I do now.
He looked startled. It dawned on him: he’d been outplayed.
He shrugged.
She was a very special woman, he said.
I know that. I married her.
I wanted to spit at him.
You don’t have to do a DNA test, he said.
I know that too, I said with conviction. Now.
But you don’t think…
I don’t think anything. I want to know. I plan to find out.
He sat in thought. He looked up. He looked me in the eye.
Her death was exactly what it seemed, he said.
He’d recovered some of his poise. His gaze was level. His voice sincere.
But that was not enough for me.
How do you know that? I asked.
I don’t know that. But I knew her.
My eyes narrowed.
I swallowed hard. I didn’t want to ask the next question.
But I had no choice.
The game had gone that far.
They said there was evidence of – I hesitated at the word – forcing.
He didn’t flinch. He shrugged, apologetically.
I’m sorry, he said. I know how it sounds. But you understand, I’m sure.
I did. I didn’t want to. But I did.
Show me who’s a man, she’d say.
I hung my head.
I heard his voice from far away.
I was her…well, I was more than her doctor, of course. But the end was inevitable.
I said nothing.
You knew that, he said. You know that.
My body lost a fraction of its tension. There was truth in what he said.
I looked into his eyes.
He didn’t look away.
We were two men in a room.
Two men alone.
96.
I’d had the foresight to have the car wait for me. I got in.
What was I going to do?
Nothing. I wasn’t going to do anything. What was there to do?
My forehead felt like bent nails.
A few Scotches at the Wolf’s Lair would help, I thought.
I was right.
Four Scotches in, my cell phone rang. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. I ignored it.
Thirty seconds later it rang again. I was about to pitch the phone at the men’s room door when I noticed the number: Dorita. Shit. What did she want now?
I answered.
Rick, she said, breathless.
I’m busy, I said.
Something’s happened.
I’ll call you back.
FitzGibbon’s dead.
Jesus Christ. How? What?
We don’t know yet.
Jesus Christ. Where are you?
There’s a meeting tomorrow morning. Be there.
Where?
The office. Ten o’clock. The real office.
The real office? I’m not allowed to go to the real office.
It’s a new and different world, Ricky. Be there.
Where are you?
There’s nothing to do right now. Be at the meeting.
She hung up.
I tried to make sense of the news. I couldn’t get my mind around it. I tried to remember why FitzGibbon was important to me. The fat blowhard. What did I care? Steiglitz, on the other hand, I couldn’t get out of my head.
I tried to stop thinking altogether.
I was more exhausted than I thought a man could be.
I staggered home.
I wasn’t sure I could negotiate the stairs.
I didn’t try.
I fell into the armchair. I slept.
The sleep was deep and dark and dreamless.
When I awoke the sun was streaming through the window. It hurt my eyes. I turned over. My head hurt. My back hurt. My right elbow hurt.
I heard Kelly come into the room.
Daddy? she said.
Yes my angel, I mumbled into the cushions.
What’s going on?
I turned my head. I squinted into the barbarous light.
Steiglitz. Shit. What was I going to do?
My instinct was to tell Kelly the truth. The whole truth.
So help me God, I thought.
I thought again. She was so abominably young. I couldn’t inflict this nightmare on her.
Nothing, I said, I just didn’t have the energy to climb the stairs.
Oh, she said. Okay. I’ll make some coffee.
You are so impossibly good to me, I smiled weakly.
I know, she said. Don’t get too used to it.
I dragged myself to my feet. Took a quick shower. Put on some clean clothes. Went to the kitchen.
Kelly was pouring the coffee.
I found myself enjoying the sharp rich stimulating scent of good Jamaican Blue. The quiet company of Kelly.
Maybe life was worth living after all.
The phone rang.
It was Dorita.
Get the hell over here, she said.
