An Absent God

by Vincent Wilde

  Tony, Abby, and I finally finished sometime after midnight. The cops had been nicey-nice all night. They even put a bandage on Tony’s head. We were exhausted. When we left the station, I lifted my hand to hail a cab to my apartment.

  Tony put his hand on my shoulder. “Where are you going?”

  “Home,” I said. “I’m ready to collapse.”

  I meant every word. I was in no mood for confrontation or making up, whichever direction the wind might blow us.

  “Might I get a thank-you?” Tony asked.

  Abby nodded.

  I sighed. “I didn’t expect to see you, but I guess I tipped my hand when I called Janice. That was the point—to make sure Bozelle got the message.”

  “The first thing Janice did was call Carol,” Tony said. “Then Carol called my mobile phone and told me you’d be at St. Patrick’s with the kids. She was worried sick.”

  “She shouldn’t have been. I would have never taken the kids. You knew that. Janice’s line was tapped by Bozelle. I saw a line control device on the desk at his house. He only had to check his tape machine to hear Janice’s calls, even from out of state. That’s how he knew Carol’s every move. Everything she told Janice was picked up by him.” I took off my wig. No one on the street even gave a second glance—just another night in NYC. “By the way, where is Carol?”

  Tony laughed. “At Ophelia’s with the kids. I need to get back there. Ophelia’s at work at Club Leo.”

  “Carol surprised me,” Abby said. “She had no intention of going to a hotel. I thought she might freak out knowing Ophelia’s story, but I really think she’s grateful to us . . . and to you.”

  I looked down at the pavement dotted with cigarette butts and black spots of dried gum. “Oh, and thanks for getting me out of a jam.” I didn’t want to sound too grateful, however. “But I was in control of the situation. I was going to make my move once we were outside the cathedral.”

  “Sure,” Tony said, and then massaged my shoulder.

  I wanted him to stop—and I didn’t want him to stop. His strong hands felt good through the fabric of my ruffled gray suit.

  “Well, I don’t have any pressing matters to take care of at home, so I guess I could drop in at Ophelia’s for a short visit. Just to say hi to Carol.”

  “Let’s go,” Tony said, and put his arm around my waist.

  We parked the Crown Vic in the neighborhood and buzzed Ophelia’s apartment. Tony had neglected to get a key. The sleepy voice that came back over the intercom was Carol’s. She buzzed us in. When we arrived, the door was open. Carol was stretched across Ophelia’s green couch. I had misjudged her state of mind. She was more drunk than sleepy. The New York City skyline twinkled over her shoulders. She puffed on a cigarette held in one hand while the other held a tumbler of scotch.

  “Happy hunting, kids?” Carol smiled and curled her long legs under her torso.

  Abby sat next to Carol while Tony and I collapsed in side chairs.

  “Stanley Bozelle is now under arrest for the murder of your husband,” Tony said. “I figure he’s going to squeal like a stuck pig.”

  “Charming colloquialism,” I said. “I always hated it. Cruelty to animals.” I motioned to Carol. “Mind if I join you in a smoke?”

  Tony gave me the eye. Obviously, we were still out of sync.

  Carol tossed me her pack of cigarettes. I really wasn’t in the mood for a woman’s slim 100s, but I was begging and couldn’t be choosy.

  I lit up and asked, “Where are your little darlings?”

  She took a swig of scotch and said, “In Ophelia’s . . . Robert’s bed. Whatever the hell he’s called.” She swallowed another gulp. “He’s a nice guy, putting up with my two for all this time. I have to give him credit.”

  “Honestly, Carol,” I said, “we’re all nice here. In fact, we’re all a damn sight nicer than Rodney ever was, and if you could get past your God-induced church obsession, you’d see that.”

  Tony shot me another one of his “you’re nuts” looks. The scotch fumes must have affected my brain. Whatever sense of decorum I had disappeared in the evening’s drama.

  Carol’s eyes narrowed on me like a pistol sight on a target.

  She puffed on her cigarette and said, “I think you underestimate me. I know when someone’s done me a favor, and I know how to repay it.”

  “Did you know Rodney hired Bozelle to kill my friend, Stephen Cross?”

  She looked surprisingly nonchalant. “I only knew what Rodney told me, and most of that revolved around the Bible.”

  I knocked ashes into the palm of my hand. “Still, the whole story doesn’t add up. At least not to me. Why would Bozelle and his wife—?”

  “Girlfriend,” Carol corrected me.

  “Why would Bozelle’s girlfriend throw a rubber doll and a pig fetus on your lawn? I assume she did both. When we were having our little chat at the cathedral, his eyes lit up when I said I would deliver you and the kids to him. Why was he so eager? What was the point?”

  Tony shook his head. “You told him that?”

  “I was trying to save my life,” I said.

  Carol shivered. “I don’t know why he wanted to get his hands on us. I’m just glad he didn’t.”

  “I think there’s someone who does know the reason, besides Bozelle, of course. Janice Carpenter.”

  Carol snuffed her cigarette out. “I hate to think that. Janice has been a friend of the family and a friend of mine for so many years.”

  Tony looked at his watch. “God, it’s almost two and my head is killing me. Time for bed.”

  “It’s too late to check in to the Waldorf,” Carol said. “And I’m not getting the kids up. We’ll leave in the morning. When will Ophelia be home?”

  “He usually rolls in about six in the morning and heads straight for bed,” Tony said, assured by his knowledge of having spent several nights at Ophelia’s.

  Carol stretched her legs toward Abby. “I’m going to spend the night on the couch.”

  Tony looked at his sister.

  “I’ll crawl in bed with the kids,” Abby said. “There’s room.”

  Tony looked at me and his eyes were almost dreamy. “That leaves the two of us.”

  I was not so kind. “The last I knew we weren’t speaking to each other.”

  “I’ve reconsidered,” he said. “It’s too crowded here.”

  “All right, let’s go. This dress has suddenly gotten very uncomfortable.”

  Tony and I said good night, and Abby shut the door behind us.

  When we stepped into the elevator Tony said, “What you did tonight was extraordinary—and I love you for it. You saved three lives, maybe more.”

  I turned toward him and ran my hands over his chest. He had ditched the body armor earlier in Vicky’s trunk.

  “I think simple admiration would be sufficient.”

  We crawled into the Crown Vic and made out like high-schoolers. It was nearly two when we walked into my apartment. By the time we got into bed we were both too tired to do anything. That was fine by me. I liked feeling his body next to mine. He snored softly and it was like music to my lonely bachelor ears. The sound was comfortable and cozy.

  I was in love.

  When I showed up for work at Han’s on Saturday, Norm’s eyes lit up like the Christmas trees that decorated New York. He reminded me of a puppy with a new toy. He bounced around the sink waiting for all the details of my story.

  “Come on, Cody,” he said. “Tell me. I want to know everything.”

  “Norm, we’re busy.”

  “Aww, they can wait.”

  How could I argue with the boss? I filled Norm in.

  “So, he left?”

  “Yes, this morning. He and Abby loaded up the Crown Vic and drove back to Virginia. Carol and the kids are staying on at the Waldorf for a couple of days and then heading back home—in her Mercedes.”

  “I always wanted a Mercedes,” Norm said. “Maybe someday. Too many kids to put through
college now.” He stood next to the sink and leaned over so he could look at my face.

  I was trying to avoid eye contact.

  “And how are you taking this separation from your boyfriend? I told you not to let him get away. He’s a real looker.”

  I flicked suds at him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you have a man crush on Tony.”

  “Yuck. No. I don’t swing that way. I know he’s the perfect guy for you, though.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  That was as far as the conversation went. That night I slouched home and crawled into bed. I was lonely and I hurt in a way I’d never experienced before. Sad and incomplete, if I had to describe it. I didn’t like it one bit.

  Tony and I talked almost every night over the next few weeks and he was right. Bozelle, under questioning, had squealed like a stuck pig. Tony’s cop friend in Buena Vista, who had sent us the newspaper clippings about Bozelle, managed to obtain a verbal summary of the police interview from a New York cop.

  Stanley Bozelle went nuts when he found out his wife, Janice Carpenter, had had an affair with Rodney Jessup. Apparently, Janice was more than a PR wiz and Rodney was more than a benevolent boss. It was beginning to look like Rodney was a certifiable sex addict, willing and able to put his pecker anywhere, anytime.

  If that wasn’t enough to send Bozelle over the edge, the next revelation did. Janice admitted she had become pregnant by Rodney and aborted the baby; thus, the doll and fetus dumped on the lawn. Bozelle had lost not only his wife but a child as well. Granted the kid wasn’t his, but his moral sense was outraged.

  Rodney tried to appease the ex-marine by hiring him to kill Stephen Cross. Better to keep him in his camp as a paid friend than let him roam loose as an enemy. Bozelle’s moral outrage probably extended to homosexuals as well. However, the chance to get half a million dollars from Rodney and then later kill him was too good to pass up. But that plan was snuffed out by extreme irony. Enter Stephen Cross and Hugh Mather, the Combat Zone Killer. Bozelle was too late, he didn’t get a dime, and the threats on Rodney began after the ex-marine figured out what he wanted to do.

  I figured Rodney suspected Bozelle was after him, but didn’t know for sure. Rodney had made plenty of enemies and the guy was one of many. But Bozelle, unlike a lot of others, had a great motive for killing Rodney. A delicate web had been strung and any strange twist could destroy it. With Stephen gone, he was after the kids for ransom. He’d get the money somehow. By the time he’d perfected his plan, Carol and kids were on the move, spending less time in Virginia. Bozelle’s own threatening tactics had worked against him. He had to wait for the perfect time. Patience was not one of his virtues.

  Janice, it seemed, was in the clear. Maybe Bozelle harbored some love for his ex-wife. His real target had been Rodney. After all, the pious minister had destroyed his marriage and his emotional ability to have children with the woman he married.

  The suspect was now in jail nursing a serious wound to his right hand. When he finally came to trial, a whole lot of bad news would be spread across the US. Carol and Janice would be in the headlines daily.

  It didn’t take long for Carol to learn the truth. One late afternoon after finishing some halfhearted Christmas shopping at Macy’s, I walked into my apartment to the sound of the phone ringing.

  “Keep the money,” Carol said. “I know Rodney wired you two hundred fifty grand. You deserve it.”

  I put my two packages on my kitchen table. “Thanks, Carol, but I wasn’t planning on keeping it. There are a lot of unfortunate people who have more use for it than I do.” I couldn’t believe the words had come out of my mouth. Ophelia came to mind. She still needed a lot of money for her medications.

  “Do what you like,” she said. “Ruthie and John miss you— and Ophelia. They haven’t been the same since their trip to New York. I think they’re going to be better people for it. Me, too.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say, so Carol filled in the blanks. “There’s a saying: ‘God chooses your parents, but you choose your friends.’ I know what happened between Rodney and Janice now. We’re not on speaking terms anymore. I’d like you to be my friend.” She sighed.

  I kept listening for the tinkle of ice, but Carol sounded sober.

  “Thank you. I’d like that.”

  She said, “Merry Christmas.” The line went dead.

  That conversation left me with a touch of melancholy. I put on the Carpenters’ Christmas album and when “Merry Christmas Darling” came on, a lump rose in my throat. I picked up the phone and dialed Tony. He answered and all the tension I’d been holding since Rodney had shown up at my apartment came out in a torrent of swearing and tears.

  “Sorry,” I said after I composed myself. “I feel like a blubbering idiot.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” Tony said. He paused and then said, “I’ve missed you.”

  “Same here. New York can be a very lonely city.”

  “I can be there for Christmas if you want.”

  My heart jumped along with my formerly sagging holiday spirit. “You can? You don’t have to work?”

  “Even I get a day off. I’ll be there Christmas Eve. I can take a taxi in from the airport.”

  “That would be great,” I said and pinched myself.

  “I wondered when you’d come around.”

  I shook my head in wonder at his audacity. “Don’t push your luck.”

  “Merry Christmas, darling,” he said and then hung up.

  I took off my leather boots, sat on the couch, and put my feet up on my old coffee table. I’d never been much for the holidays because they didn’t really matter to me. My old preconceptions were falling away. When Tony arrived on Christmas Eve, I was planning to be dressed in a festive holiday outfit. I had already picked it out: a leather harness, boots, chaps, and a red bow tied around a bountiful package. Tony would have plenty of fun unwrapping his gift.

  I was going to make it the best Christmas either one of us had ever had.