Down in the Zero

'Oh no,' he said. 'I don't want anybody to know what I'm gonna be running on Sunday. That's a surprise. I'll take the Miata.'

'Good luck, kid.'

'Thanks.'

'Take the phone with you.'

'It's right here,' he said, tapping the pocket of his jacket.

I heard the rasp of the Miata's exhaust a little past nine. I prowled the apartment, probing the edges of my plan in my mind, looking for weak spots. The bugged phone— I couldn't tell if it was a line tap or a full–house microphone. There was the intercom too. Maybe the Mole could figure out what was what, but me, I'd play it like the whole thing was an audio zone.

Ten o'clock came and went. No Fancy. I smoked a cigarette, wondering if I'd miscalculated. A nervous tap on the glass. I went over, let her in. She was wearing a white T–shirt over a pink linen skirt, carrying a matching jacket in one hand and a big black leather purse over one shoulder. She stood there in white medium heels, head slightly down.

'I'm sorry I was late,' she whispered.

I glanced at my watch: six minutes past the hour. I reached out and took her right hand, held it in my left with her chubby palm up.

'I don't want to hear your excuses, bitch!' I said, and slapped her upturned palm hard. The sound was clear in the quiet apartment— I hoped the microphone got it.

Fancy looked up, firelight in her big gray eyes.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered again.

'Come over here,' I told her, jerking her by the hand toward the couch. She came compliantly, breathing harsh now. I walked her past the couch toward the back bedroom. In the doorway, I pulled her to a halt.

'You know what, bitch? I think you'll get the message better if I teach you someplace else…like outdoors. Would you like that?'

'Yes,' she said, real soft.

'Come along,' I told her, switching my grip from her hand to her wrist. I walked her back to the door, pointed down. She took the stairs, stopped at the bottom and waited. I took her into the garage, opened the passenger door to the Plymouth. She stepped in, held the pose way too long. When she figured out I wasn't going to smack her offered rump, she sat down. I crossed to the driver's side, started the car and backed it out.

She didn't say a word on the drive, sitting like a girl in church, hands in her lap. I found the place I wanted, one I spotted on my recon visit a few days ago. A stand of high trees maybe a hundred yards off the highway with a creek running past. I guess it belonged to somebody, but I didn't see a fence. I turned off, parked so the Plymouth's nose was pointing back out the way we'd come, killed the engine.

'Sorry about all that,' I told her, handing her my pack of cigarettes.

'I …don't understand,' she said. 'I thought you were going to…'

'People were listening,' I told her.

'Where?' she asked, a shocked–scared look on her face.

'Back at the apartment. At least I think so. Cherry's got some kind of intercom hooked up,' I told her, not mentioning the phone. No risk there, Randy knew about the intercom himself.

'But why…?'

'If anyone's listening, they would have thought you and me were gonna play, right?'

'That's what I thought too.'

'Light that for me, will you?' I said. She fumbled in her purse, came up with a silver lighter that looked like a lipstick. Fired it up, handed it over. 'Thanks, girl. Look, did you mean what you said? About helping me?'

'Yes.'

'If you did, now's the time,' I said, putting it right to her while she was off–balance. 'Can you get me into Rector's?'

'Rector's? Sure. I could get you a guest pass. But I couldn't go as your slave— they don't know I switch. I don't, actually.'

'Switch?'

'Be a submissive. I don't do that. If any of my…clients saw me there wearing a collar, it might turn them off.'

'I wasn't— '

'But I wasn't lying,' she went on like I hadn't spoken. 'I mean, in your bedroom, that first time. I gave you your choice because I thought it would turn you on but I…got wet when I made the offer. And I came tonight expecting…I don't know. I wanted to try it. And when you slapped me, it worked.'

'The slap was for the sound,' I said. 'So anyone listening would think…'

'I was late on purpose,' she replied, as if she hadn't heard me. 'To give you an excuse. To punish me.'

'Look, Fancy, I don't want to get into Rector's when they're having one of their parties. Isn't there any after–hours for a joint like that? In daylight or something?'

'It closes at four. There's a cleaning crew after that. And it doesn't open up again until eight at night. I…go there sometimes in the day.'