friend at the time Mom was… Anyway, Clements said it rules him out, but I don’t believe it. If it’s a friend, how do we know the friend isn’t covering for him? But Clements said they’re looking at other possibilities, and what do you think that means? I can’t believe I have to deal with this while I’m in the middle of planning Mom’s funeral. I’ll tell you one thing, I’m not talking to him alone again. I’m not saying another word to him without my lawyer sitting right next to me. If I’d been thinking straight last night I would’ve hired a lawyer right away, put an end to this ridiculousness.”
Marissa was looking at her father closely, focusing on his eyes, trying to figure out if he was lying.
“And then I’m gonna have to deal with all of that media crap again,” her father continued, “with all of the sensational articles they’re writing.”
“It’s in the papers?” Marissa asked. She hadn’t even thought about this yet.
“I only checked the Post, the online edition, and yeah, it’s front page, and I’m sure it’s on the front page of all the other papers, too. In the Post story Clements called me a person of interest in the case. I understand why he has to check me out, but it’s so awful to lose your wife and then have to read that crap. Do you have any idea what this is going to do to my practice, to my career? I don’t even want to think about that yet or I won’t be able to get through the funeral and everything else. The reporters are still out there, and they can stay out there all day if they want to, but I’m not saying a word to them, and I don’t think you should either. This is total harassment now, and I’m gonna talk to my lawyer about this, too, see if there’s any kind of action I can take. You always hear about the media exploiting people, celebrities. You become immune to it, like it’s part of our culture, because you don’t think it can happen to you. You think it’s only something that happens to other people, that you’re protected, but you’re not. The thing is it can happen to anybody… Why’re you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, you’re looking at me… strangely.”
“I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
“About how awful all of this is.”
Her father seemed incredulous, like he wasn’t buying this explanation, but then he said, “Oh, Clements talked to the Millers next door, and JoAnne said their dog was barking like crazy yesterday at around six thirty.”
“So?” Marissa asked.
“So,” her father said suddenly agitated, “the other day, before I found the note from Tony, when I came in the house the dog was barking, too. I thought it was a little unusual at the time. I mean, the dog knows us, right? He never barks at us.”
Marissa, distracted, barely paying attention, said, “I don’t get it.”
“It means Tony was here again.” Now her father was practically yelling, and Marissa, frightened, backed away a few steps. “The dog was barking both times, and we know Tony was here once, right? Clements said this sounds interesting, but I don’t think he really gets it. This is another thing I’m talking to my lawyer about, though. There have to’ve been other witnesses; somebody must’ve seen Tony coming or going. What’s wrong? Why’re you moving away from me?”
“I’m not,” Marissa said.
Her father glared at her, something in his eyes reminding her of the way he’d looked when he’d gleefully revealed his affair to her and her mother. Then he said to her, “You do believe me, don’t you?”
“Of course I believe you,” she said.
“I can’t believe it,” he said. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
“Hey,” Xan said.
She hadn’t seem him enter the dining room from behind her, and she was so startled she might’ve shrieked.
“Sorry,” Xan said. “Just wanted to see how you two were doing.”
Marissa held his hand, relieved he was here.“We were just… talking about the funeral,” she said. “It’s tomorrow morning.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help you out, just let me know,” Xan said to Adam.
“Thanks, but I think we’re okay,” Adam said, looking at Marissa. “At least I hope we are.”
Marissa and Xan went upstairs.
In her room, she whispered to him, “Oh my God, he did it. He really fucking did it.”
twenty- two
Johnny watched the couple get off the Coney Island- bound F train, and then he followed them down the long escalator and out to the street. The couple went past the convenience store at the corner and turned right. Johnny hung back for a block or two, until the couple reached an area that was darker and more deserted, and then he made his move.
He pulled down his black ski mask and started walking faster, until he was about twenty yards behind them; then, right when the guy looked back over his shoulder, Johnny sprinted toward them, holding his.38. Before the couple could run or yell for help or react at all, Johnny was pointing the gun at the guy’s face, saying, “Gimme the fuckin’ ring.”
Johnny had spotted the woman’s ring on the subway. It was a sparkly diamond engagement ring, looked like at least one carat. The woman was blond, blue- eyed, and, like most people in this part of Brooklyn nowadays, probably not a native New Yorker. She was probably from the Midwest, Kansas or some shit. No girl who grew up in the city would wear her engagement ring, diamond up, on the subway at eleven o’clock at night.
“Please… don’t shoot him,” the woman said.
Yeah, definitely not a New Yorker.
“Just gimme the fuckin’ ring, bitch,” Johnny said. He hated that he had to be so disrespectful, that he couldn’t talk like the charming woman- lover he normally was, but he knew that in a robbery situation it was a good idea to act as little like your normal self as possible.
“Take it easy,” the guy said. He was tall and thin and had the same bumpkin accent as the girl. “We don’t want any trouble, yo.”
Yo. Like he thought he was talking street and that would, what, save him?
Johnny pressed the gun into the guy’s cheek and said, “Tell the whore to gimme the fuckin’ ring.”
“Give him the ring,” the guy said to the woman.
“I can’t. It’s my grandmother’s.”
“Give it to him, goddamn it.”
“Please,” the woman said to Johnny, “take our money. I have two hundred dollars in my purse, and my fiancй has money, too. You can have it all, but please, I can’t give you the-”
Johnny pistol- whipped the guy across the side of his head. He fell to his knees, and then Johnny hit him with the gun again, on the front of his face, and heard something crunch. The woman started screaming. Jesus, what the hell was wrong with these people? Did they want to die?
Johnny grabbed the woman’s left hand and started to pull off the ring. Would you believe it, she was still trying to resist? She was screaming in Johnny’s ear, trying to break free. Johnny was ready to shoot her in the head and shut her up, but then the ring slid off.
“Thanks, guys,” Johnny said.
He’d got what he wanted. No reason not to be polite now, right?
He walked away quickly. After he turned the corner he jogged a few blocks, and then continued home at a normal pace.
He wished he could sell the ring right away. He knew he could get a thousand for it, maybe more, from any pawnshop, and he didn’t like to hold on to the things he stole, especially jewelry. Jewelry, especially rings, was the type of stuff that people wanted back. Sometimes he’d dump stolen jewelry for a fraction of what it was worth just to get rid of it. After all, he wasn’t an idiot. That was the difference between him and every other criminal in the world.
