The Survivors Club

“I just take it slow,” he said. “The key is to know where the dangerous spots are, and try to avoid them.”

Which pretty much described his side of the interview.

Half an hour after the two female detectives left empty-handed, Michael’s wife, Nicole, who had just driven in from a shopping trip, paid an unexpected visit to his side of the courtyard. She knocked on his door so hard, if it weren’t two inches thick, she might have put her fist through it.

When Michael opened the door she pushed past him, her whole body shaking with anger. “You must have really messed up, Michael.”

“Always a first time,” he murmured. “To what do I owe this great pleasure?”

“Oh, shut up! You could put us all in danger.”

She was spoiling for a fight. He wished he’d never confided in her, but that was when they were happy, three years ago. Before he finally realized that women just didn’t turn him on. Twelve years into a marriage, that was awkward.

“You said this, this thing you do wouldn’t make any waves. You said you had it all covered, and I would never have to worry about a policeman knocking on my door.”

“Not so you’d notice, but the police didn’t knock on your door.”

“Give them time, Michael. I don’t want the kids exposed to this. I don’t want to be exposed to it myself. I’m thinking of leaving.”

Nicole always said that, but she never did. She liked it here. She liked her own house across the pool, the beautiful rich furnishings from his parents’ house filling it up nicely. She had a great touch. She appreciated his family, if he didn’t. She loved the nice cushy life, didn’t want to take the kids out of their elementary school, didn’t want to be too far from her horsey friends or the new day spa that had been built in the new subdivision down the mountain. She was happy with the way things were. She knew she wouldn’t get much—her lawyers weren’t as good as his.

Plus, she had something to hold over his head.

Nicole liked it just this way. She could forget about him most of the time, but funnel her resentment to him whenever she liked. Make fun of him, make fun of Martin, whom she called “Cabana Boy.” As in, “How’s Cabana Boy today? Did he get a sunburn on his witto tiny wienie?”

This was the level of discourse he had with her. She embarrassed him, and at some point he’d find a way to get rid of her. She was an albatross around his neck.

Don’t shit where you eat.

“Just tell me you had nothing to do with that guy Barkman’s death.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with that guy Barkman’s death.”

She hauled back and slapped him hard across the face.

He shrugged. “It doesn’t change anything. I know you’re upset. I know you hate it when Martin stays over —”

“Shut up! I couldn’t care less about your boy toy, as long as you don’t have sex in front of the kids. I’m talking about Barkman. If it wasn’t you, who was it?”

“Nobody I know.”

“Nobody. Right, nobody. That’s an intelligent answer! The fact is, you don’t know, do you, Michael? You think you’re in charge, but you aren’t in charge. You think you’re so clever. You—”

He grabbed her arms—both of them—and shoved her out the door. She tripped and had to grab the doorjamb to keep from falling. “Fuck you, Michael! You can just…burn in hell!”

She stalked toward her own smaller, more tasteful house. Turned back to say, “You are so screwed, Michael, and you know it! They’re going to come for you, and if they ask, I’m going to tell them what I know.”

“What you know? What you know? You don’t know jack!”

He slammed the heavy door. Hyperventilating.

The bitch.

He called Jaimie. He’d called her earlier, to warn her that a detective might be coming her way, but she hadn’t returned his message. She’d ignored him—again. Jaimie was such a game player, and that was what he wanted to talk to her about.

When his spoiled bitch of a sister answered, he heard a horse blowing loudly through its nostrils. He could barely hear her, but he could sure hear the horse snorting its guts out.

“Jaimie, what do you think you’re doing?”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“You told that detective from Nogales I was Hanley’s financial advisor.”

“So?”

“I told you he decided against going with me. You knew that. Don’t you know the police talk to each other? I just had a visit from them, by the way. The police.”

“Oh, come on, Michael! Why would I do that? I can’t keep track of your clients. For all I knew George was your client. What’s the big deal? You’re the best liar I know, aside from myself. Quit!”

A rattle of a chain and a bang of a bucket. She was disciplining one of those big fat horses she couldn’t afford.

Michael swallowed his impatience. Jaimie wasn’t very intelligent. And she was impulsive. Which was the thing he wanted to talk to her about. He needed to broach it the right way, because Jaimie would just clam up if he pissed her off. The more furious she was, the more likely she’d stonewall him. Jaimie was the type who would go into a sulk for days. Normally he didn’t care, because she wasn’t really in his circle of friends, sister or not, but in many ways best not gotten into, they were joined at the hip.

“Jaimie,” he said. “I know about the dog.”

“What dog?”

“How did you think that could possibly work?”

“Michael, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Your new dog. The Aussie mix.”

“So? I like dogs. I’ve got plenty of them.”

“You know what I mean.”

Silence.

“Why did you do it?”

“I don’t have to justify myself to you. Maybe I just want to do something good for a change. She’s a nice dog. She needed a home—a good home. That was the least I could do.”

“What do you mean, the least you could do?”

Silence.

“Jaimie?”

“This is so fucked.”

“What’s fucked?”

“You know. You know exactly what I mean.”

“Are you having regrets, Jaimie? Because as I recall, you didn’t seem to mind what happened at Huka Falls. In fact, you had the time of your life.”

Silence.

“You do not want to even think about screwing with me, Jaimie. I don’t want you messing things up with the games you play.”

“The games I play? What about you? What about Houston? What about Alec Sheppard? You’re the one inviting trouble.”

“Why’d you take that man’s dog?”

“I wanted to. Okay? I wanted…something out of it.”

“We come to the meat of the conversation at last.”

“What? What are you talking about?”