“Next year I was six and the boys were four and six, still not a problem, all of us piled into the tub together.
“Next year, Alice moved into a new place. It didn’t have a tub, so she hustled us into a shower. By then, Ravi and I were seven. Sometimes Alice would get in there with us. She was really free like that. None of us thought it was strange. It’s just how it was. It was one of those good-sized showers, so it wasn’t really crowded, even with four of us in there. I guess we sort of bumped around, but that was part of the fun. It was even more fun when Alice showered with us. That happened half a dozen times that year. I still remember all of us laughing.
“I think it was the next year, when I was eight, that I started to notice the difference between the boys and myself. What I mean is, to care about the difference and . . . well, to like it. I thought it was cool even though I didn’t yet understand what the difference meant.
“But the thing is, to jump this story forward a little, I showered with Ravi and Dylan until my eleventh birthday—every time it was time for our nightly shower at Aunt Alice’s, there we were.”
“Eleven, huh? Wow.”
“Yeah, I guess. But shower time was more like a party. It was fun, not really a wow. It was . . . normal, what we’d done for years. We’d grown up with it. Maybe it was a little weird that Aunt Alice didn’t think anything about it, but that’s just how she was. If there was a wow part, it was how much I got to like it, especially when Ravi and I were ten, going on eleven.
“Mom and Gerald were away when I turned eleven. We had a birthday party for me, and that night after the party Alice came into my room and sat on the bed and told me she thought I was getting a little old to be showering with the boys. I told her I didn’t mind, that it was fun, but she said it was time. She even gave me my own loofa as a kind of growing-up gift, and that was that. We were done.”
Holiday squeezed my hand. “So. What do you think?”
“Ravi probably has a lot of terrific memories.”
She laughed. “Yeah, maybe.”
“And . . .”
“And what?”
“And, I have a nice firm breast against my arm that’s getting a lot of attention.”
“Well, good. I was hoping. Anything else?”
“I don’t know. That was quite a story, reasonably interesting—notice that I didn’t fall asleep—and I guess it might be part of why you like doing what you do, but I’m not sure it explains why Jeri thinks you’re safe for me to be around, other than trusting me—which, of course, only makes sense because I’m an IRS monk.”
She was quiet for a moment, then, “The first time I had sex, I mean the very first, one-and-only time I’ve ever had sex, it wasn’t that great—borderline awful, in fact—I got pregnant. First time, and boom. I was sixteen. I was terrified. I didn’t tell my parents. I ran to Aunt Alice and she paid for an abortion. And that was it for sex. Done. Now, I don’t miss it. It’s hard to miss something you’ve never really had. It’s like it threw a switch in my head, like I’m no longer wired for it. I like being undressed around guys like I was with Ravi, but that’s all, and it’s almost impossible to arrange since guys want to do a lot more than look. And, of course, no one likes a tease. It’s not that I’m trying to tease—I mean, that’s not why I do it. Not at all. It’s just . . . the way I am. It makes me feel alive.” She turned more toward me. “So—what do you think? Pretty messed up, huh?”
“Because you feel alive wearing sexy clothes, or not wearing anything? Hell no. A lot of women love it when guys look at them, even if they drool. The guys, that is. It’s even more understandable given your past at Alice’s. So how’s little Ravi doing these days? And Dylan? Those two must’ve been warped for life, showering with you like that. I might’ve, too, although I would’ve risked it.”
“Well, you missed your big chance earlier this evening.”
“Right. And now I feel bad about that. So, about Ravi? Was he institutionalized?”
She laughed. “Little Ravi is six foot one and married. His wife is really pretty. He’s a lieutenant JG in the Navy. He graduated from Annapolis. I saw him last year and he just grinned at me. Normal as a guy gets. He has a son two years old.”
“So Dylan must be the one who took the hit.”
“Dylan is a pre-med student at U.C. Davis. He has a 4.0 GPA and a steady girlfriend. He stopped showering with me when he was eight, going on nine. He and Ravi are fine. I’m the one who maybe got pushed a little out of shape by what we did. I don’t even know if it was showering with the boys that did it. Being with them like that was fun and interesting but it didn’t really amount to much. It was never a big deal, even that last year. I mean, I was only ten when we quit so it’s not like I had boobs or anything. Then Allie went missing and I started looking for her in bars, and, I don’t know—maybe that early stuff came back and sort of slammed into me. But right now it’s all I’ve got so I don’t want to give it up, at least not yet. It’s the only thing that gets me, you know . . . wound up.”
“Yeah, about that . . .”
“Don’t worry, Mort. I take care of it.”
“Uh—”
“If it gets to be too much, I take care of it, that’s all.”
“How much of this did you tell Jeri?”
“All of it. And she said she understands . . . me.”
She still had my hand in both of hers. We lay like that for a few minutes, not saying anything. Her hands were gently kneading mine, maintaining contact. Finally she said, “So, Mort—when you look at me or watch me or whatever—”
“I know.”
“Maybe not. What I was about to say . . . I’d hate to think I’m teasing you, but Jeri said not to worry. That . . . you know . . .”
“Let me guess—that she would take care of me.”
“Uh-huh. She laughed when she said it, but I think she meant it.”
“Don’t worry, kiddo, she did. And then some.”
“Good. I’m glad. Last thing I’d want is to come between you two. If I did, that would be the end of it for me.”
Another minute of silence, then I said, “Gettin’ kinda late. You ready to sleep?”
“Probably a good idea.” She turned loose of my hand, gave me a quick hug that had a little breast in it—but she couldn’t help it and I didn’t blame her for it—then she moved away. “Night, Mort.”
“Night.”
Two minutes later:
“Mort?”
“Yup.”
“Um, I’m not quite sure how to say this.”
“Just out with it. That’s best.”
“Well, okay. It’s just—Jeri really did okay that shower thing. If it happened.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And, you know, if we did, a little boob rub in there would be nice, and I promise it wouldn’t lead to anything more. If it wouldn’t be too much for you.”
And that’s why I lost another sonofabitchin’ hour of sleep then dreamed I was in a supermarket buying cantaloupes.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JERI PHONED AT six thirty the next morning, Monday, when Holiday and I were still asleep. She apologized for the early call, but Ma had come up with another lead, one that looked promising. Jeri wanted to wait until I got back to Reno so she and I could pursue it together, so—an early wake-up call to get us up and moving.
Holiday and I piled out of bed. Well, she did. I sat on the edge of the bed and watched while she dressed—which, walking around and sorting through various clothing options, took her a while—not a bad thing to wake up to in the morning. Almost as good as coffee. Caffeinated.
“Rushed it,” I said. “Three minutes, forty-five seconds.”
“Rushed what?”
“Gathering clothes, putting them on.”
She smiled, fastening the last button on a fresh shirt. “Well . . . I was sort of embarrassed. Which was strange, but kind of nice, too. I mean, it had a little more zing to it than before, probably because of our talking la
st night.”
“Zing is good, now turn your back.”
She laughed.
We ate breakfast in the hotel café, and passed the city limit on the way north at seven fifty a.m. after verifying that Martin Harris had indeed had his car repaired at Desert Eagle Body Shop in Vegas during the time he said it was there. This was investigation at a snail’s pace. His Mercedes SUV wasn’t the one we were trying to find. One down, eight to go. Jeri had told me investigations lead to dead ends more often than not, so get used to it.
Ma had come up with another hot lead. I hoped it was hotter than the one we’d just followed. I put the Toyota up to seventy-five and hustled us back to Reno. In the desert, with sage-covered playas sloping upward into dry barren hills, I saw a tear roll down Sarah’s cheek.
“Hey,” I said.
She gave me a wan smile and wiped her eyes. “It’s nothing.”
“That doesn’t look like nothing.”
“I’m just being silly. Do you have Kleenex in here?”
I got a small package of tissues out of the glove box, handed it to her.
She took one, dabbed her eyes, and sniffed. “It’s been so good for me lately. I mean, it’s been so intense, not like in the bars. But it can’t last, since you’ve got Jeri. Then it’ll be back to . . . well, to sort of nothing much.”
“There are a lot of guys out there, Sarah.”
Her voice took on a bluesy note. “Sure. Boy Scout types who like to look but don’t need more than that. Lots of ’em out there.”
Damn. That Boy Scout thing again.
“You’re like one in a million, Mort. In case you didn’t know.”
Well . . . yeah.
“So,” she went on, “I guess I’m crying about what I’ve lost. Or will lose in a while—soon, most likely. I know it’s dumb, but if this ends, which I guess it’ll have to, then what? I know I’ll live, but life will be so empty and gray. I guess I’m just spoiled.”
“There’s got to be someone out there who would fall all over himself to look at you and breathe heavy while doing it.”
She smiled. “You didn’t do any heavy breathing. Last night or this morning.”
“Yeah, I did. I just know how to hide it.”
“Great. Now I need a personals ad: Heavy breather wanted, must have Boy Scout personality.”
“Never know what you’d get with that.”
She let out a pained laugh. “I wouldn’t get you. Thing is, I don’t think this stupid fake hooker thing will work anymore. It’s nothing like what you and I have been doing the past few days.”
I shrugged. “Guess not.”
“After being with you, it wouldn’t. Now . . . I don’t know. I don’t suppose Jeri would loan you out from time to time? Like once a week. Let me wind you up pretty good, then she can take you over the edge?”
“Over the edge, huh?”
She looked at me. “Well, yeah. Seems like you’d need that.”
Made me smile. “Once a week, huh? Wouldn’t hurt to ask.” Her, not me. Me it might hurt. Me it might put in the hospital. Then again, maybe not. Jeri was full of surprises these days.
“Yeah, right. I’ll just—‘Hey, Jeri, send Mort over so he can watch me . . . I don’t know, take a long shower or water my plants, whatever.’ I’m sure that’d go over big.”
“She told me she understands you. There’s that.”
“What? You think she wouldn’t mind?” Holiday’s voice held a hopeful note, as if she thought there might be a chance.
I didn’t know how to answer that so I didn’t try.
“What about you, Mort? Would you? You know, if?”
Those were some rip-roarin’ questions. Nothing like that ever came up when I was working for the IRS. Would I like to watch a gorgeous girl take a shower? Me? You kiddin’? I’d so hate that. I would rather walk on hot coals. What would I do if Holiday asked Jeri and Jeri said, sure, you can have him on Tuesdays?
“I’m gonna have to take the fifth on that, kiddo.”
Another strained laugh. “Sorry. I know I’m not being fair. I just feel kind of broken right now. I’ll get over it. But . . . damn, I think this is gonna be hard.”
I dropped Holiday off at her place in Reno then went over to Jeri’s. I found myself involved in an epic lip lock four seconds after I got in the door. When we came up for air, Jeri said, “We’ve got another lead on the Reinhart thing, and how’d it go with Sarah?”
“Interesting, as usual. And I got that story you said was up to her to tell me. Showering with the boys.”
“Pretty wild, huh?”
“A little, maybe. I’ve heard worse. How about we go take a walk? I’ve been sitting for over two hundred miles.”
It was a nice day, shadows dappling the sidewalks, birds in the trees, not much traffic, temperature in the seventies. We did the river walk—headed west toward Keystone Avenue then through Idlewild Park with the Truckee River to our right, ducks floating in a pond to our left, and I told Jeri what happened in Tonopah, including how long it took Sarah to get dressed that morning. And about her tears in the car on the way back, and her comment about maybe getting yours truly on loan from time to time.
“Almost four minutes to get dressed? Wow. I could get mostly decent in a minute fifteen.”
“Give ’er a break. She was still half asleep.”
Jeri smiled. “And she gets to wind you up on Tuesdays, then I get to take you over the edge?”
“Over the edge was her idea, Tuesdays was mine. I didn’t tell her that, though. She didn’t seem in the mood for humor right then.”
Jeri took a deep breath, blew it out. “We should turn around, go back.” She took my arm, got us headed east at a fair clip.
“Things are that bad, huh?”
“No. I just want to get you into bed and make sure nothing got broken. Sounds like you might’ve been wound up pretty tight.”
“I’m okay, but I appreciate your concern.”
“You don’t sound rational. We should walk faster.”
Which we did.
Jeri looked up at me. “She cried? Really?”
“A few tears. She’s been having a pretty good time lately, but knows it isn’t going to last.”
“I think Tuesdays would be okay. I don’t normally have a lot on my plate on Tuesdays.”
I stopped dead. “Don’t tell her that. She might not get it.”
“You’re not on a leash, Mort. Neither am I, in case you didn’t know. C’mon.” She got me walking again.
“So, off leash,” I said. “That include you and other guys?”
She made a face. “No, and that’s not even close to the point. The point is, if I decide I want to, it’ll be my decision, mine, not yours, not ours, but mine alone. It has to be. Then I would tell you about it and we would decide what it meant. So you’ve seen a lot of Sarah lately, literally, and now we need to decide what that means in terms of us.”
“I’m right here, Jeri. I’m not going anywhere.”
“So am I. And now I want to get you into bed, so I think we’ve already decided how it’s gonna go. I really like Sarah. I understand her. Strange as it sounds, I’m glad she’s been enjoying herself. And it was safe, no one got hurt, you and I are still fine, so . . . let’s walk faster, okay?”
I still didn’t know what to make of all that, but I didn’t have a lot of time to think about it because up in our bedroom Jeri put me over the edge, twice, and yesterday and this morning slipped into a fog bank, then oblivion.
When I awoke, it was to a big bowl of chicken soup, Jeri’s idea of a joke. “Might need it after your Boy Scout heroism with Sarah. Chicken soup fixes all kinds of things.”
“Ha, ha. I’m going to have to do something to purge that Boy Scout image, and I don’t think it’ll be pretty.” I sat up higher in bed. The bedside clock showed 2:15. A glance out a window and I decided it was afternoon, probably still Monday, although Tuesday wasn’t out of the question.
“Knowing you
I’m sure it’ll be really ugly. Now . . . that thing about loaning you out has me wondering—should I or shouldn’t I?”
I stared at her.
She laughed in my face. “Eat your soup.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“You didn’t ask one.”
“That should-I-or-shouldn’t-I question that you asked.”
She gave me a quick kiss. “Shut up and eat.”
“So we’re good? This soup is what it appears to be? It hasn’t been seasoned with garlic, thyme, arsenic, any of those special ingredients?”
“Hey! We’re great, in case you don’t remember the past couple of hours.”
“Seems like there was something going on. It’s hard to put my finger on exactly what, but . . . something.”
She took the soup out of my hands, put it on a night table, then reached under the covers, grabbed, and said, “That bring back any of it, bucko?”
“Oof. Yeah, it does. Gimme that fuckin’ soup.”
“Odermann,” Ma said. We were in her downtown office, a musty room that smelled of floor wax, cigarette smoke, and a side dish of eau de bathroom drifting up a communal hallway. Ma was sitting at her computer, looking up at Jeri and me. “I was digging around Jayson Wexel, Reinhart’s chief of staff, guy that died in that fire, and got a hit on that list of owners of Mercedes SUVs.”
“Came up with a registered sex offender or someone with a serious criminal background, right?” I said. I try to be helpful, act as if computer searches are the highlight of my day. And I was still a little loopy from some recent activity.
“Close,” Ma said, not batting an eye. “I got a hit when I looked into Wexel’s personal lawyer, Leland—”
“Ah, the lawyer did it. Who woulda guessed?”
Jeri elbowed me in the ribs, so that lovey-dovey thing with the soup was now in the past.
“—Leland R. Bye,” Ma went on, giving me the eye, “Wexel’s lawyer, has a brother-in-law, Bob Odermann, living in Sparks. Got Bob via Mary Odermann, Leland Bye’s sister. Bob wouldn’t be on my radar except your list has a Mercedes registered to a Mary Bye Odermann who, it turns out, died two years ago, which makes me think someone was being too smart for their own good. I’m thinking Bob has the Mercedes, not Mary. If the car was registered in Bob’s name I wouldn’t be all over this like wool on a sheep, but registering the car in the name of a dead woman sorta raised a flag.”
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