off I found her note waiting there for me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well, not your fault.” He put a hand up to his eyes and rubbed them, then stared bleary-eyed at Shannon. “Not my fault either,” he said with a hard smile. “If I could’ve sold my condo a year ago I would’ve. But I bought at the top of the market, and condo prices dropped twenty-five percent since then. I would’ve had to bring eighty grand to the closing, money I didn’t have. Nancy knew that. What the fuck was I supposed to do?”
He shook his head, a lost look in his eyes. The waitress brought over another beer and a club soda. Maguire slipped ten bucks on her tray to cover the two drinks and a tip. As she placed the beer in front of him, he leaned in close and told her they should get married. She gave him a diplomatic smile, suggested they wait until his divorce finalized.
He nodded with a silly smile stuck on his face, waited until she left, then told Shannon that he had left a message with Nancy’s parents. “When I find out where she is I’ll give you her number and you can ask her whatever you want,” he said. “But I don’t think she’s gonna help you. She spent the last year too depressed and drugged up on sleeping pills to notice much of anything going on around her except how much she thought her life sucked.”
He lifted his glass and drained it about a third of the way down, then lowered it back to the table, pushed it away. “That’s it. I’m done for the night,” he told Shannon, his large round face shiny with perspiration.
Some hoots rang out from the crowd as the game ended. While several of the patrons glanced over at Maguire, none of them bothered to rub the Red Sox loss in his face.
“What a perfect ending to this day,” Maguire said, laughing sourly as he waved a hand towards the TV screen for emphasis. “How about you? You look like you were hit by a Mack truck.”
“Something like that,”
“Something like that? I bare my soul and that’s all I get in return?”
“I was in a fight with a couple of thugs.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“This over those murdered students?”
Shannon shook his head. “Different matter. What do you say I drive you home?”
“Hey, buddy, not necessary. I’m only a couple of miles away-”
“I think it would be better if I drove you.”
Maguire was about to argue the matter but shrugged instead. When he got to his feet and started towards the door, he moved with the slow measured pace of someone who was drunk but trying hard to look sober. After they got in his BMW, he told Shannon he wasn’t kidding the other night about doing PI work.
“I’m so fucking fed up with software development,” he said. “I’m not doing it anymore. No fucking way-not even if I could get another job. Shit, I think I’d rather get beat up by a couple of thugs than spend twelve hours a day beating my head in writing software. And for what? To get laid off when the company runs out of money. I’m sick of it. I’ve been sick of it for a long time.” He sniffed, rubbed a hand across his nose. “So what do you say,” he went on, his face pale in the moonlight. “You want an intern? You don’t have to pay me a dime. I’ll help out any way you want, and in exchange you teach me the ropes.”
Shannon laughed. “You’ll sober up. By tomorrow you’ll be looking for another high paying job.”
“I don’t think so.” Maguire slumped in his seat. “No, I don’t think there’s much chance of that. Fuck, I feel wiped. This whole rotten day must’ve just caught up with me.” Mumbling in a soft monotone, he added. “But I’m serious about the PI work. Sleep on it, okay?”
By the time Shannon got Maguire back to his condo, his eyes had closed and his chin had dropped to his chest. Shannon shook him until he opened an eye.
“Thanks, buddy,” Maguire muttered as he stumbled out of the car.
Shannon checked his watch, saw it was a quarter to ten. “If you want I’ll look things over in your apartment,” he said. “See if I can get an idea where your wife went. You can think of it as your first lesson in being a private eye.”
“Oh, man, I’d like to,” Maguire said, his shoulders stooped, his voice coming out as a low tired whisper. “Too fucking zonked. All I can think of right now is getting upstairs and lying down. How about you come by tomorrow and we do it then? I won’t touch a thing, promise.”
“I’ll be out of town tomorrow.”
“Next day then.”
“We’ll see.”
Maguire nodded, muttered something about the next day then. When he got to his door, he turned to give Shannon a half wave, then disappeared inside his apartment.
Shannon found Susan waiting for him in their hotel room wearing only one of his T-shirts. He cocked an eyebrow at her, told her he thought they’d go out to a jazz club.
She smiled. A nice smile. Mostly lips, just a flash of teeth showing. “Sorry, Hon,” she said, “but I have a different idea.”
Shannon swallowed hard as he stared at her bare legs, then reluctantly told her he was feeling too banged up right now.
She took hold of his hand and led him towards the bed. “That’s okay,” she said. “I’ll be gentle. Promise.”
And she was.
Afterwards he drifted easily into sleep, far easier than he would’ve guessed given all the thoughts that were bombarding him earlier. At first there was nothing but blackness, then, almost as if a switch had been thrown, he was aware of being back in his hotel room with Susan lying on her side next to him. He heard other noises and felt perspiration cover his back as he turned and saw the two Russians standing over him.
The younger Russian, Dmitry, was staring intently at Susan. The older Russian had his.45 out and was polishing it with a handkerchief. When he noticed Shannon awake, he put his handkerchief away and showed a crooked smile.
“You think this is a dream?” he asked, amused.
“It has to be,” Shannon said. He pushed himself up into a sitting position. The cold sweat from his back had spread to his thighs. “That’s all this is. It’s what’s called a lucid dream.”
The older Russian smiled broadly. “Hoo boy, are you mistaken. How come we are in it then? And how come it’s so realistic? Lucid dream you control, right, smart guy?”
Shannon found himself nodding.
“You controlling this one?”
Shannon started to shake his head, stopped himself.
“Then you sure you didn’t wake up?” the Russian asked, laughing. “What if I let my young friend do what he wants to do? Will that prove this is no dream?”
Dmitry’s face was a hard white as he stared at Susan, his mouth small, his eyes tiny black holes. As he stood there, his breath came out in a harsh, almost obscene rhythm. Shannon shook his head. “This is only a dream,” he repeated. “Look at both your noses. They’re the way they were earlier today before I broke them.”
The older Russian touched his nose, shrugged, then sat on the edge of the bed next to Shannon. He touched Shannon’s knee in a conspiratorial type fashion. “Maybe this is something else,” he said, his breath stale and smelling a bit like rotting fish. “Maybe this is what you call
Shannon didn’t answer him. Just sat still as his heart pounded within his chest.
“You take us as idiot
“Why should you be able to? I’m registered under Susan’s name.”
“And nothing in your apartment has her name? You don’t think we will call every hotel looking for her?”
Shannon looked from Dmitry back to the other Russian. He tried to tell himself this was only a dream. That he
