I do not have mental problems! I say to the voice in my head, perfectly aware how damning it would sound were I to say it aloud.
Deacon’s pulse is steady, but she’s got a glowing bump on her noggin which I doubt will improve her mood any, and she was pissed enough
Deacon moans and mumbles something that sounds like:
But which is probably:
And with this in mind I pocket her gun. At least this way, she will have to bludgeon me to death with her fists.
I cannot honestly say that I am protecting either of these women; so much for my psychosis. It pains me, it really does, but I have to protect myself in this situation, and sort out the women from afar. Opting to stay here and nurse Deacon would surely result in hosepipes, frame-ups and jail time. Not necessarily in that order.
I pull on my clothes and mentally cobble together a story for my new girlfriend.
‘Are you speaking to me, baby?’
‘No. . I don’t. . Was I?’
Mrs Delano is concerned. ‘Well you were kind of mumbling, and looked like you were playing an invisible piano too. Everything okay?’
Two of my stress tells: thinking aloud and conducting. Simon Moriarty pointed those out to me. I really have to call that guy.
‘Just thinking. You need to be safe, Mrs Delano.’
She walks her fingers up my chest. ‘What are we? Strangers. Sofia, please.’
I clear my throat. ‘It’s dangerous for you here. . Sofia.’
Delano puts her cheek against my heart. ‘Remember when you first called me Sofia, baby? That night in Coney Island. I’ll never forget it, Carmine.’
Carmine? Now I’m somebody else. Is that an improvement, I wonder?
Mrs Delano’s make-up leaves a face print on my chest when I peel her off.
‘You need to go upstairs now, Sofia. Go up and wait for my call.’ I flash on the rows of pill bottles in the upstairs kitchen. ‘Do you have any medication you should be taking?’
Sofia Delano frowns. ‘No more pills, Carmine. They make me stupid.’
‘How about one? Just one to help you relax until I call?’
‘Maybe just one for you, baby.’
‘Good. Good. . baby. You promise?’
‘Sure.’
‘Say it. Promise me.’
Delano pouts and suddenly ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ starts playing in my mind-pod.
‘I promise. Happy now?’
‘Yeah. Happy now.’
I steer her towards the hallway, but she stops at the door, planting her back against the frame. Her chest is heaving and her eyes are bright.
‘Kiss me, baby,’ she moans. ‘I’ve been dreaming so long.’
After all this time I get lucky twice in one day. Pity about the blood-sodden circumstances.
‘Come on, Carmine,’ says Sofia, her voice sulky and impatient. ‘No kiss, no pill.’
So I kiss her. She grabs a fistful of my neck hair and pulls me in deep, and it’s like a movie kiss, long and languorous, and after a year or so I start wishing my name was Carmine.
We come up for air and Sofia’s eyes are wet. Blue mascara flowers on her cheeks.
‘We still got the spark, Carmine.’
I’m feeling a bit emotional myself. ‘Yeah, Sofia. That was something.’
Her nose crinkles. ‘But what happened to your hair?’
I hustle her up the stairs with Ghost Zeb chuckling in my ear.
I shut the door behind Mrs Delano, then take the steps three at a time back to my apartment. Deacon is up and about, stumbling around head in hands, swear words drooling from her lips. She’s not fully conscious yet, but any minute now.
She spots me with one rolling eye, and lurches in my direction like an extra from
‘Easy there, Detective Deacon,’ I say, gallantly steering her to the remains of the sofa. She plonks down, deep into the butchered cushions. Her entire midsection disappears, from boobs to knees. On any other day you’d have to laugh, except maybe yesterday or the day before that.
‘How you feeling, Detective?’
‘Screw you.’
‘We did that, remember.’
‘Did we? I didn’t notice.’
‘I have it on very good authority that I have a lovely pee-pee, so lay off.’
Deacon’s eyes are clearing up now. I can see craftiness in the corners.
‘Okay. It was wonderful. You were like a stallion, Daniel.’ She rattles her cuffs under my nose. ‘So let me go.’
I nod slowly. ‘You put together a good argument, me being like a stallion and so forth. So okay.’
I slip off one cuff just long enough to attach it to the sofa’s exposed metal frame. Deacon does not bother yanking her chain.
‘Bastard,’ she sighs, rolling her eyes.
‘It’s temporary,’ I assure her. ‘Just until I can figure out what to do with you.’
‘You could stick a knife in my forehead.’
I mull this over. ‘Tempting. But no. What if I winged you, then you shoot
‘That’s not funny, McEvoy,’ says Deacon, throwing a futile kick in my direction.
‘Exactly.’
I finish dressing, hang my jacket on a nail and run the kitchen faucet over my head.
‘Why did Goran want to kill you?’
Deacon hawks and spits on my floor. ‘Blood. I bit my tongue. I’m going to track that crazy bitch down, no doubt about that.’
‘It was because of Faber, right? For some reason she didn’t want Faber investigated.’
‘I don’t care where she hides. Nobody takes a swing at Ronelle Deacon and gets away with it’
I clap my hands triumphantly. ‘Ronelle! Well hello, Ronelle.’
Deacon scowls, disgusted. ‘People call me Ronnie. Good for the straights and the gays.’
I nod. ‘Ronnie. Yeah, that would work. Cute or butch, depends on how you look at it.’ I dry my head gingerly, zip my bag and throw it over my shoulder. ‘Well, Ronnie, you ready to cooperate?’
‘You are a wanted man, McEvoy. Surrender yourself into my custody and I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Come on. You got a body in the trunk.’
‘You’re the only one who knows that. And you’re a fucking knife killer. What kind of credibility do you have? If I was as bent as Goran used to be, I bet I could come up with a scenario where you killed my partner and held me captive.’
I am not liking the sound of that, or the glint in Deacon’s eyes when she says it.
‘I think I’ll turn you in and take my chances.’
Deacon shakes her head. ‘I don’t believe you. One of those bullets in Goran’s shoulder is yours. Maybe you killed Connie DeLyne, then you shot down the investigating officer. I bet my superiors would go for that.’
She’s right. So I say: ‘Ronnie, when you’re right, you’re right.’
‘You got it,
