by Joy Fielding
Especially for a woman he’d known less than a week.
Maybe Jeff just wanted the gun for protection, Will tried telling himself. Dave was one scary guy after all. He’d made threats. He’d even put the moves on Kristin. There was no telling what he was capable of doing, especially if Suzy were to leave him. He might come after Jeff, come after all of them, with a gun of his own. So maybe Jeff was just being cautious.
Who was he kidding? Jeff had never been cautious a day in his life.
And now Jeff was planning to kill Dave in order to be with Suzy.
How had this happened?
What did they know about Suzy anyway? That she was from Fort Myers? That she lived in Coral Gables? That she liked pomegranate martinis?
Was it possible she’d set this whole thing up, playing one brother against the other, one friend against the next, that she’d been using all of them to get what she wanted—to rid herself of an abusive husband once and for all? And once that mission was accomplished and Dave Bigelow was dead, would she disappear in a magical puff of smoke, leaving them behind to deal with the all-too-real fallout? Would she care if Jeff were caught and sent to prison for the rest of his life? Would she even visit? Did she have any feelings for Jeff at all?
Will decided he couldn’t let his brother take that chance. Yes, he’d go to the motel, but only to try to talk some sense into Jeff. He’d leave the gun behind. Jeff would be furious at first, Will knew, but sooner or later he’d calm down, eventually maybe even thank him.
Will felt beads of perspiration stringing their way across his forehead, and he marched into the bathroom, balancing the gun on the side of the sink as he splashed cold water on his face. It was then he realized he was no longer alone, that someone else had entered the apartment. “Hello?” he called, hiding the gun in the back of the cabinet under the sink behind a stack of peach-colored towels, then walking into the living room.
Tom was standing in front of the sofa, wearing a stained checkered shirt over torn skinny jeans, his dark hair uncombed and greasy, one arm crossed over the other, a stupid, shit-eating grin on his face. He literally reeked of beer and cigarettes.
Will felt his heart rate quicken. “Your mother never tell you to knock?”
“Your mother never tell you to close the door?” Tom countered.
“Jeff isn’t here.”
“I know that, dipshit. Who do you think asked me to come over?”
“Jeff asked you to come over?” Why the hell would he do that? Had Jeff not trusted him to come through for him? Did the brother he barely knew know him better than he knew himself?
“Apparently he called you when he couldn’t get ahold of me,” Tom said, not even trying to mask the drunken smugness in his voice. “It appears you’re no longer necessary, little brother. I’m to tell you your services are no longer required.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I can handle things from here on out.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Look, I’m not gonna argue with you. This is coming from big brother himself. He doesn’t want you involved, told me to tell you you’re a philosopher, not a fighter.”
A thinker, not a doer, Will thought. Hamlet, not Hercules.
Not even the delivery boy.
“So, if you don’t mind, since I was nice enough to drive out here, I’ll just grab my gun and be on my way.”
“It’s not here,” Will said, praying the look on his face didn’t betray the lie on his lips.
“What are you talking about? Of course it’s here.”
“It isn’t. I already looked.”
“Then you didn’t look very carefully.” Tom pushed past Will into the bedroom. “There’s only so many hiding places.”
“I’m telling you it’s not here,” Will reiterated as Tom headed straight for the end table beside the bed as if directed there by radar. He pulled out its top drawer, tossing it on the bedspread and quickly rummaging through it. “Maybe Kristin threw it out,” he offered as Tom upended the drawer in frustration.
“She wouldn’t do that.”
“It was kind of freaking her out, having a gun in the apartment.”
“Kristin doesn’t freak out,” Tom said, turning his attention to the dresser.
“Well, then, maybe she gave it to Lainey,” Will improvised, instantly regretting mentioning her name.
“What are you talking about?”
Will took a step back, as if Tom had physically pushed him. “Nothing. I was just—”
“When would she have given it to Lainey?”
“When she was here the other day.” Will tried to smile, managed only a sickly little half grin. “Nobody told you?”
“No. Nobody told me. What was she doing here?”
“She came to see Jeff.”
“Why would she want to see Jeff?”
“How should I know?”
“You’re full of shit,” Tom said with an angry shake of his head. “Had me going there for a bit though, asshole.” He began emptying the dresser drawers, discarding their contents on the floor. “Damn gun’s got to be here somewhere,” he insisted, dropping to the floor and peering under the bed.
“It isn’t,” Will said, relieved Tom seemed to have moved on. “I told you I looked everywhere.”
“Shit.” Tom staggered back to his feet, returned to the living room.
“So, what now?” Will asked. “Do we call Jeff, tell him there’s been a change of plans?”
“Who said anything about a change of plans?” Tom sneered. “Tom never goes anywhere empty-handed.”
“Meaning?”
Tom pulled up his shirt, proudly displaying the Glock .23 tucked into his belt buckle. “Got the others waiting in the car, all loaded and ready for action.”
“You’re one sick fuck.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, coming from you.”
“Shit. No wonder Lainey left you.” The words were out of Will’s mouth before he could stop them.
Tom’s eyes narrowed. “What’d you say?” He took several steps toward Will. “What’d you fucking say?”
“Forget it.”
“The hell I’m gonna forget it. First you make up this shit about Lainey coming to see Jeff. Now you’re saying she was right to leave me?”
“I’m just saying you probably scared the shit out of her.”
“Damn right I scared the shit out of her. Damn cunt deserved to have the shit scared out of her. And she’s not going anywhere, I can promise you that.”
“’Cause she’s your wife, right?” Will said, trying to keep Tom talking, to keep him from leaving, from delivering those guns to Jeff.
“Till death do us part,” Tom said.
“So you’ve got a right to scare the shit out of her.”
“I’ve got a right to do whatever the hell I want with her.”
“Like beat her up if she doesn’t listen?”
“If the mood strikes me,” Tom agreed.
“So, tell me,” Will prodded. “What makes you any different than Dave?”
“What?”
“Why does Dave deserve to die and you don’t?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“It seems to me you’re cut from the same cloth.”
“Speak English, for shit’s sake.”
“Do you ever listen to yourself?” Will demanded. “Have you ever actually thought something through to its logical conclusion?”
“I’m thinking the logical conclusion right now would be to shoot your ass.”
“I’m trying to tell you that you’re about to kill a man for thinking exactly the way you do,” Will argued, not sure where he was going with this but determined to keep talking. “For trying to keep his wife in line. I would have thought you’d admire someone like that.”
Tom looked confused. “This is different.”
“How is it different?” Will felt his mouth go dry. He was dizzy and in need of a glass of
water. He couldn’t keep this up indefinitely. It was only a matter of time before Tom, drunk and stoned and stupid though he was, tired of all this sophomoric sophistry and left the premises. Still, it was crucial to keep him here, keep him away from Jeff. If Will could succeed in keeping them apart, at least for tonight, then maybe he could avert the tragedy he felt certain was coming.
“It’s different because it is.”
“Because Jeff says so?”
“Because it is so.”
“You’re gonna help my brother kill a man because Jeff has the hots for his wife,” Will stated more than asked.
“Sure.” Tom shrugged. “Why not?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Because it’s immoral? Because it’s illegal? Because it’s stupid, and you’re gonna get caught?”
“We’re not gonna get caught.”
“Spoken like a true convict. Tell me, Tom, what are you getting out of this?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, clearly, Jeff gets the girl. But what do you get? Is he pay-ing you?”
Tom looked genuinely offended. “Of course not.”
“So he gets the girl, and you get satisfaction for a job well done?”
“I guess.”
“Provided, of course, you don’t end up on death row.”
“That’s not gonna happen.”
“Why?’ Cause you never screwed up before?”
“Jeff doesn’t screw up.”
“No, but you do. Or are you forgetting about what happened in Afghanistan?”
“What do you know about that?”
“I know you screwed up,” Will said, sensing he was once again on dangerous ground but unable to take a step back. “I know Jeff came home with a medal, and you got turfed out on your ass.”
“Guess that’s just the way it goes,” Tom said, his eyes narrowing again, turning mean. “Jeff always comes out smelling like a rose. He always wins. You oughtta know that better than anyone, little brother. He stole Suzy Pomegranate right out from under you. Oh, wait. She was never actually under you, was she? Jeff told me you have a bit of a problem in that department.”
“Go to hell.” What exactly had Jeff told this cretin? Jeff isn’t exactly Mr. Discreet, he heard Kristin say.
“What was her name again? The one who got you thrown out of Princeton?”
“Okay, that’s enough.” Surely his brother hadn’t told Tom about Amy.
“Abigail? Annie? Oh, I know. Amy!”
He should have known better than to confide in his brother.
“You can bet Jeff wouldn’t have let somebody else walk off with his girl,” Tom taunted. “He’d have fucked her front, back, and sideways, and trust me, when Jeff fucks a girl, she stays fucked.”
“Like Lainey?” Will said, striking back without thinking.
“What?”
“Did Jeff fuck your wife front, back, and sideways? Did she stay fucked?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Jeff and Lainey,” Will shouted, the words pouring from his mouth like water from a busted tap. He wanted to stop them but he couldn’t. They just kept coming. “What’s the matter, Tom? You had no idea your best friend was screwing your wife?”
“You lying piece of shit.”
“You asked what she was doing here the other day. What do you think she was doing here?”
The words hit Tom right between the eyes and he spun around, almost as if he’d been shot, before bursting into tears and collapsing to the floor.
Will stared at the crumpled heap in front of him, knowing this time he’d gone too far. “Go home, Tom,” he said, his head pounding. “You look exhausted. Get some sleep. You’re right. I’m full of shit. There’s nothing going on with Lainey and Jeff. I made it up. I swear. . . .”
But Tom was already clambering to his feet and vaulting toward the door, his gun out and in his hand. “Son of a bitch,” he was crying. “I’ll kill you, you miserable son of a bitch.”
“Tom, put the gun away,” Will yelled after him.
Tom stopped abruptly. Then he turned and pointed the Glock .23 directly at Will’s head. “Stay right where you are, little brother,” he said. “You aren’t invited to this party.”
Then he was gone.
THIRTY-ONE
“WILL, CALM DOWN,” KRISTIN was saying. “I can’t make out a thing you’re saying.” She cast a wary glance at her boss, who was monitoring her conversation from down the hall and was noticeably unhappy with all the “emergency” calls she’d been receiving tonight. First, Jeff had phoned with an update—Suzy was still sleeping; everything was under control; he’d managed to get ahold of Tom. Now Will was on the line, babbling incoherently about Tom and Lainey and God only knew what else. “Will,” she said again. “You have to slow down, tell me exactly what happened.” She listened incredulously as Will repeated the particulars of his altercation with Tom. Shit, she thought, leaning her forehead against the wall, feeling it cool against her skin. Trust men to make everything so bloody complicated. “No. Don’t call the police,” she whispered, covering her mouth with her hand so that her boss wouldn’t hear. “You’ll only get Jeff in trouble. I’ll call him and tell him what happened. He knows how to handle Tom. No. Stay where you are. Don’t do anything. Please, let me deal with this. Okay? Promise me you’ll stay put.”
Kristin hung up the phone, then turned to smile sweetly at her boss. “Just one more call, Joe. Then I’m done.” She stopped short of promising, leaving the broken promises to the men of this world. Men like Will, who promised he’d stay put when they both knew he wouldn’t. Men like Jeff, who promised everything was under control when it was anything but. Men like Norman, who’d promised she’d like the taste of his huge, unwieldy tongue inside her small, vulnerable mouth. Men like Ron, who’d told her she’d enjoy it as he tore away her virginity. So much for promises, Kristin thought, pulling a crumpled business card out of her bra and checking the number. Good thing she hadn’t thrown it away, she decided as she stabbed at the numbers with her long burgundy fingernails.
The phone was picked up in the middle of the first ring. “This is Dr. Bigelow,” the voice barked, impatient already.
“Dave?” Kristin asked, surprised by the quiver in her voice. Can I really do this? she was thinking.
“Who is this?”
“It’s Kristin, the bartender from the Wild Zone.”
“Is my wife there?” Dave asked without further preamble, clearly not in the mood for games.
“No.” Kristin took a deep breath, steadying herself against the wall with the palm of her hand. “But I know where she is.”
Silence.
“She’s at the Southern Comfort Motel, up by the airport,” Kristin continued unprompted, her voice gaining strength as the words tumbled from her mouth. “Room 119.”
WILL STOOD IN the middle of the living room, not moving, Kristin’s heartfelt pleas ringing in his ear. Stay where you are. Don’t do anything. Promise me you’ll stay put.
Except how could he just stay in the apartment and do nothing? His careless lies had put a match to Tom’s notoriously short fuse, and now Tom was on his way to the motel, not to help Jeff with his plan but to carry out a murderous plan of his own. So how could he just stay there and do nothing?
Again Will thought of notifying the police, but Kristin had warned him that calling them would only get Jeff in more trouble, and she was probably right, as she was right about most things. His brother was in enough trouble, thanks to him. He thought of phoning Jeff to warn him about Tom, but how could he ever explain the awful things he’d said, the lies he’d told? No, it was better to let Kristin deal with everything.
Still, he couldn’t just stand there. He couldn’t let his brother pay—yet again—for his thoughtless acts. For once in his life, he had to stop thinking and do something.
“I’m sorry, Kristin,” Will said as he ran into the bathroom to retrieve Tom’s .22. Stuffing it into the pocket of
his khaki pants, he fled the apartment, taking the outside steps to the courtyard two at a time.
Five minutes later, he was in a cab, heading for the Southern Comfort Motel.
“SUZY, HONEY,” JEFF whispered, leaning forward on the bed to kiss her cheek. He hated to disturb her. She’d been sleeping so peacefully.
Suzy opened her eyes, as blue as the Intracoastal Waterway. “Hi, you,” she said.
“Sorry to wake you.”
“That’s okay. What time is it?”
“After seven.”
“Oh, my God.” She pushed herself into a sitting position. “I can’t believe I passed out like that.”
“You’ve been through a lot. You were exhausted.”
“I guess. Has anything happened?”
“No. Nothing. Everything’s fine. You hungry?”
Suzy laughed. “Starved.”
“Good,” Jeff said. “There’s something I need you to do.”
TOM WAS STUCK in traffic only minutes away from the airport. “Let’s get a move on, people,” he shouted out his open window, the hot, humid air slapping against his face in reply. “What the hell . . . ?” He opened the car door and stepped onto the pavement, trying to see around the huge eighteen-wheeler directly in front of him. How had he gotten stuck behind this damn truck anyway? More important, how long was he going to be here? Time is a-wasting, he thought. He was already late, having spent far too long arguing with Will. Jeff wasn’t going to be happy.
Shit, Tom decided with a laugh. Jeff wasn’t going to be happy no matter what.
Maybe he wouldn’t go. Let Jeff deal with everything all by his lonesome. Make him understand what it felt like to be betrayed, make him realize how much he needed Tom, how much he’d always needed him. “I’m not the fuckup in this equation,” Tom growled, catching sight of the flashing lights of an ambulance up ahead. Looks like a pretty bad accident, he thought, hoping whoever had caused it had died in the crash. He returned to his car, lit another cigarette, and turned the radio up to its full volume, listening to some country singer whining in an impossibly high register about her cheating boyfriend, all the while picturing Lainey having sex with his best friend. “That lying bitch,” he cursed. Telling him she’d never understood why women found Jeff so attractive, that she’d never found him particularly appealing herself. While all the time she’d been screwing him behind his back. Tom slammed his fist against the steering wheel, wondering how long their affair had been going on, how long his best friend had been laughing at him behind his back. “Let’s move it, motherfuckers.”