to more Jack Daniels.
“Hey, man,” Evans said, sounding pissed. “That’s my booze.”
“This is for you,” Favor said, and slapped a ten spot down on the counter. Favor knew he should be heading out but right now he didn’t want to go anywhere. He just wanted to stay right here and get wasted.
“She’s a looker.”
“She sure is that,” Favor said. “She sure is.”
“But her tits aren’t big enough.”
“Don’t talk about her that way. And I mean it.”
Evans was smart enough to look scared. Favor had suddenly turned dangerous again.
“She’s a princess,” Favor said. “A princess.” He felt like crying.
“Hey, man, I just like bigger tits is all. Sorry if I offended you. Now do you mind if I get in there and have a drink from my own bottle?”
“She’s a princess,” Favor said.
“Yeah, man, you said that already.”
“A princess,” Favor said, getting out of the way so Evans could get in there and get a drink from his own bottle. “A regular goddamned princess and don’t you forget it.”
Turn Away
On Thursday she was there again. (This was on a soap opera he’d picked up by accident looking for a western movie to watch since he was all caught up on his work.) Parnell had seen her Monday but not Tuesday then not Wednesday either. But Thursday she was there again. He didn’t know her name, hell it didn’t matter, she was just this maybe twenty-two twenty-three-year-old who looked a lot like a nurse from Enid, Oklahoma, he’d dated a couple of times (Les Elgart had been playing on the Loop) six seven months after returning from WWII.
Now this young look-alike was on a soap opera and he was watching.
A frigging soap opera.
He was getting all dazzled up by her, just as he had on Monday, when the knock came sharp and three times, almost like a code.
He wasn’t wearing the slippers he’d gotten recently at Kmart so he had to find them, and he was drinking straight from a quart of Hamms so he had to put it down. When you were the manager of an apartment building, even one as marginal as the Alma, you had to go to the door with at least a little “decorousness,” the word Sgt. Meister, his boss, had always used back in Parnell’s cop days.
It was 11:23 A.M. and most of the Alma’s tenants were at work. Except for the ADC mothers who had plenty of work of their own kind what with some of the assholes down at social services (Parnell had once gone down there with the Jamaican woman in 201 and threatened to punch out the little bastard who was holding up her check), not to mention the sheer simple burden of knowing the sweet innocent little child you loved was someday going to end up just as blown-out and bitter and useless as yourself.
He went to the door, shuffling in his new slippers which he’d bought two sizes too big because of his bunions.
The guy who stood there was no resident of the Alma. Not with his razor-cut black hair and his three-piece banker’s suit and the kind of melancholy in his pale blue eyes that was almost sweet and not at all violent. He had a fancy mustache spoiled by the fact that his pink lips were a woman’s.
“Mr. Parnell?”
Parnell nodded.
The man, who was maybe thirty-five, put out a hand. Parnell took it, all the while thinking of the soap opera behind him and the girl who looked like the one from Enid, Oklahoma. (Occasionally he bought whack-off magazines but the girls either looked too easy or too arrogant so he always had to close his eyes anyway and think of somebody he’d known in the past.) He wanted to see her, fuck this guy. Saturday he would be sixty-one and about all he had to look forward to was a phone call from his kid up the Oregon coast. His kid, who, God rest her soul, was his mother’s son and not Parnell’s, always ran a stopwatch while they talked so as to save on the phone bill. Hi Dad Happy Birthday and It’s Been Really Nice Talking To You. I–Love-You-Bye.
“What can I do for you?” Parnell said. Then as he stood there watching the traffic go up and down Cortland Boulevard in baking July sunlight, Parnell realized that the guy was somehow familiar to him.
The guy said, “You know my father.”
“Jesus H. Christ—”
“—Bud Garrett—”
“—Bud. I’ll be goddamned.” He’d already shaken the kid’s hand and he couldn’t do that again so he kind of patted him on the shoulder and said, “Come on in.”
“I’m Richard Garrett.”
“I’m glad to meet you, Richard.”
He took the guy inside. Richard looked around at the odds and ends of furniture that didn’t match and at all the pictures of dead people and immediately put a smile on his face as if he just couldn’t remember when he’d been so enchanted with a place before, which meant of course that he saw the place for the dump Parnell knew it to be.
“How about a beer?” Parnell said, hoping he had something beside the generic stuff he’d bought at the 7-Eleven a few months ago.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
Richard sat on the edge of the couch with the air of somebody waiting for his flight to be announced. He was all ready to jump up. He kept his eyes downcast and he kept fiddling with his wedding ring. Parnell watched him. Sometimes it turned out that way. Richard’s old man had been on the force with Parnell. They’d been best friends. Garrett Sr. was a big man, six-three and fleshy but strong, a brawler and occasionally a mean one when the hootch didn’t settle in him quite right. But his son... Sometimes it turned out that way. He was manly enough, Parnell supposed, but there was an air of being trapped in himself, of petulance, that put Parnell off.