by John Lutz
“No. Manfred and I were finished with the choices. Now it’s only a matter of execution. I think I can handle that.”
She showed them to the door like a dutiful hostess.
“Don’t worry,” Looper told her as they were leaving, “it’s going to look great.”
On the elevator ride down, Beam said, “Except for the remark about Byrd thinking he was being followed by a strange man, she knows just about zilch.”
“Our killer works clean every time,” Looper said.
“Byrd spotted him,” Nell pointed out.
“Maybe you didn’t notice,” Looper said, “but Byrd had an eye.”
Nell glanced at him from the corner of her own eye, marveling once again how the world was full of surprises large and small.
Reggie was a piece of work. He was only about five-foot six or seven, but the way he carried himself you just knew he was strong. When he approached Gina the next morning near the statue in Columbus Circle he was wearing baggy chinos, a tan shirt with lots of pockets, comfortable-looking brown hiking shoes, and a beat up gray backpack. His dark hair was long and greasy, and he wore a weathered slouch hat that had at one time been white. He was passably handsome, with a strong jaw, blue eyes, and a mouth that looked as if it smiled easily and often. All in all, he looked like an American student just back from bumming around a foreign land on the cheap. A youth hostel user and a drug user maybe, but not a dealer.
Gina pretended not to notice him. The morning was already too warm, and her palms were sweating.
“You Gina?” he asked. She could barely hear him over the noise of the traffic, and thought that might be why he chose this as a meeting place. Conversations here would be difficult to tape.
“I am if you’re Reggie.”
“I’m the Reggie you seek. Van didn’t say you were so pretty.” He did a little shuffle, as if her unexpected attractiveness made him nervous.
“She wouldn’t.”
“She did say I could trust you.”
“Can I trust you?” Gina asked, not liking all the exhaust fumes she was breathing in.
“Hell, no. But you can always count on me to act in my self-interest.”
“Are you in love with Vanessa?”
He laughed. “She thinks so. I like that.”
“And you use it. Use her.”
“Hey, I’m a user of people. I’d like to use you.”
“It wouldn’t be in your self-interest or mine. Do you confide in Vanessa?”
“Hah! I don’t confide in no one.” The shuffle again; he might have been shaking out a sudden cramp in one leg. He adjusted his soiled slouch hat so it sat far back on his head and made him look jaunty and younger. “You’re certainly ballsy for one of Van’s friends.”
“Oh, maybe you don’t know them well enough.”
“I know ’em. They only act ballsy. You ain’t acting.” He smiled. He really wasn’t a bad-looking guy. Gina could understand what Vanessa saw in him. But then sharks were, in their own way, beautiful. “We gonna get to the point?”
“Vanessa said you were a businessman.”
“She’s got that right.”
“And you’re a burglar.”
He gave her a hard look that chilled. Now he wasn’t so good looking. Momentarily, the shark had bared its teeth. “Van tell you that?”
“It isn’t any secret,” Gina said. “You did your time, and now you’re out and a productive member of society.”
“You must watch a lotta TV.”
“Hardly any.”
“The point,” he reminded her. He actually glanced at his watch, letting her know he had more important things to do and didn’t want to waste much more time here. “You wanna score some dope, right?”
“Wrong. I’m more interested in the burglary part.”
He scratched his scalp beneath the greasy hair near his hat brim and grinned, showing he was learning to like her and was interested. “You want me to steal something?”
“Have you broken into any pawn shops since you got out of prison?”
“Since and before,” Reggie said. “I like pawn shops. They got a lotta stuff in ’em I can turn into money.” He did his little shuffle and glanced around at the ongoing maelstrom of traffic. Gina thought again he might have chosen this meeting place because the constant noise would make electronic eavesdropping on their conversation difficult, if not impossible.
She hesitated, wondering if she should simply call this off and walk away, if this was one of those crucial moments in life that would change everything that came after.
No, she decided, it didn’t have to be. But hadn’t somebody or other said the forks in life’s road are usually only visible in the rearview mirror?
“You interested in something that might be in a pawn shop?” Reggie asked.
“A gun,” Gina said.
39
“Can they do that to me?” Adelaide asked.
She was sitting, talking on the phone at the table in her tiny kitchen. In front of her was a plate with half a piece of buttered toast with a bite out of it, a tumbler with a residue of orange juice, and a full cup of decaffeinated coffee with cream added to it. She’d just poured the coffee-her third cup of the morning-from the Braun brewer that sat on the table near the wall and electrical socket. Alongside the cup was today’s Post.
Adelaide was pleased with her photo on the front page. It was a shot of her standing on the City Hall steps with her fist raised, breasts thrust forward, a resolute expression on her face. The wind had for once cooperated and not done bad things to her hair. She looked like a stubborn child, but one to be reckoned with. She looked adorable.
What she didn’t like was the story that went with the photo. New York City had decided not to summon her, or other temporarily unemployed show business people, for jury duty. They were classifying such citizens as hardship cases and rejects.
“They can do it to you,” Barry confirmed on the phone. “They can summon anyone they want for jury duty, and they can reject anyone.”
“Reject,” Adelaide said. “I don’t like that word, Barry. I hear it too often.”
“If you read further down,” Barry said, “you’ll find that the paper regards you as heroic. They say you made the city back down.”
Adelaide paused in her one-handed attempt to spread more butter on her toast. “That’s good, Barry.”
“It would be, Ad, but it happened too soon. We want them to back down, but later, after you’ve had plenty of press. The bastards know that. They just want to fast shuffle you out of the news.”
“The bastards,” Adelaide said. She laid the butter knife aside and took another tiny bite of toast. Chewed. “Summoning me for jury duty was bad, but then canceling the summons like they say in the paper, that’s a cruel trick.”
“You could say that, Ad.”
“I did say it.” She washed down the bite of toast with a swallow of coffee. “Cruelty in others is something I cannot abide.”
“Of course, what they’ll say if we complain is that you’re getting exactly what you’ve been demanding.”
“I don’t put that below them.”
Adelaide turned to the next page. There were more photographs of her. Most of them were okay, but not as good as the one on the front page. One of them, taken at an upward angle from the base of the steps, made her nostrils look too large. Her nostrils did not look like that. She turned her attention away from the photos and began to read.
“Ad? Still with me?” Barry, ever patient with his client.
“My God! It says under my picture in the Post that I’ve won. How can they print that kinda stuff without getting sued?”
“You did win, Ad. That’s the problem.”
“This is outrageous. What are we gonna do, Barry?”
“I’ll think of something.”
“I hope so. I am really, totally, shit-kicking angry about this.”
Beneath the table, her dainty foot began to tap.
&nbs
p; Nell lay perspiring beside Terry in her bed and watched the morning light filter in through the cracks in the blinds. The air conditioner emitted a steady hum, providing white noise that seemed to isolate the room from the noisy city outside, still waking to a new and boisterous day.
Terry was an attentive, considerate lover, if sometimes a little rough. Nell wondered what kind of lover Jack Selig was. She wasn’t going to find out now.
She was totally smitten by Terry Adams. Last night had been wonderful. She’d feared the bed would collapse as the headboard slammed over and over against the wall with each of Terry’s thrusts into her. At first she’d been concerned about whether the proper Mr. Ramirez downstairs would hear the racket, but it wasn’t long before she forgot about Mr. Ramirez altogether.
The longer she knew Terry, the more she was surprised by his many facets. He not only repaired appliances and was a struggling but respected actor, he’d yesterday mentioned that ten years ago he’d actually published a collection of short stories. He’d shown her a yellowing copy. The publisher was a small one Nell had never heard of. The stories were dark and lyrical, and, she thought, quite good. Of course, she was a cop, not a literary critic.
She did know that this far into their developing relationship, nothing about him had disappointed her.
Then why do I find myself thinking about Jack Selig? What does he represent to me? Safety? My father? Wealth?
She didn’t like to think it might be wealth. But how well did people really know themselves?
Amazing! A few weeks ago I thought I’d never have a relationship again, and now I’m trying to decide between two men.
No-I’ve decided!
But she knew better.
“You awake?”
Terry’s voice beside her startled her and her body jerked. The iron headboard bounced off the wall and the bedsprings sang. The noise reminded her of last night and made her aware of the musty scent of sex that lingered in the room despite the flow of cool air from the window unit.
“Most of the way,” she answered.
“What’re you thinking?”
Better come up with something here.
“That actress who’s got everybody stirred up about her jury duty,” she said, remembering the conversation in da Vinci’s office.
“Adelaide Starr?”
“Yeah. You know her?”
“I’ve met her. And I saw her in Nuts and Bolts. She’s got talent, and she’s cute as a bug’s ear.”
“You ever look close at a bug’s ear?” Nell asked.
He laughed. “Don’t be jealous.”
“Don’t be conceited. I was asking about Adelaide Starr professionally. Is she the type who’d be doing all this for publicity?”
“Since she’s an actress, I don’t have to know her well to answer that one. Yes, she would. Many, maybe most, of my fellow thespians would.”
“Would you?”
“Maybe. This is a rough, competitive business in a tough city.”
“Lots of businesses are. Even appliance repair.”
“Refrigerators and air conditioners break and have to be fixed. Nobody has to put on a play. Adelaide Starr might come across as cute and naive onstage, but you better mark her down as shrewd and calculating. Being cute and innocent is her shtick, and she’s good at it. Another actor can watch her and appreciate some of her techniques. And I know her manager, Barry Baxter, by reputation. He knows how to play the media like an orchestra.”
“Is he honest?”
“Like everybody else.”
“You think he’s behind this?”
“Sure. He’s trying to get publicity for his client.”
“Simple as that?”
“Well, maybe not. Adelaide might be scared shitless. I’m sure she really doesn’t want to serve on a jury in the city of New York. No one with good sense would.”
“That’s how the Justice Killer wants her to think. In a way, she’s helping him.”
“I doubt if they’re friends,” Terry said, and pulled down the elasticized neck of Nell’s nightgown and kissed her left nipple. He used his tongue skillfully and she felt his hand move down her body and over the swell of her stomach.
“Again?” she asked, playing her fingertips over his ear, through his hair.
“Again and again and again,” he said, and began working her nightgown up.
Nell dug her bare heels into the mattress and raised her buttocks to help him. He used his mouth on her until she was moist and ready, then mounted her.
The loosely connected iron headboard began its joyous clamor. Nell was lost again and didn’t want to be found.
40
Beam, as always, showed up early for his weekly dinner with Cassie. Her high apartment was a comfortable enclave amidst the sheets of summer rain that were sweeping across the city. He sat and watched TV news while she carried things out from the kitchen to her elaborately set dining room table. Beam would have been glad to help, but he knew he’d get his hand slapped. Cassie liked to put on her dinners by herself. She liked to fuss.
She’d prepared almond-crusted trout this evening, along with green beans, and mashed potatoes with garlic in them. The meal was complemented by an Argentine white wine Beam had never heard of.
When Cassie was ready she called him, and Beam simply used the remote to switch off the TV, then went to the table and sat. Outside, thunder rumbled over New York.
The dishes were Haviland, with silver flatware and Waterford crystal. Cassie sat down opposite Beam, and dinner began with a silent toast with wine glasses, then with a salad of spinach leaves, scallops, and tomatoes, with an oil and vinegar dressing. Cassie had also prepared warm rolls.
Beam sometimes thought his sister would have made some man a good wife, but she never discussed her love life. He thought she might have a girlfriend down in SoHo. He’d even glimpsed them once on the street, holding hands, the hefty form of Cassie alongside a slim woman with long, straight hair, but he’d never mentioned it and hadn’t seen the woman since. However, Cassie didn’t mind discussing Beam’s love life. Ever the analyst, even when Lani was alive, his sister sometimes surprised him with her blunt and probing questions or observations about them.
Beam didn’t mind. He and Cassie had learned to trust each other before they were ten years old. He usually answered her questions, and she his, though his were less personal.
“The profiler in the Justice Killer investigation thinks our man might be in the initial stages of coming unraveled,” he said, and forked in a mouthful of spinach leaf.
Cassie sipped her wine. “I thought you didn’t believe in profiling.”
“Can’t be dismissed completely,” Beam said. “Like your predictions.”
She understood he was joking. He knew better than to ignore his sister’s predictions. They had a way of coming true, even if it happened to be in some manner that made you wish they hadn’t.
“No predictions here, “Cassie said, “But the timing might be about right for the murderer to start coming unglued. Taking a human life is a destructive process for both parties. Is he killing more often and more brutally?”
“Yes, and varying his methods.”
“Playing a game,” Cassie said, and began moving her salad ingredients around with her fork, almost as if looking for something in the cut glass bowl.
“Very much like a game,” Beam said.
“Like the ones the rest of us play.”
Flashes of chain lightning illuminated the apartment. “The rest of us don’t go around killing people.”
“Oh, we do. In one way or another.”
Beam finished his salad. People who’d never dealt with serial killers couldn’t know how devoid of human empathy and conscience they were. They had a mission, a compulsion that, to them, was in and of itself enough justification for their actions. “It’s not like you to get all cryptic and philosophical on me, Cass.”
“Sorry. I’ll revert to the prosaic. How’s Fred Looper? He stil
l off the cigarettes?”
“As far as we know. He still reaches for them.”
“Nell okay, too?”
“Fine, I think.”
“You only think?”
“She’s a hell of a detective,” Beam said. “She has insight and talent, and she’s damned tenacious.”
“But?”
“She tends to push things too far sometimes. Like when a security tape caught her beating up on a suspect.”
“The one who tried to stab her?”
“That’s her story. I’ve seen the tape and I believe her. But even if it’s true, she seemed to like her job too much-the part of it where we take on the bad guys physically if they don’t give up.”
“Nobody hates the bad guys more than you do, Beam. And you’ve been in some scraps.”
“Yeah. Can’t deny it. But I’ve also learned how to hold myself back. It’s part of professionalism.”
“Would you be able to hold yourself back with the Justice Killer?”
Beam glared at Cassie. She did have an instinct for the Achilles’ heel. “I would try to, Cass.”
“Maybe Nell tries. She’s not as experienced as you are. Give her a break. I’ve got a good feeling about her.”
“Another thing I’ve noticed,” Beam said. “Nell’s been distracted the past few days.”
“Maybe she’s in love, or at least in sexual thrall. It happens. And she’s still young and attractive.”
“That could be the reason,” Beam said. Actually, he was pretty sure of it. He’d seen the signs before, in cops of both sexes. It was the sort of thing that could make you careless and get you shot.
“Do you think it’s interfering with her work?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Not yet.
“So there’s no problem.”
“None,” Beam said. “Except I get the feeling I don’t know her as well as I used to.”
“Do you still trust her?”
“All the way. But if she’s in love…”
“She’s vulnerable,” Cassie finished for him. She pushed her half-eaten salad aside. “But from what you’ve told me, and what I’ve seen of her, I don’t think you have to worry about Nell being vulnerable as a cop. She might be distracted now, but it’s only temporary, while mind and body adjust. She takes her work seriously. We all have to take time off now and then for being human.”