Lethal People

“I suppose you want to hear his version,” she said.

“It’s why I traveled all the way to Charleston,” I said.

“Not the spider roll?”

I smiled and shook my head.

“Not the capitol rotunda?”

“As hard as it must be to fathom, no.”

Our waitress approached carrying a heavy tray, which she perched on a portable stand. She poured scented green tea into our cups and steaming miso soup into our soup bowls. Ally picked up a white ceramic spoon and stirred her soup. I took a sip of my tea and was instantly overcome by the horrific taste. I looked around for something in which to spit the rancid liquid but finally gave up and swallowed it. I made a face to demonstrate how I felt about the tea. Ally rolled her eyes again, reaffirming something I already knew about my charm: though highly infectious to females, it sometimes requires an incubation period.

My cell phone rang. I glanced at the number and put it back in my pocket where it continued to ring.

“You’re an annoying person,” Ally said. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

I reminded her that she was supposed to be telling me her version of the Ken Chapman saga. She rolled her eyes. She sighed. She frowned. But she finally spoke.

“Ken had been married about a year,” Ally said, “when he learned Kathleen was mentally unstable. They had an argument, a shouting match, and he spent the night in a hotel. The next day, when he came home to apologize, he found her bloody and bruised.”

“He claimed not to remember beating her up?”

“She beat herself up.”

“Excuse me?”

“It was her way of punishing herself for making him angry.”

I took some photos out of my suit pocket and spread them on the table. “This look like something a woman might do to herself?” I asked.

Ally’s eyes avoided the photos. “I’m not an expert,” she admitted. “But it seems plausible, and it wasn’t an isolated case. Time and again during the marriage, Ken came home from work to find his wife had beaten herself for various reasons. When he tried to force her into therapy, she went to the police and told them Ken had assaulted her. This became a pattern. By turning him in to the police, or threatening to, she was able to control and manipulate the relationship.”

I sat there in disbelief. My jaw dropped, and I think my mouth may have been open during her entire response.

Ally pursed her lips and tasted her soup in the sexiest manner possible, as though she were French kissing it. It was amazing what she could do with her mouth while nibbling at the liquid on her spoon. You put two women side by side, let them both taste some soup. The other woman can be twice as hot as Ally. Out of a hundred guys, Ally wins ninety times. Guaranteed.

“Are you dating anyone now?” I asked.

“Are you asking on behalf of national security?”

“This is a personal query,” I said, flashing my high-voltage smile for good measure.

“Well in that case, yes, I’m dating someone.”

She was clearly insulting me or at least pretending to. Truth was, I didn’t even like her and certainly didn’t want to date her. I really just wanted to see if I could. What can I say, maybe it’s a guy thing, but she gives great soup.

“Your dating situation,” I persisted, “would you classify it as a serious relationship?”

“Yes, I would,” she said. “But I wasn’t certain about that until just now.”

“Well congratulations,” I said dryly.

“Well thank you,” she said, matching my tone.

Suddenly, the heavy-set customer at the sushi bar yelled, “Fuck!” and jumped off his stool. He grabbed his throat and spun around in a circle as if his left foot had been nailed to the floor. “Holy Mother of God!” he screamed and spit a mouthful of something onto the floor—something I was pretty sure had to be the spider roll. He jumped up and down in a sort of death dance, coughing and shaking his hands profusely. He yelled, “I’ll sue you bastards! I’ll sue you for every cent you have!”

The waitress ran out from the kitchen, took one look at him, and said, “Is hot, yes?”

He gave her a withering look. “Yeah, it hot! It plenty, plenty hot! And I know you not recommend. But here in America, we have laws against serving battery acid. By the time I’m finished with you, you’re all going to wish you’d never left China!”

The waitress and sushi chef looked at each other. She said, “We Japanese. Not Chinese.”

The enraged customer flung his head toward the ceiling and yelled, “Fuck you!” He slapped his face twice, made a barking sound, and stomped off in a huff . Most of the customers laughed. Ally didn’t, so I stopped laughing and changed the subject.

“So the police took Kathleen’s word over Ken’s,” I said. “About the beatings.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“I would, in fact,” I said.