I step back from the computer, conscious of how it will look, then remind myself that I don’t exist, at least not to these people. Then he appears in the doorway and I forget, for a moment, that I am dead.
David.
He looks different. The scruff is shaved and he is in a golf shirt and jeans, his hair shorter and neater. He’s wearing glasses, ones that match hers, and they look like the sort of couple that goes to organic swap meets on the weekends and open-mic poetry readings. When I look at her, she’s smiling and he’s coming around the desk and kissing her on the lips, and a sharp knife of jealousy hits.
So he’s not single. This is his house. That is his dog. This is his ... I look at her hand and see the ring. This is his wife. He is also now wearing a ring, a thin silver band that glints as he caresses the back of her neck, and I think of him on top of me, grunting. A drop of sweat had come off his forehead and splattered on my cleavage. A wave of revulsion hits, and I turn away from them.
“I thought you were going to be gone this week,” she says.
“That project’s over.” And ... wow. No French accent.
“Oh.” She is surprised. “Everything work out?”
“Not exactly.” He sits on the edge of the desk. He turns away from her and leans down to pet the dog, the action shielding her from theview of his features, which twist in pain, then are forced smooth. I watch, fascinated. “She, ah. She didn’t make it.”
“What?” She sits back in her chair. “What do you mean? She caught you?”
“No, no.” He takes off his glasses and wipes his eyes with the pads of his fingers. “Overdose.”
“Was it you?”
Was it you?I frown at the question.Is she asking if he killed me?
He sighs, as if disappointed in the question. “Caroline.”
“What?” She shrugs. “I can ask. You don’t have to answer.” She doesn’t seem concerned about my death, and I decide that I don’t like her.
David puts his glasses back on, but there is a tear he has missed, a dot of moisture that hangs on his right cheekbone.Ha!I want to shout.See! He liked me. He really liked me.“I’m going to get a shower.”
“Are you in trouble?” She spins in the desk chair as he heads for the door, passing me so closely that I can smell his cologne, and even it is different from the one he wore with me.
“They’re not happy, but I’m fine. Things happen. We’ll find another way to get the rest of what we need.” His true voice has a hint of a New York accent, and I’m fascinated by the differences between this man and the one I knew.The rest of what we need?What is he talking about?
I’m trying to piece together the meaning of that sentence when he scratches the dog on the back and heads out of the room.
“Welcome home,” she says quietly, and I bare my teeth at her and growl for absolutely no good reason.
CHAPTER 58
LENNY
I pay the bill with three twenties that have seen better days. Gersh eyes the limp cash but doesn’t say anything. I made it through breakfast without ordering a drink, so other than having a raging headache, I’m doing pretty good. I will need something soon; otherwise I’ll start detoxing, and that won’t help Lillian at all. So my reward, once this pretty boy coughs up the rest of his intel, is a pool hall I walked past on the way here. Low lights, assholes in the doorway, a collection of cigarette stubs on the windowsill—it looks perfect, and I’m trying not to think about it as I follow him to his car.
The last time I sat in a black-and-white, it was a traveling garbage can, one I shared with whatever rookie was unfortunate enough to be stuck with me for the week. They always gave me the rookies, in part because I was too big an asshole to have a partner but also because I had a way of dealing with the public that the brass liked. Just enough velvet and steel, as they said—though the truth was, I just knew how to defuse a situation. Grow up with an alcoholic father, and you learn that skill quickly. Add in a frigid mother, and you have empathy for just about every type of person you come across. The only people I didn’t do well with were the entitled, which was why they pulled me off Beverly Hills and the other rich zip codes real quick. As much as I shone in theghettos, I tarnished in the sun. Gersh, on the other hand, seems like he’d be a yuppie’s best fucking friend.
He takes the driver’s seat and I sit on a passenger seat that shines with fresh Armor All. I eye the air freshener coil in the cup holder. “You offer the perps hand sanitizer and a breath mint when they come in?”
“That’s funny.” He opens a laptop that is set into a stand beside the gear box and starts typing, his fingers flying across the keyboard at a speed that irritates the shit out of me. I hate this, the constant reminders of why I would have been forced out of the job, even if I hadn’t lost Marcella. Guys like me were dinosaurs, upstaged by young idiots like this guy who, dammit to hell, seems capable of more than just flossing his teeth.
How does Rancin handle it? Does he sign out at the end of each day and just wonder, for a moment, about quitting? He’s hit retirement age. He could join the likes of me, and drink and do crossword puzzles and sleep until ten and lament the good old days while hating his new lot in life.Come on, man. Retirement is great. Please, join me in my misery so I don’t look so fucking pathetic.
“So I told you about the calls, right?” Gersh glances at me, but his fingers keep moving somehow, and it’s unnerving.
“Yeah. Three calls. Taxi, women’s center, the paper.”
“The taxi company doesn’t keep recordings; neither does the paper. But the women’s center does, so we got this.” He hits a key and a woman’s voice comes through the speaker of the computer.
“Domestic help line, is this an emergency?”