Nocturnal

by Nathan Field

  “It’s been that way since lunch,” Chloe said. “I’ve left him dozens of messages – I wanted to check if I should pack a bikini. I thought we might be flying to Cancun or something.”

  She closed her eyes and shivered, her lips beginning to tremble. Maxine slid closer and brought Chloe’s head to her chest.

  “Or maybe he’s lying in a ditch somewhere,” Chloe sobbed. “What if something horrible has happened?”

  I gulped uneasily, feeling my lungs constrict. It was definitely time for me to leave. “Look, I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe you’re right, and he’s had second thoughts, but I’m sure he’ll come to his senses soon. Let’s swap numbers so we can stay in touch.”

  Chloe looked up, catching her breath. She nodded and then gave me her cell number.

  “Done,” I confirmed, sending her a reply text. I stood up. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

  “Thanks, Sam,” Chloe said, managing another thin smile.

  “Hey, anytime.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” Maxine said, rising from the sofa.

  “That’s okay,” I said, moving to the front door before she could catch me. I didn’t wanting to be alone with Maxine, even for a few seconds. Whether frosty or flirty, she made me nervous.

  The suffocating feeling from Chloe’s apartment followed me outside. Had I pushed my friend into the path of a murderer on the most important night of his life? And why the fuck hadn’t Bruno said anything to me? Were we not as close as I thought?

  Climbing into my car, I inserted the key in the ignition and held it there, momentarily frozen in time. The full weight of my guilt pressed down on me. I never should’ve allowed Bruno to stakeout my office, impending engagement or otherwise. I knew the job was dangerous, but I’d asked him anyway, even bribing him with food and drink. Once again, I’d brought pain and suffering to the people I loved the most.

  I never. Fucking. Learned.

  Before the guilt could overwhelm me, I started the engine and pulled away from the curb. Introspection was the last thing I needed – the last thing Bruno needed. My life might not be worth a damn, but my friend deserved better.

  I decided to head back to the office, the one place that could offer a clue to Bruno’s whereabouts. If he was still alive, I had to leave no stone unturned. But if he was dead, God help me if Bruno was dead, he needed to be avenged.

  12. “It has to look like a random act of violence”

  “My round,” I declared, draining my beer and sliding out from the table. “Same again?”

  “No, I’m good,” Izzy said, holding up his near full mug. “I didn’t know it was a race.”

  I ignored the remark, smacking my lips and heading up to the bar. Izzy had always sipped his beer like it was a vintage Bordeaux, and I wasn’t about to spend the next twenty minutes watching the tide go out.

  We were drinking at a dive bar at the lower end of J Street, one of the few hangouts in the area that didn’t pander to the legislative set. It was dark and stale-smelling, and most of the patrons looked like ex-cons, but I didn’t want to be anywhere I’d be recognized. I also knew my choice of venue would annoy Izzy. That was the kind of mood I was in.

  “Look at the state of you,” Izzy said when I returned with my beer. “You’ve got the shakes.”

  “Give it a rest. This is only my second beer today.”

  “Yeah, well the dozen from last night must still be sloshing around. Jesus Pete, you look like a bum. You smell like a bum.”

  “I’ve showered.”

  “What, in beer? You need to pull yourself together. Snap out of this self-pity. So your heart’s been broken, big fucking deal. It happens to everyone.”

  “Yeah? Well they should come down and join me for a drink. We could have a fucking party.”

  I emptied half my mug and banged it on the table. Izzy shook his head in disgust, and I suddenly felt bad for him. In a softer tone, I said, “I’m sorry man, I know you’re trying to help. But this is something I have to work through in my own time.”

  “What a pile of crap! That’s just an excuse to throw in the towel. Do you think no one’s noticed your empty desk in the newsroom? Christ, these last couple of months, even when you’ve bothered to turn up you’ve been next to useless. Your career’s going down the toilet and people are starting to talk. At the very least you should give Tom a call.”

  Tom was the Tribune’s veteran editor. He wasn’t easy to bullshit, the very reason I hadn’t called. “Can’t you tell him I’m sick?”

  “What do you think I’ve been doing? You ate a bad shrimp, in case it comes up. But he’s not stupid, he knows we’re friends. He wants to hear from you.”

  “Yeah. I understand.”

  “Do you? Because from where I’m sitting you don’t seem to give a shit.”

  “To be honest, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. Career-wise, I mean. I’m starting to wonder if journalism is really for me.”

  Izzy screwed up his nose. “What?”

  “I’m not sure I want to be a reporter the rest of my life. The pay’s a joke, and I don’t want to end up like Tom, working ten hour days until I’m sixty and still not having enough money to retire. Newspapers are dying, anyway.”

  Izzy’s grip tightened on his mug handle, turning his knuckles white. He was a passionate newspaperman and my words had bordered on sacrilege. “That’s seriously fucked up, Pete. Since when did making money become your primary objective in life? I thought you always looked down on those people. Christ man, not so long ago you were dreaming about writing articles that mattered and affecting history in a positive way. You remember that?”

  “Yeah, and now I’ve woken up. It’s easy to be an idealist when you’re just out of college and a few hundred bucks a week seems like all the money in the world. But at the rate I’m going, I’ll be forty before I can afford my own place. And besides, I’m pretty sure humanity will survive without my stories about fundraisers and cat shows.”

  Izzy winced at my cynicism. I’d insulted both of our jobs. “Look, all I’m saying is, I’m having second thoughts about my career path.”

  “Why? Because of some gold digger?”

  “Don’t call her that,” I warned.

  “If the Jimmy Choo fits. From what you’ve told me about this woman, she sounds like the ultimate trophy wife. I’ll bet she’s the one who made you feel bad about your job.”

  I felt my face drain; the truth hurting. Lucy hadn’t explicitly referred to my meager income, but she’d made it pretty clear she expected a high standard of living. Depressingly, that’s what it all came down to. I couldn’t afford her. “Let’s change the subject,” I grumbled.

  “Did I touch a nerve?”

  “No, but you’re fast getting on my nerves. There’s a big difference.”

  “Fine. What did you want to talk about? Global warming? The situation in the Middle East?”

  I thought for a moment. “How about those Giants, eh? You think they’ve got a chance next season?”

  “Fuck the Giants,” Izzy said, swiping the empty glasses from the table and heading up to the bar. He wasn’t mad, not really, but I could tell he hadn’t finished lecturing me, either.

  Sure enough, when Izzy slopped a fresh round onto the table, he got down to it. “Okay Pete, for the next five minutes you’re going to keep your mouth shut and let me speak. Think of it as a one-man intervention – only I’m sparing you the humiliation of group hugs and drug counselors.”

  I rolled my eyes and sighed. There was nothing Izzy could say that I hadn’t already told myself. But I gave him the go ahead, figuring I might as well get the inevitable sermon out the way.

  My mind wandered off as soon as Izzy started talking about the dangers of falling for an older woman, and how our priorities were totally out of whack. All the logic in the world couldn’t change the way I felt about her. I wasn’t thinking about marriage, or biological clocks, or whether our friends would get along. I just wanted to be n
ear her again.

  While I was lazily pulling on my beer, a splotch of bright color appeared behind Izzy’s shoulder. A woman in a red halter dress was standing just inside the entrance, staring at our table from behind over-sized sunglasses. Blonde hair, lightly tanned skin, and a whiff of glamour that seemed alien in the decrepit bar.

  I blinked slowly. Lucy’s appearance was so sudden, so unexpected, that my brain couldn’t process it. My eyes remained glazed; my body numb.

  She stared walking towards our table. Izzy was too engrossed in his lecture to notice Lucy’s high heels rattling over the wooden floor. She swished right by us, continuing up to the bar. Instinctively, I knew not to turn around.

  “Hello, I was wondering if you could help me,” I heard her ask the bartender in a clear voice, like she had a small speaking role in an amateur play. “I’m looking for Café Luge. I know it’s not far from here, but I can’t seem to find it.”

  The bartender’s response was mumbled; indecipherable.

  “About five doors up?” Lucy said. “Across the road? You’re sure that’s Café Luge?”

  “Yes,” the bartender confirmed irritably. “You want me to draw you a map?”

  A second too late, I realized Izzy had stopped talking. From the expectant look on his face, he’d just asked me a question. I shook my head briskly, like I’d just stirred from a daydream. “Sorry, I must’ve drifted off for a second. Can you repeat that last bit?”

  “Damn it, Pete. Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

  “Yeah, of course. You think I’m crazy to be obsessed with a married woman when there are plenty more fish in the sea. It’s sound advice.”

  Just then, Lucy’s red dress swished by our table, close enough for me to smell her sweet perfume. Izzy’s head turned, following her exit.

  He whistled, raising a suggestive eyebrow. “You see that ass? That’s what I’m talking about!”

  “Yeah,” I said, watching Lucy push through the door. “She’s pretty hot.”

  Izzy expanded his arms theatrically, believing I was close to salvation. “Yes! Open your mind to the possibilities. There are thousands of beautiful girls in Sacramento who are just dying to meet you. The same girls who write to Cosmo every month complaining about the lack of available men. If you can’t bounce back for your own sake, then please, do it for them.”

  I grinned, feeling revitalized for a different reason. “You practice that speech at home?”

  “Didn’t have to,” he said, thumping his heart with his fist. “It comes from in here.”

  We both laughed and reached for our beers. I didn’t stop guzzling until my mug was empty, setting it down with finality. I said, “Bullshit aside, you’re right about everything. I’ve been acting like a fucking idiot, falling to pieces over an older woman. I should be grateful I got out when I did. Thanks bud, I needed a wake up call.”

  Izzy hesitated before answering. “You’re welcome.”

  “Yeah, and the first thing I should do is stop drinking. At least for a couple of days.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “All right then,” I said, standing up and offering my hand.

  Izzy frowned. “You’re going now?”

  “I need to get some food inside me. Sorry I dragged you down here, but I don’t think a bar is where I should be right now.”

  Izzy shook my hand cautiously. He still had half his beer left, but I wasn’t surprised when he insisted on walking out with me. He knew something was up.

  Out on the sidewalk, I looked up and down the street. I could see Café Luge across the road, but I couldn’t risk Izzy following me in. Before I could figure out how to ditch him, Izzy stuck out his arm and hailed a passing cab. He bent down to talk to the driver.

  “Take my friend to forty-second and Broadway,” he said, handing over a twenty. “No detours, especially not to any bars.”

  Izzy opened the door for me, and I obediently clambered into the back seat, like a scolded child.

  “I was going home anyway,” I said.

  “I’m just making sure,” Izzy said. “So I’ll see you at work tomorrow?”

  I nodded, and Izzy closed the cab door. I didn’t turn around as we drove off, but I imagined he was still on the sidewalk, watching our brake lights.

  “A good friend, you have,” the driver remarked in a thick Slavic accent.

  “Yeah, he’s the best.”

  I waited until we’d turned down 15th, safely out of sight, before pulling a ten from my wallet and showing it to the driver in the rear view mirror. “Back to where we came from, thanks.”

  The driver looked up, briefly, before nodding and signaling a turn. “But what do friends know, eh?” he chuckled.

  Café Luge was a hip new player on the block: glossy orange-and-grey decor, chrome furniture, appropriately bored-looking staff, and ambient beats playing softly over an invisible hi-fi. The kind of self conscious, Euro-trendy place that raked it in for six months before its fickle customer base moved on.

  I stood inside the front door, peering down the long, gleaming room, searching for Lucy’s red dress amid the casually dressed students and creative types. She was seated at a table near the back, facing away from the street. As I walked towards her, I saw she was still hiding behind sunglasses.

  “How did you find me?” I asked, pulling out the chair opposite.

  Lucy flinched at my sudden arrival, rippling the tiny espresso pinched between her fingers. It seemed she’d developed a taste for caffeine since our first date.

  “By chance,” she said, recovering quickly. “I was finishing up at the nail salon when I saw you go into that bar.”

  I glanced down at her hands, and she quickly slipped them under the table. The cherry red nail-polish had been chipped; faded. I let the lie slide, searching for her eyes behind the black lenses. “Are you alright?”

  “Yes,” she said defensively.

  “You seem nervous.”

  “I am nervous. Sterling would kill me if he knew I was here.”

  “Why don’t you take off your sunglasses? No-one can see your face except me.”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “Humor me.”

  With a sigh she took off her sunglasses and placed them carefully on the table. Her dark blue eyes appeared tired, shrinking against the light, but the surrounding skin was even-colored and smooth. “See,” she said. “I told you, he never touches my face.”

  “Yeah, I forget he’s sweet like that.”

  An ice-blonde waitress arrived at our table, holding a pencil expectantly over her pad, not bothering to speak. I ordered a filter coffee, keeping my eyes locked on Lucy. The pleasure of seeing her again was rising steadily, but I was determined to keep my emotions under control. At least until she explained herself.

  “Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?” I said. “It’s obvious you’re not here by accident.”

  Lucy took a long breath and nodded. “I’ve been doing some research. Legal research. After you walked out, I realized you were right. I can’t go on living like this – not for three more years. So I dug out the prenup and went through it again, line by line.” She paused, biting her bottom lip.

  “And?”

  “And I think I’ve found a loophole.”

  “But I thought you’d already taken it to a couple of lawyers.”

  “I know, and they both mentioned this other clause, but I never gave it much thought until I read through it myself.”

  I leaned back in my chair, waiting for the full explanation. Whatever she’d found, she was reluctant to get to the point, which didn’t exactly fill me with optimism. The waitress bought her some time, returning to our table and unceremoniously dumping a mug of black sludge in front of me. From her contemptuous look, I guessed drip coffee wasn’t the house specialty.

  I took one sip and pushed it aside, the bitterness stoking my impatience. “What’s the clause, Lucy? You’ve built up the tension long enough.”
/>   Her eyes flicked to the side, checking that no-one was sneaking up from behind. “The prenuptial agreement is void under two scenarios. The first is after five years marriage, which you already know. And the second is in the event of Sterling’s death.”

  I stared at her. “So?”

  She shrugged, smiling nervously. “I’m just saying there are two clauses, that’s all.”

  “No, that’s not all. You didn’t track me down just to give me a lesson in contractual law. C’mon Lucy, what are you really trying to say? That we should bump off your husband?”

  She scoffed. “No, of course not. Don’t be silly.”

  “Then enlighten me. Why did you follow me today? Do you want to rekindle our relationship? Are you happy taking the risk?”

  She shook her head, fingering her sunglasses, itching to put them back on. My raised voice was making her uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, Johnny. This was a really bad idea. Just forget what I said.”

  “It’s a bit late for that.”

  “But I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m not thinking straight, that’s all.” She dropped her head, staring at her streaky reflection in the chrome tabletop. “I’m so fucked up.”

  “Yeah, I’d agree with you there.” She was close to tears, and my heart ached for her. In a softer voice, I said, “But it’s still nice to see you.”

  She looked up, giving a small smile. “It’s nice to see you, too.”

  “I’m sick of all these mini break-ups, aren’t you? Instead of one of us storming out, let’s try talking this through.”

  She exhaled. “No, Johnny. Sterling is my problem, not yours. Coming here was a mistake.”

  “But I’m willing to listen,” I said, worried she was about to leave. “About the second clause.”

  Lucy’s eyes bore into me. “No, I’d prefer to forget this conversation ever happened. It was a stupid idea.”

  “Then we can laugh about it later. Go on, I’m in the mood for a joke.”

  “Well, I suppose,” she said with a mischievous look. “If we’re only talking.”

  “Exactly.”