Half the eyes in Sneaky Pete’s were on the unhappy couple; the other half were making a point of not looking, ignoring what I gathered was a familiar scene around town.
The good-looking brunette bartender was bringing me my third beer. She looked toward the door, and said, “Pity. Hope he doesn’t hurt that poor kid, again.”
I said, “Isn’t anybody going to do anything about it?”
She raised an eyebrow. “You see anybody doing anything about it?”
I threw a five-spot on the counter and said, “Drink that last one yourself.”
“Anything you say, Daddy…”
When I was exiting onto the parking lot, half a dozen tobacco addicts were coming back in hurriedly, pitching their smokes sparking into the night. They apparently had no desire to be witnesses to what Rick might do to Janet.
Those two were the only ones in the lot, besides myself, and Rick had her cornered against a big blue Navigator, his hand against the metal, her face turned away from his, eyes shut tight.
“Two people,” he shouted at her, “who love each other oughta be able to talk to each other! God! Fuck!”
He used his keys to click open the vehicle’s door and shoved Janet in the front seat, rider’s side. He was about to shut her in when I put a hand on his shoulder.
Rick whirled, and took a few seconds to size me up-I’m not small, but to him I must have looked no threat, just some ancient asshole sticking his nose in.
He brushed my hand off his shoulder. “Go away. Not your business, dude.”
I punched him in the throat.
Rick went down on his knees, clutching his neck, trying to breathe, not having much success, gurgling, his face scarlet, his eyes popping.
From the nearby rider’s seat of the SUV, door still open, Janet Wright was taking this in with huge eyes…though not as huge as Rick’s.
“Excuse me,” I told her, and I took Rick by the collar of his leather jacket and dragged him like the sack of garbage he was across the asphalt. Hauled him through some brush and into the surrounding trees. Deposited him in a small clearing.
Finally able to breathe again, Rick had not, however, found his way up off the ground.
Hurt in more ways than one, he managed to squeak, “You…you coulda killed me!”
“No,” I said. “Next time I’ll kill you.”
“What the fuck…fuck business is it…of-”
I bitch-slapped the prick.
The sound surprised me-it was as loud in the night as a gunshot, and the woman in the SUV probably heard it, too. I hoped to hell she wasn’t like some abused women, her next move running off and getting her poor abuser some help.
Rick was down on his knees, as if praying. If he really was praying, he was keeping it inside his head, because the “dude” wasn’t saying anything-just whimpering.
I knelt before him and I locked my eyes onto his face, though his eyes tried to escape.
“Do you believe I’ll kill you?” I asked him.
“Yeah…yeah…sure.”
But I wasn’t convinced he was convinced.
I took the nine millimeter from my jacket pocket.
He drew in a breath, eyes and nostrils flared.
“Open wide,” I said.
“Fuck you!” he said.
The epithet gave me the opening I needed, and I inserted the nine’s snout.
I asked him again: “Do you believe I’ll kill you?”
Rick, all but deep-throating the barrel, nodded, his eyes white all around, something like “yes, yes” emerging from his throat.
“That’s too bad,” I said. “Because I really didn’t want you to.”
And I ripped the gun out of Rick’s mouth.
Rick’s hand clutched his face and blood streamed through his fingers in little red ribbons. As I’d intended, the weapon’s gunsight had carved a notch in the roof of his mouth and maybe chipped a tooth.
He was crying now.
“Anything you’d care to say to me?” I asked.
He lowered his hand; his mouth was a bloody mess, his teeth smeared red; one was, in fact, broken.
Good.
When he spoke, it was through bubbling blood.
“I won’t go near her,” he said. “Won’t ever go near her again.”
I shrugged. “Don’t decide all at once. Sleep on it.”
I whacked him with the nine millimeter and he went to sleep even before he collapsed in a pile in the brush.
The nine’s snout had a little blood on it, which I wiped off on the kid’s newer-than-new jeans, giving them a little character, wondering if Rick would know, when he woke up, how very lucky he’d been.
I put the gun back in my jacket pocket.
When I came out of the brush and trees, the woman I was here to kill was coming toward me. She was moving steadily, though her expression betrayed an uncertainty about whether she should be afraid or not.
I came to a stop.
She did, too, and asked me, “Is…is he all right?”
“No,” I said. “He’s a sick fuck.”
“Well…” She smiled just a little. “I know that, of course. But you didn’t…”
“He’ll be fine tomorrow. And I don’t think he’ll bother you again.”
“His family…They’re important.”
I nodded. “Sent him to the best schools, I bet. But he got his most important lesson tonight…I don’t care if his father is named Bush-he won’t bother you again.”
The brown eyes were wide with worry. “Why did you do that? You…you shouldn’t have.”
I sighed. “I know.”
With no urgency, I took her by the arm and walked her toward the bar.
Her sideways look indicated worry had given way to curiosity. “What’s your name?”
“Jack,” I said. “Jack Ryan.”
“Like in the Tom Clancy novels?”
“Yeah, only a little more heroic.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “So I see…”
We were in front of Sneaky Pete’s now.
“I’m taking off,” I said. “You need a ride anywhere?”
“No…thanks. My friend’ll take me home.”
I frowned and gestured behind me, toward the trees. “Not that friend…”
“No! No. My friend Connie.”
She was studying me now, and I felt ill at ease, suddenly. Her face told me what she was thinking-how St. George had just saved her from the dragon, but how strange and even frightening her savior was.
Then her eyes tightened and she spoke. “Were you at the library today?”
“Yes,” I said. I gave her a little lame one-finger goodbye salute. “…Good night.”
I moved hurriedly to my rental vehicle.
And I could feel her eyes on me, getting in the car and behind the wheel, and even with the window up, I could hear Rick’s voice: “ Unnggh…oh…Jesus! ”
He had stumbled from the edge of the wooded area, his mouth bloody, looking like he’d fallen down a couple flights of stairs. He sat on the asphalt, on his knees, prayer-like again, shoulders hunkered over, crying.
I could see Janet thinking about it. She even started toward him, then thought better of it, and yelled, “You deserve it, you dick!”
And she went into the bar.
Starting up the car, I smiled, thinking, Good for you.
Then I caught my reflection in my rearview mirror and frowned.
I shoved my hand into the steering wheel, furious with myself, muttering, “Fuck you think you’re doing…”
Soon I was pulling into the Homewood Motor Court, which had last been remodeled about five years after Bonnie and Clyde stayed there. Inside, sitting on the edge of my bed with the nine millimeter in one hand and a photo in the other.
I was staring at one of the surveillance shots of Janet Wright, a fairly close-up shot in which she looked not bad at all. I thought about a lot of things, including about how Jonah Green’s fucking P.I. reports didn’t even mention this Rick character, but I couldn’t work up a healthy sense of indignation, since I was the dipshit who had exposed himself to the target. Saved her from harm and worked up a conversation with her.