Steve hesitated, then yielded. “You can go in alone. But I’ll be right outside.”
“Great. My bodyguard.”
They didn’t speak again until they arrived at the bathroom. Jack reached for the door.
“Wait.” Steve switched on the lights and went in first. Briskly he checked the drawers, the medicine cabinet, the storage area under the sink. “Okay.”
“You afraid I stashed an Uzi behind the commode or something?”
“Just being careful.”
“Paranoid, you mean.”
“Around you, a little paranoia may be justified.”
Alone, with the door shut, Jack felt safe and secretive. The bathroom was a private place, a refuge, where he could work his mischief unobserved.
Quickly he checked the medicine cabinet, hoping to find the rest of the sleeping pills. There were none. No surprise. Steve had said his insomnia was a secret; he’d kept the pills hidden from his wife. Well, five would be sufficient.
Jack took apart the capsules, pouring their contents into an unfolded Kleenex. A small heap of white powder formed. The tissue, neatly folded, went into his pocket, along with the empty gelatin casings. He would need those.
He removed the paper shade from a light fixture over the sink, then wrapped the bulb in bathroom tissue, being careful to wind the wrapping loosely so it would not ignite too soon.
He replaced the shade. In a carrying case on the counter he found an assortment of Kirstie’s toiletries. He dug out a jar of nail-polish remover, then brushed the liquid liberally over the wall near the lamp, painting a diagonal trail that snaked down to a wastebasket. More toilet paper went into the basket, doused with the remaining alcohol in the jar.
A flush of the toilet for realism, and he stepped out into the hall. “Nothing like a successful dump to make Jack Dance a new man.”
“You’ll never be a new man, Jack. You’re stuck with yourself.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
They left together. Steve, still wary of shadows, did not turn off the bathroom lights.
In the living room, Jack shook his empty Coke can. “I’m up for another. How about you?”
“All right.”
Steve watched as Jack retrieved two more cans from the fridge and popped the tabs. They resumed sitting, Jack on the sofa, Steve in the armchair, a precise recreation of the original tableau. The only variation in detail was Steve’s nylon jacket, which he had finally shed and draped over the back of the chair. His short-sleeve shirt was as limp and sweat-soaked as Jack’s own.
A fly buzzed erratically around the room, alighting on the mantel, the globe, the arched window framing the garden. Its wings glittered.
Jack wondered how things were progressing in the bathroom. The toilet paper wrapped around the hot bulb must be smoldering nicely by now. How long would it take to flare up? How quickly would the flames spread, first to the lamp’s paper shade, then to the trail of flammable liquid on the wall?
Not much longer, he figured. Another minute at most.
“Something occurred to me while you were in the bathroom.” Steven sipped his soda. “Your boat. The little inflatable.”
“What about it?”
“When Kirstie came in from the reef, she left it at the dock, alongside the motorboat. Pice will see it when he shows up tomorrow. He’ll know there’s someone on the island besides Kirstie and me. We’ll lose the element of surprise.”
“Hell.” Jack hadn’t thought of that. He was doubly annoyed-at himself for this lapse, at little Stevie for outthinking him.
“Besides,” Steve added, “if the boat has been reported stolen, Pice might even recognize it and radio the police.”
“It’s got to be moved.”
“Back to the cove?”
“No, that’s not necessary. I can hide it in the brush on the beach. Cover it with fronds and sedges.”
“You’re not doing it alone. We’ll go together.”
“What are you, my freaking shadow?”
“No, Jack. I’m your partner. Partners do everything together.” Steve paused, sniffing the air. “What the hell?”
“Something wrong?”
Steve stood. “I think I smell…” He took a step toward the loggia, then froze. “Oh, fuck. What did you do? What the hell did you do?”
Looking past him, Jack could see a flickering reddish glow at the far end of the hall.
“Don’t move!” Steve bolted for the kitchen, returned a moment later with a small fire extinguisher. “Don’t you fucking move!'
Then he was racing down the hall, his footsteps banging like a drum roll, diminishing fast. A moment later, an angry dragon hiss: spray from the canister.
Jack unfolded the Kleenex and poured the granules into his own can of Coke.
The empty casings he scattered like seeds around Steve’s armchair. Crouching down, he made a show of frantically collecting them
“Christ.” Steve’s voice, breathless and fluttery. “So you’re an arsonist now. Is that it?”
Jack palmed the last casings and held them in a tight fist. He got to his feet as Steve approached.
“Hey, Stevie, don’t get all bent out of shape. Just a minor practical joke to liven up a dull evening.”
“What were you doing on the floor?”
“Killing a bug. One of those big Palmetto mothers.”
The gun lifted ominously. “Another lie, and you’re dead. What’s in your hand?”
With feigned reluctance Jack spread his fingers.
Steve frowned, momentarily bewildered. Then he understood.
“You had some left,” he whispered.
“Five.”
“Enough to knock me out for hours. You son of a bitch.”
“I wouldn’t have hurt you, Stevie.”
“Shut up. How did you think you’d get away with it, anyway? Didn’t it occur to you that I’d know you set the fire as a diversion?”
Jack let his gaze slide away from Steve’s face. “I intended to let you find me in the kitchen. You would have thought all I was after was my knife.” He met Steve’s eyes in a good imitation of childish defiance. “Would’ve worked, too-except after I put the stuff in your soda, I dropped the empties. Couldn’t pick them all up in time.”
“You just can’t stop thinking about her, can you? You can’t control these impulses of yours?”
“It’s not like that.”
“You’re so fucking sick, Jack. And so fucking dangerous.”
“I wasn’t going to hurt her.” He lifted his shoulders in a jerky, helpless shrug. “Really. You’ve been making me nervous with that gun. That’s all.”
Steve’s mouth twitched. “Well, I’ll tell you something, Jack. You’re making me a little nervous, too.” He waved the gun at the armchair. “Sit.”
Jack sat.
“Now… drink it.”
He looked at the soda. “Oh, hell, Stevie.”
“Go on.”
“You’re going to need me alert tomorrow.”
“The effects will wear off by then. In fact, a few hours’ sleep will do you good. Aren’t you the one who said we need to be fresh in the morning?”
