“There are no records . . .” Rosenquist sat on the couch.
Jake said, “What were you treating him for?”
“I wasn’t treating him, honest to God.” Lying again.
Jake looked at him, then said, in a kindly voice, “I’ve had to kill a few people. In the military. And a couple of more, outside. You know. Business. I didn’t like it, but it had to be done. You know what I’m saying? It had to be done. These people were causing trouble.” He hoped he sounded insane. The quarter slipped, and he pushed it back.
“I know, I know.” Rosenquist tried a placating smile, but his voice was a trembling whine.
“This is the same kind of deal, when you get right down to it,” Jake said. He said, “If you move, I’m going to beat the shit out of you.”
“Listen . . .”
Jake flipped open the gun’s cylinder, shucked the shells into his left hand, and Rosenquist shut up, his eyes big as he watched. Jake picked out the empty shell, with the firing pin impression on the primer. Held it up so Rosenquist could see it, slipped it back into the cylinder, snapped the cylinder shut.
“Now,” he said. He spun the cylinder.
“Gimme a break,” Rosenquist said. “You’re not going to do that.”
Jake pointed the pistol at Rosenquist’s head and pulled the trigger. It snapped, nothing happened. Rosenquist jumped, his mouth open, his eyes narrowing in horror: “You pulled the trigger.
Jake spun the cylinder: “Yeah, but it was five-to-one against. Against it blowing your brains out. Though maybe not. I can never do the math on these things.” The quarter slipped, and he stopped to shove it back in place with his tongue. Drooled a bit, and wiped his lips with his hand; saw Rosenquist pick up on the drool. “It’s supposed to be five-to-one every time, right? But if you do it enough, it’s gonna go off eventually, right? How many times on average? You’re a doctor, you should have the math. Is it five times to fifty-fifty? Or is it two and a half times to fifty-fifty? I could never figure that out.”
He pointed the gun at Rosenquist’s head again and the doctor’s hands came up as if to block the bullet, and he turned his face away and blurted, “He had cancer.”
“Cancer.” Jake looked at him over the barrel. “Where, cancer?”
“Brain. A tumor.”
“How bad?” Jake asked.
“Untreatable.”
“How long did he have it when he disappeared?”
“He’d had it for probably a year, but we’d only known about it for a few weeks. Growing like crazy. Nothing to do about it. When he went, he was already showing it. He was losing function, physical and mental. He had some deep pain. We could treat that for a while, but not for long.”
“Was he planning to suicide?”
“I think so. I don’t know. I don’t know what happened with this . . . beheading. I don’t know. He told me to keep my mouth shut. He was my friend.”
Jake stepped back, flipped the cylinder out again, reloaded the gun.
“You’re going to kill me?”
“I don’t have to,” Jake said. “If you say anything about any of this, it’ll all come out. Prison’s not the best place for a fat soft gay guy. You’d have to deal with it for a long time.”
“I can’t believe Madison had anything to do with this,” Rosenquist said, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Jesus Christ.” Jake laughed, his best dirty laugh, shook his head, drooled again, wiped his lips. “You’re just so goddamned dumb, fat man. This is
“If you’re not with Madison . . .” Rosenquist was confused. “Who are you with?”
“Best not to know,” Jake said. He smiled the crooked coin-holding smile. “It’s one of those deals where I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
Old joke; Rosenquist recognized it, at the same time he seemed to buy it. Jake pushed on: “So. Mouth shut, ass down. Maybe you’ll live through it—though I don’t know what the other side’s thinking. Wouldn’t destroy any records, but you might put them someplace where your lawyer can get them if he needs them. They’re about the only chip you’ve got in this game.”
And he was out of there.
On the street, clear of the building, walking fast, he called Madison. “I think I should come and see you,” he said.
“Come on,” she said.
Then he started to laugh. If his grandmother had heard him up there, using the language, she would have washed his mouth out with soap.
So he laughed, and the people on the sidewalk spread carefully around him; a man, alone, laughing aloud on a
