Clare laughed. “Well, they got it right this time,” she said. “It’s starting to blow out there.” I looked in the plastic sack. The smell of cilantro wafted up from the takeout containers.
“Thai?” I asked. Clare smiled and nodded. “Where’d you find a place that was open?”
“This is the center of the fucking universe, pal, haven’t you heard?” She unbuttoned her coat. “Put that stuff in the fridge and take a bath with me. We’ll see how those bruises are coming along.”
It was six o’clock and dark when the phone rang. Clare stirred and muttered something, and I rolled out of bed to get it. It was David. His voice was at once sleepy and combative, and it took a while for me to realize he was drunk.
“I talked to your pal Metz today.”
“You should think of him as your lawyer, David, not as my pal.”
“If I think of him that way, I’m not too impressed. In fact, I’m thinking he’s more sizzle than steak, and maybe I should get somebody else.”
“What did he do that was so unimpressive?”
“As far as I can tell, he hasn’t done anything at all. I still don’t know for sure who Mermaid-girl is, and your pal couldn’t seem to find out from the cops.”
“Find out what? The police haven’t identified her yet, for chrissakes- something for which you should be supremely grateful.”
“So he doesn’t know who she is, but he still wants me to go talk to the cops? How fucked up is that?”
“Be serious, David: how many women do you think are walking around with that tattoo on their legs?”
“How do I know? And why should I fucking bet my life on the chance that there was only one?”
“If it’s not her, then all it costs you is a little embarrassment in front of a few cops. If it is her, then-”
“A little embarrassment? How do you know what’s big and what’s little? You don’t give a shit what people think, you never have, so don’t lecture me, Johnny.”
“I don’t lecture drunks. I learned it was a waste of time when I was a cop.”
David laughed nastily. “It took till then? Shit, I figured it out listening to Mom lecture Dad.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Where were you the Tuesday before last, David?”
“Your fucking pal was after me about this too. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“We have to talk about it. Where were you?”
“Where was I when?”
“Don’t fuck around, David.”
“Where the hell do you think I was? I was at work, for chrissakes, just like every fucking day. You should try it some time.”
“What time did you get in?”
“Probably the usual time- seven, seven-fifteen the latest.”
“What does ‘probably’ mean?”
“I got in at the usual time- okay?”
“You came direct from your apartment?”
“Of course I did.”
“And you were in the office all day?”
“What’s all day? I had meetings, I had a lunch- I was in and out.”
“What time did you leave?”
“I don’t know- six, six-thirty.”
“You went right home from there?”
“Sure.”
“Is that the same as yes?”
“Yes, I went right home.”
“And then?”
“And then nothing. I had dinner; I read some reports; I went to bed.”
“You didn’t go out?”
“I told you: I ate; I read; I slept.”
“Was Stephanie with you?”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“Was she there with you the whole time?”
“I’m not talking about-”
“Don’t start this shit again, David. We need to know where you were. We need to know where Steph was. We need to know how much she knows about all this. And you need to get it through your head that you’re in the deep water now. The cops will ask these questions, and a lot of others, and they won’t be as nice about it. And you can’t ignore them, or make them go away by being arrogant or angry. Cops like it when a suspect acts that way- it makes them think they’re on to something- and when the suspect is somebody like you, it makes it just plain fun.”
“Suspect?” David laughed again, crazily this time. “I ain’t no steenking suspect.”
I ground my teeth and thought hard about hanging up. Then I heard a noise like glassware in the background. “Where are you?”
“Why, you gonna join me? I thought you pretended not to go in for this stuff anymore.”
“Where are-”
“I’m in the only open bar south of Fulton Street- the only one I could fucking find, anyway.”
“Jesus- you’re talking about this in public? What the hell’s wrong with you? Are you trying to blow up your life?”
“You’re the last person to be giving out life advice, don’t you think, Johnny-boy? Like you’ve done such a bang-up job with your ownthat swell career, and all those friends.”
I counted, I breathed, and finally I gave up. I put down the phone and turned around and Clare was there, leaning in the bedroom door. The light from the street was softened by the snow, and it fell in pale pink bands across her arms and legs and small, bare breasts. Her face was in shadow, but even so I could see the worry in her eyes.
19
Clare wanted to come along to the 9:3 °Club, but between the snow, and my dissuasions, and maybe the gun behind my back, she gave up on the idea.
“What the hell is that?” She froze with a forkful of pad thai halfway to her mouth.
“It’s a Glock 30, a nine-millimeter semiautomatic handgun.”
“I see it’s a gun. What are you doing with it?”
“I’m putting it in its holster and fastening it to my belt.”
“Don’t be funny. Why do you need it?”
“I’m hoping to find the guy I romped around Central Park with last night, and I’m hoping for a more sedate conversation.”
“You’re going to…shoot him?”
“I’d rather talk, but it’s nice to have options.”
“Jesus,” she breathed.
Clare ate her noodles and watched gravely as I dropped the clip out of the Glock, checked the load, worked the spring and the slide, ran the clip back up, and tucked the gun away. I was pulling a waterproof shell over my fleece jacket when she spoke again.
“Was that your brother on the phone before?”
I looked at her, surprised. I’d never discussed my family with her, and had no clue what, if anything, she knew of them. Her face was still and her gray eyes said nothing. “One of them,” I said slowly.
A rueful smile came and went. “I know the tone. My sister gets it when we talk on the phone sometimes; I get it too, I suppose. A kind of ‘I’m going to explode and I’m going to strangle you all at the same time’ thing. Only
