“Willis and Steve are old pals. And Willis has a country club in his backyard. I think there was more to it than just a professional consultation. Steve took his golf clubs.”
“Great. And tomorrow’s Saturday.”
“He told me you’d be calling. He said to tell you he’ll be in tomorrow, for sure, and do his number on your guy first thing.”
“Okay.”
“You sure about tonight? What time does your kid hit the sack?”
“I wouldn’t be much fun, anyway.”
“Sure you would. But hey, it’s up to you.”
“I’ll be in touch,” he said. “Take it easy now.”
“You, too, Jake.”
He hung up.
Fifteen minutes later, he swung his car onto the circular driveway and stopped if behind a red Porsche with the cutesy license plate, BB’S TOY.
BB’s toy would look best, Jake thought, wrapped around a tree. Then he felt guilty. After all, she was Kimmy’s mother. Kimmy loved her. Poor taste on the kid’s part, but you love the mother you get, even if she is a slut.
His chest felt tight, his mouth dry, as he stepped onto the front stoop and pressed the doorbell. From inside came the faint sound of chimes playing the opening bars of Beethoven’s Fifth.
Harold Standish opened the door, stepped back, raised his hands high and said, “Don’t shoot.”
Jake stared at him. The man’s routine hadn’t been amusing the first time he pulled it, over a year ago. It had become less amusing with each repetition. This morning, it gave Jake an urge to tear off Harold’s trim little mustache.
“Just pulling your leg, Jako. Come on in. The little woman’s getting the Kimmer ready for her big day.”
Jake stepped onto the marble foyer.
Harold headed for the living room, walking sideways and smiling, keeping his eyes on Jake—apparently afraid to turn his back. Jake had never spoken a sharp word to the man, had certainly never threatened or assaulted him. But Harold knew what he had done. And, quite obviously, he knew what he deserved.
What Harold did not know was that Jake had never blamed him for the situation. It might have been different if he’d seduced Barbara with good looks and charm, but Harold was a skinny guy with a receding hairline, a nose like a turkey’s beak, and all the charm of a field mouse. He was a wimp. A wimp who made big bucks filling teeth. And Barbara, not Harold, had been the seducer.
She hadn’t dumped Jake for a man. She’d dumped him for a handsome bank balance and plastic cards with dreamy credit lines. Harold was a piece of excess baggage that came along with the good stuff.
If it hadn’t been Harold, it would’ve been someone else.
Barbara was the one who deserved…
“Could I get you some coffee, a sweet roll?” Harold asked.
“No thanks.”
Harold sat on a recliner, but didn’t settle back. He stayed on the edge of the seat as if ready to rush off, and cupped his hands over his knees. “So,” he said.
Jake sat on the sofa.
“So, how are things in law enforcement business? Keeping the criminals in line?”
“We try.” Apparently, Harold hadn’t heard about last night. That was fine with Jake.
Harold nodded as if pondering the response. He gazed at the floor. He seemed nervous about the silence. Afraid Jake might take the opportunity to bring up an unpleasant topic, such as adultery? Ah, he must’ve thought of something. His eyebrows lifted and he looked at Jake. “How do you feel about the handgun initiative?”
“I’m against it.”
“One would think that a man in your line of work, who sees the tragedies caused by private ownership of guns—”
“We had a seventy-two-year-old widow, last month, who woke up to find a stranger in her bedroom with a knife in one hand and a hard-on in the other. She shot him four times with a pistol she kept on her nightstand. Me, I’m glad she had the gun.”
“But statistics show—”
“Save it, Harold. You want the bad guys to win, that’s
Harold dared a condescending smile. With a shake of his head, he stood up. “I’ll see what’s keeping the ladies,” he said, and backed out of the living room.
He was no sooner gone than Barbara came in.
“Tag team?” Jake asked. He felt sick. He always felt sick when he saw her, but this morning was worse than usual because of what she wore.
“Kimmy’s almost ready,” she said.
“Fine,” he muttered, staring at Barbara and wondering what the hell she was trying to do.
She wore a blue silk kimono. Its front was open, showing a long V of bare skin all the way down to the sash at her waist. The glossy fabric shimmered from the motion of her breasts. Turning away from Jake, she crossed the living room. The kimono was very short. At the far side of the draperies, she reached high to pull the draw cord and the garment lifted above the pale curves of her buttocks. The draperies skidded open. She lowered her arms, and the fabric drifted down.
“Real cute,” Jake said.
Whirling around, she glared at him.
Jake smiled. His mouth felt rigid. His chest ached.
“Problem?” she said.
His smile died. “You’re some piece of work, woman.”
“You better believe it.”
“What’re you trying to pull?”
“I’m not trying to pull a thing, darling. Do I take it that you don’t approve of my attire? It’s an early birthday present from Harold. Isn’t it heavenly? And it
“If only Harold could see you now.”
“So what if he did.” She squirmed slightly as she rubbed her breasts. Her motions had loosened the front of her kimono, widening the opening. It was open all the way down.
“For godsake!” Jake snapped in a hushed voice.
She smirked. “Turning you on?”
“I get turned on better scraping dog shit off my boot.”
Barbara’s eyes went wide. Her face colored. Her back went stiff. She tugged the kimono shut. “You bastard.” Her voice trembled when she said it. Her chin started to shake.
Astonished, Jake realized she was about to cry.
She pivoted away from him. “Kimmy!” she shouted. “Get your ass down here!”
“Barbara!” Jake snapped.
“Fuck you.” She hurried from the room.
Jake stayed on the sofa, stunned and angry and confused. What the hell had just happened?
Normally, when he came to pick up Kimmy, Barbara acted as if he were a visiting peasant: haughty, sarcastic, delighted by the opportunity to rub his nose in the lifestyle she had achieved by dumping him for Harold.
What was this, today?
Acting like that with Kimmy and Harold in the house.
Harold had to know she was dressed that way.
What was she trying to prove?
That’s pretty obvious, he thought. She was trying to prove she could turn me on.
Look how she flew apart when I put her down.
