Crooked Little Vein

“Vegas? Vegas is cool. We could get married by Elvis.” She leaned over to tap the sweaty driver on the shoulder. “Hey. Everything’s okay. You can slow down now.”

He threw up over the steering wheel.

Chapter 33

We got a late flight out to Vegas. Trix watched the night outrace us from her window seat and eventually fell asleep.

The business-class section was empty but for us and an older man sitting across the aisle from me. We nodded and smiled at each other a couple of times and, as the cabin crew left us for dead and Trix began a soft purring snore, he spoke to me.

“Long day, huh?” He smiled, indicating Trix.

“You could say that.”

“Texas can hit you like that. But Vegas, my friend. You never want to sleep. Going for pleasure?”

“Business.”

“Me, too, kinda. Business and pleasure all in one, you might say.”

“You a gambler?”

His face was oddly stiff in places, heavily lined in others. His eyes looked a little stretched, at the sides. I figured him for about seventy, and a serious plastic surgery freak in earlier days. Your face doesn’t just grow into that shape. He smiled, knowing I was checking him over, but the smile lines didn’t travel up into his forehead. Botox.

“Cop?” he asked, mildly.

“Private detective.” I sketched a grin for him. “Don’t worry. Your secrets are safe with me.”

“I hope so.” He smiled. “I kill people, you know.”

We laughed quietly. But after a while, I stopped laughing. And he was still laughing.

“God, I hate that term ‘serial killer,’ don’t you? Something about it just makes me think of Flash Gordon or something. Old matinees.”

“I never really thought about it,” I said, checking to make sure I still had whiskey in my glass.

“Occupational hazard, I’m afraid,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair. “You can’t help but worry about the way you’re represented. I’m thinking about suing someone.”

“I imagine that’d be difficult.” I had no doubt he was what he was telling me he was. This is my life, after all. But I couldn’t help but be impressed with the way I was handling it. Small things bring joy, some days.

“Well, yeah,” he said. “But, you know, when an actor or pop star has untruths published about them, they sue, and I kind of feel like I should have the same recourse. And justice for all, right?”

“But you kill people. Where’s the justice there?”

“Oh, they had it coming. If people will dress like librarians and schoolgirls they should expect these things to happen. I don’t see why they should be afforded extra protection for that kind of behavior. And in any case, two wrongs don’t make a right. Slander is bad no matter who you’re doing it to, surely?”

“Slander?”

“Let’s get another drink,” he said, pushing the service call button above his head. “You don’t watch much TV, am I right?”

“Not really.”

“I’ll have a whiskey, and I believe so will my friend here. Doubles. Thank you. What was I saying? Yes. TV. Yet another documentary about me on TV the other week. One of these science channels. You’d expect intelligent coverage from a TV channel like that, wouldn’t you? Of course you would. They got a good actor to do the voiceover narration, too. My age. Alan something. Used to be in that very black comedy show about the Korean War.”

“Alan Alda?”

“Alan Alda! How he made me laugh in that show. And the women dressed well, too. Never enough blood, though. Which always made me a little sad. But I guess it was supposed to make you a little sad, wasn’t it? That rueful smile? Very clever show. He narrated the documentary about me. I’m not blaming him, obviously. He didn’t write it. One day I will meet the mediocrity that wrote that. I mean, do I look like the kind of man who has difficulty socializing?”

I had to be honest. “Actually, no.”

“No. Of course not. I don’t want to sound egotistical, but, really, do I look like someone who had problems meeting women? I’ve been married three times. And”—he leaned over the aisle and looked me right in the eye—“I only killed two of them.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. How about that? They can stick that in their pipe and smoke it. So much for America’s Terror: The Mad Virgin. I have four children. Had four children. Funny thing. I always thought it was a joke, about liking children but not being able to eat a whole one. But it’s quite true.”

I started stabbing my own call button.

“The Mad Virgin. My God. I could sue them, you know. Some of the others have been better, mind you. I collect them. Twelve documentaries about me. Three Hollywood movies using aspects of my work. I sometimes hoped to be played one day by Sean Connery. But you just know he’ll use his own accent. I think that’d spoil it for me.”