“One motherfucker!” Derwin MacAskill chanted. “Two motherfucker!”
Bat Bautista didn’t rise. He lay on the floor, resembling nothing so much as a great heaving fish gasping its last on a bone-dry pier. He retched. Bits of cheeseburger and warm beer spilled out of his mouth and puddled on the gleaming tile in Marvis Hanks’s kitchen.
Marvis frowned. Ten bucks per square, that tile.
And then Derwin MacAskill slapped Marvis five, and it was the second time that he had been slapped five in eighteen long years.
“Ten motherfucker!” Derwin shouted. “Damn, Shutterbug! Damn!”
1:51 A.M.
“C’mon, Doug, of course I recognized you,” Amy lied, staring at the steering wheel instead of the fat man sitting in the Mercedes’ passenger seat. “It’s just been so long…”
Doug Douglas sulked. “Darlin’,” he said, “you can’t hide your lyin’ eyes.”
Amy suppressed a sigh. Doug still had the insufferably whiney voice of a wounded teenager, but now it was so…well, it was so completely and utterly insulated. “That’s a little melodramatic, Doug,” she said.
“No,” he said. “It’s a song by The Eagles. I guess you don’t remember it, either.”
Amy’s cheeks flushed with sudden anger. “Oh, I remember plenty. I remember that there was a time when you didn’t recognize me. I haven’t forgotten-”
“That’s enough!” He shoved the camera in her face. “Remember this! I’m in charge here!”
Amy took a deep breath and regrouped. “Doug, I…I don’t want this to go the wrong way. No matter what you think, I don’t want to hurt you or make you angry. I did enough of that, and I’ve always felt bad about it.” Amy reached out, almost touching the camera slung around the set of double chins that eclipsed Doug Douglas’s neck. “We have to talk about this. We have to talk about my husband. He’s not a nice man. He hired you because-”
Doug Douglas swatted Amy’s hand. “That’s what you want to talk about,” he said, every inch the petulant teenager. “ I was talking about a song. You interrupted me. The song is about a lonely woman who drifts between a young lover and an older husband. The song is about the woman’s problems, not her husband’s.”
“Then my husband didn’t hire you?”
Well, duh. You’re pretty slow. Amy.” Snorting, Doug sized her up with a cutting glance. “Pardon me. Ms. Amelia Peyton-Price. What a mouthful. I should have guessed you’d end up with one of those hyphenated names.” He chuckled, and his chins did a little dance. “Let me ask you, Ms. Amelia Peyton-Price. What happens when a kid with a hyphenated name grows up to marry another kid with a hyphenated name? Not that I expect you to have kids, you understand. Not with old Pricey anyway. But what happens? Do little Miss Peyton-Price and Little Mister Destino-Douglas end up Mr. and Mrs. Peyton-Price-Destino-Douglas?”
Amy jumped at the sliver of information. “Are you married, Doug?”
Sharply, he shook his head.
“Are you divorced? Were you and April-”
“April Destino is dead. She killed herself.”
Amy’s breath caught in her throat.
So it was over. Finally. Literally buried in the ground.
Still, Amy needed to know. Her voice was little more than a whisper, and she hadn’t quite framed her next question before the words spilled from her lips. “But were you and April…”
Doug Douglas grabbed Amy’s hand. For a fat man his speed was surprising. He held her slim fingers in his soft, damp grasp. “April knew how to treat people. She didn’t forget about them. She knew how to make a man feel special.” Gently, Doug slid Amy’s wedding ring back and forth, almost taking it off her finger, then sliding it back on.
“This could have been my ring,” he said.
“That was a long time ago, Doug.”
“Yeah. And you’ve forgotten all about it. You didn’t even remember me. The guy whose life you ruined. There hasn’t been a day go by that I haven’t thought of you.”
“Doug-”
“No. I remember you. I remembered everything, snapping away with my camera outside that kid’s window. You haven’t changed a bit.” He smiled. “You still do that little biting thing. I remember how you used to do that when we parked out on Lake Herman Road, or when we went to the drive-in. It used to drive me nuts.”
Amy didn’t say anything. She didn’t like the direction the conversation was taking. Maybe Doug Douglas wasn’t the complete slob that she had taken him for when she first saw him sitting on the bumper of her Mercedes. After all, he had a fresh haircut, was clean-shaven and smelled of Irish Spring, and his clothes were cheap but new.
So he wasn’t a slob, but he wasn’t the hard-bodied athlete she’d dated in high school, either. Amy guessed that Doug weighed in excess of three hundred pounds. The Mercedes leaned to one side under his weight. He was a lump.
And his eyes wouldn’t let her go. “I liked you better when you had long hair, though,” he said. “I used to knot my fingers in it. Pull it, just a little bit. You liked the way I pulled it, didn’t you?”
The prospect was revolting. Amy loathed herself for even considering it.
“Those were the good old days, right Amy? Both of us workin’ on our night moves.”
“Bob Seger,” Amy whispered. The prospect was revolting. But…
“You remember some things, all right.”
Amy exhaled, slowly, so it would mean something. “Some things you never forget.”
Doug massaged her palm. “Christ, you’ve taken good care of yourself. I followed you to that health club one day. The one by your house. I even got a picture of you in that sexy leotard. The black and purple one, you know? But, Christ, I never dreamed what was underneath it. You’re solid. You look better today than you did in ’76.” He loosened his grip on her hand, as if he were sure that she wouldn’t pull away. “But it’s not going to work. Amy.”
“Why not?”
“I know how fat I am. It’s embarrassing. I’m into video. I’m into watching.”
Amy held her breath, dreading what Doug Douglas might say next.
“See? You’re disgusted. You’d probably have an easier time fucking that old prune-faced husband of yours than you’d have doing me. I guess even a snake can have a little pride.”
The condescending hand-pat that followed the last remark was more than Amy could stand. “I’ve had about enough of this,” she said, adopting the same icy tone she’d used to shame Doug Douglas when they were both eighteen. “Poor little Dougy. I’m into watching. You were into watching then, but I guess you’d rather forget about that.”
“Hey-”
“Why don’t you grow up? I never could stand your little persecution complex. Why don’t you stop whining and tell me what you want?”
Without warning, Doug drove Amy’s wedding ring the length of her finger. She gasped in pain as he twisted it back and forth while trapping her fingers in his massive grasp. A one-carat diamond bit into her pinky and her middle finger, drawing thin lines of blood, and she blinked back tears.
“Don’t you talk to me like that,” Doug Douglas said. “ I’m in charge here.” He laughed. “This time the shoe is on the other foot.”
“Okay…okay.”
“You remember what this is, then?” Doug asked. Amy didn’t answer. Doug twisted the ring. The big diamond tore flesh. “You remember?”
Amy answered through clenched teeth. “Blackmail.”
Doug Douglas shoved her hand away with such undisguised disgust that he might as well have thrown a piece of garbage at her. “It might have been different if you’d come to April’s funeral,” he said. “She didn’t even have any family left. I was the only one there. I know she had other guys. I know that. But I was the only one who
