by Jake Hinkson
"Oh, come on. Only poor people have to make do with what they got. Rich folks can always put their hands on more money."
He thought about it for a minute. Through the window behind him, the river shuddered under a hard wind. "I'll need time to discuss it with other parties."
"Don't tell me you have to talk to the governor. You can't convince me he wants to dirty his hands with this."
"Considering that you throttled his little brother to death, he might have a strong opinion about how we should proceed with this business. And it might just be, Miss Bennett, that he won't want to pay money to the woman who killed his brother. Since Vinton isn't even in the ground yet, this conversation may be premature." He laced his fingers together over his stomach. "Lou Don Colfax is a different man than his brother was, of course, but like the whole Colfax clan he's marked by the, ah, fervor of his emotions. A good quality in the right context but counter-productive in others. So you'll want to give me time to talk to him."
I stood up. "I'll wait until the funeral. The next day, we end this thing. I get my money. You guys try to fuck me on this, I'll make everything public. You people should know by now that I'm not bluffing, Junius. You tell that to the governor."
"I shall."
I nodded and turned around and crossed that long room again. Kluge didn't say anything else. He just watched me go.
I waved at Mrs. Willhide on my way out. I took the stairs rather than the elevator and got out of there as soon as I could.
Outside, the air was warm and sweet. People passed me as I walked to my car. A young couple with kids. A couple of old folks. A middle-aged man and his teenaged son.
I was so busy looking at the faces passing me on the street that I didn't notice him leaning against my car until I was almost to it. I nearly bumped into him.
He'd watched me come toward him the whole time, though.
He stood there with his arms crossed, with a smile, of course—that same gorgeous, maddening smile.
"Hey, Ellie," Frank Morley said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
As always, he looked as if he'd just stepped out of an aftershave commercial. Lean and tan, with a crisp white shirt and an emerald tie, olive slacks and polished black shoes. A little breeze stirred his salt-and-pepper hair, but otherwise he stood still and waited for my reaction.
"Get the fuck off my car," I said.
He downgraded the smile to a disappointed grin and took a step away from my car. "Is that going to be it?"
"Is what going to be it?"
"It's been a year since we've seen each other, and you're not even going to say hello to me."
"It's been over fifteen months since we've seen each other—thirteen months of which I sat in prison with no word from you—so, yes, you don't really rate a hello in my book."
"That's fair enough," he said. "Would you stoop to having a drink with me?"
Shame and rage burned my busted face. I looked horrible and being seen by him at that moment was humiliating. I couldn't bring myself to speak. I walked around to the driver's door and dug out my keys.
"C'mon, Ellie," he said. "I just want to talk to you."
"Why, Frank? So I'll feel worse than I feel right now? I don't feel horrible enough, already? You gotta make it worse?"
He stepped to the edge of the sidewalk and folded his arms on the roof of my car. "Make you a deal. How about we walk up the street to the Capitol Club? I'll buy you a drink. And I guarantee that you will not feel bad when you leave. A guarantee. How often in life do you get a guarantee?"
"What do I get if you renege on this deal?"
"You can shoot me. Here, I got my service weapon on my hip. You can shoot me."
I glared at him. I felt myself thawing already, goddamn him, but when I locked eyes with him I wasn't kidding. "I might shoot you anyway, Frank."
"And that's what I love about you, Ellie. The uncertainty."
* * *
In the Capitol Club, slats covered the windows and the lights were turned down low. Frank got us a booth in the back. I felt like the dimness gave me a little cover.
I couldn't say why I was there with him. I wanted to punch him. I wanted to beat him as I'd been beaten—and I couldn't help but note that I never would have wound up in the chicken killing room with Vin Colfax if I'd never met Frank Morley. The spark of his smile started the fire that had burned my entire life to the ground. Even as we sat there, I could feel myself hating him.
But I couldn't be indifferent to him. My thawing out on the street? As Frank ordered us drinks—a whiskey neat for him and a vodka tonic with lime for me—I reflected that I could be a lot of things with this man, but I couldn't be cold. Everything I felt about him had heat on it.
"Want to tell me about your face?" he asked.
"You said you weren't going to make me feel bad."
"I'm asking because I'm concerned, Ellie. Multiple wounds, choke pattern on your neck. That happen inside?"
I stared at him. Our drinks came. I took a sip. I said, "Yeah. Inside."
"What happened?"
"Some meaningless shit. Nothing to talk about."
He nodded and twirled his drink around.
"What about you?" I asked. "You look like you're on your way to a GQ cover shoot."
He shook his head. "Just working. You know. I was working away at my desk, sitting there writing some damn report, and I look out the window and who do I see getting out of her car? Ellie fucking Bennett."
"A bruised and battered Ellie Bennett."
"We're all bruised and battered, Ellie."
I leaned forward. "Shut the fuck up, Frank. You're going to piss me off talking that way. I'm not crying about my childhood scars or an unfulfilling marriage. I'm talking about a life making its last rotation around the toilet bowl."
He watched me talk. His eyes were amber and sad. Maybe they were ashamed, I couldn't tell. He sipped at his drink.
"I don't blame you for hating me," he said.
I shook my head. "Jesus Christ."
"What? I'm trying to tell you—"
"'I don't blame you for hating me'? Who gives a fuck who you blame? It's not about you, Frank."
"Yes, it is, Ellie," he said. "My life is about me, just like yours is about you. You think I haven't thought about what happened with me and you and Kitty? I have. I hated what she did to you. I hated it, but there was no way for me to stop it by the time it happened."
"There was a trial. You couldn't have come forward?"
He leaned back and tapped his glass against the smooth chestnut tabletop. "With what? And said … what? 'I think maybe my wife set up my girlfriend'?"
I leaned over the table and stuck my busted face as close as I could to his. "Yes." I sat back and took a slug of my drink. "If you'd cared you would have."
The bartender was a young guy with green-rimmed glasses, spiked hair and some freaky sideburns that jutted out past his jaw. He came to our booth and asked, "Can I get you another, sir?"
Frank finished his drink and nodded.
The kid started to turn back to the bar. I said, "Hey, sonny." He turned around, and I belted the drink down. "Another one for me, too. Put some vodka in it this time."
"Yes, ma'am," he said and hurried off.
Frank smiled. "I know you don't want to hear it, Ellie, but I did care. And I still do. I always will."
"Then why—"
"Want the honest answer? Because I did the math. I calculated the odds of the situation, and I knew that helping you got me nothing. It got you nothing, too, but I won't sit here and pretend like it wasn't a selfish calculation. It was. I had no new information to offer your defense. I didn't feel like my presence could help you. And I thought it could only hurt me."
"You're a real profile in courage."
The bartender came back and gave us our drinks. I took a slug. Mine was two-thirds vodka. Good boy.
Frank said, "I am sorry, Ellie."
I leaned back. "So you saw me get out of my car
and you came outside and waited."
"Yes."
"Waited a little while. I was at city hall for a while."
"Yeah."
"What did you think would happen when I came back?"
"I didn't know."
"You didn't know."
"I didn't know, but I knew I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to tell you I was sorry, tell you that I missed you."
I shook my head. "Why are you saying that?"
"Saying what?"
"That you miss me. Jesus Christ, you're a piece of work."
"Yeah. I guess I am."
"You thought you'd buy me a couple of drinks and sweet talk me and then what?"
"I don't know, Ellie. I don't have a plan."
"Mm. Not having a plan is your plan, Frank."
I drank.
He drank.
Some people came in. An older man with a younger man. They both looked like college professors. They sat at a table and discussed the spirits menu. A man in a blue suit and a woman in a coffee-colored cocktail dress came in and took a seat at the bar. The woman glanced at us and turned away.
I took another slug of my drink. "I need to get the fuck out of here. I feel like a goddamn sideshow act in here right now."
He nodded. "If that's what you want."
While he walked to the bar and cashed out, I finished my drink.
We walked outside and the day hadn't gone anywhere. I was drunk and it was only about three in the afternoon.
"You sure you can drive?" he asked.
"You going to bust me for DUI?"
"Christ, I'm just asking, Ellie. I don't want you to go and wrap yourself around a lamppost. Or hit someone. Or, frankly, get pulled over and busted for a DUI, yeah."
"That's very chivalrous of you."
He walked me back to my car.
He ran a hand through his hair and said, "I already know what the answer to this is going to be, but can I call you sometime?"
I walked around to the driver's door and dug out my keys. Back to where I started.
"I think that's a horrible idea, don't you?"
"No. If I did, I wouldn't have asked."
I jiggled my keys. I wished I wasn't so buzzed. My thoughts felt a little scrambled. There were too many emotions vying for control of me right then. I was lonely. I was scared.
Mostly, though, I was wary of him.
"I think it's a bad idea."
"That's fair," he said. He came around the car, and he hugged me. He did it as naturally as if we were the chummiest of buddies. "Take care of yourself, Ellie."
He let go and walked around the car and started walking to the intersection. I called after him, "Did you think I'd let you call me?"
He turned around and smiled. "I thought there was a chance."
"Why?"
He gestured at the police station across the street. "You could have parked anywhere downtown and you parked in front of where I work. You telling me that that was just a coincidence?"
I unlocked my door. "Maybe."
"Well," he said. "There's a whole world of possibility in a maybe."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I was rattled. I can't act like I wasn't.
I watched him walk away, and then I climbed into my car and stared at the steering wheel a moment. I needed to find someplace to lay down.
I drove across the bridge into North Osotouy City and headed for the rundown neighborhood of Godsey Street. It was seedy as all hell, but no one would think to look for me there.
After a few moments of driving around, I saw my resting place.
Exquisite Rooms and Suites was a fancily named shithole that probably hadn't been renovated since 1975. White-gone-grime brick, with a corded off pool empty of everything but rotting leaves, it festered between a dilapidated Pentecostal church and a little ice-packing business.
I parked in front of the manager's office and went inside. A lumpy teenage girl in a tight white tank top stood behind the counter texting on her phone.
She didn't acknowledge me, despite the obvious lack of anything else important to occupy her attention.
I waited. The only things moving in the office were her thumbs.
Finally, she looked up from her phone. Except for a zit the size of a scoop of ice cream on her chin, her face was bland and blank.
"Ready?" I said.
"May I help you?"
"I was beginning to wonder."
"Huh?"
"How much are rooms?"
"Thirty-five a night."
"How much for a suite?"
"What?"
"The sign says you have exquisite suites."
"We only got rooms."
"I'll take one."
She sighed and pulled out a piece of paper for me to sign. There was no computer in the place.
"I'm assuming," I said, "for thirty-five a night that I don't need a credit card."
She shook her head as she filled out the date and rate and room number on the sheet. Then she passed the sheet over to me and said, "Name there. Signature there. And a phone number there."
I filled it out and gave her the cash.
She tore off the yellow copy and handed it to me with a key marked 6 in red ink. Then she picked up her phone and started texting again.
"Pleasure doing business with you," I said.
* * *
The room's green carpeting looked like the rug at a graveside service. The ancient television set had the same brown paneling as the walls, while the stench of mold and old cigarettes battled for dominance.
"Exquisite," I said.
Some weak light sliced in through the edge of the curtain and gave the room a gray hue. I lay down on the bed. It was as soft as a slab, but I lay there and stared at stains on the ceiling.
I listened to my own breathing and felt the vodka numbness of my fingers and toes. I heard my shoes hit the floor before I thought about sliding them off.
Then I was asleep.
* * *
Hours later, I woke up in darkness needing to pee. When I sat up, my whole midsection hurt. My cell phone lay next to me, and I used it for a little illumination until I could get to the bathroom and switch on the light.
Pea green toilet, tub, and counter. One half roll of toilet paper. I peed and checked myself out in the mirror.
Compared to death, I looked okay. Some of the swelling in my nose had gone down.
As I poked gently at my bruises, my phone buzzed. I picked it up. Jack.
"Hey," I said.
"Where you at?"
I told her.
"Why you there? You gonna turn some tricks?"
"What do you mean?"
"That's the crack hotel."
"Really?"
"Go outside and see if you can't make some money sucking dick."
"I'll pass."
"I'm coming over."
I laughed. "You need to make some money?"
"No, but I want to hear how things went today. Not on the phone though."
After I hung up I climbed in the shower to wash off the dirt and sadness. The pressure was excellent and the water stayed warm the entire time I was in there. Score one for Exquisite Rooms and Suites. A decent shower absolved a lot of sins.
I dug through my bag. I was down to my last clean pair of clothes—some jeans, a white tank top, and a black and cream checkered flannel shirt.
About the time I was tying the laces on my sneakers, Jack knocked on the door. I checked to make sure it was her, then I let her inside.
She wore gray pants and a vest over a white shirt with a popped collar. Her gray cap beret sat at a jaunty angle.
"Evenin'," she said.
"Evenin'."
"You got any AC?"
"'Scuse me?"
She gestured around us. "This room is hot as shit."
"I don't think AC is part of the value here."
She nodded. "Mind if I smoke?"
"Don't be funny."
She pulled a pack of
Camel Blues from her pocket and shook one out. I don't usually smoke, but I lifted my chin at her. "You got one of those to spare?"
She handed me one and lit them both.
I inhaled some smoke. Stupid habit, if you think about it. I don't mean the health risk, either. I mean the act itself. It's just breathing in and breathing out, plus poison. Stupid. I enjoyed it, though.
"First butt in a while?" she asked sitting down on the bed and leaning against the wall.
"Yeah."
"When was the last one?"
"A few months ago. One of the broads was leaving and she wanted me to have one with her. Going away party."
"Listen at you. Broads. You old school, Bennett."
"I guess. I never liked bitch. And girl sounds like you're talking about a kid. Women or female sounds kinda clinical. So, yeah, broads."
"Well, I always called my girls, my girls. My crew."
We sat there smoking a while, flicking ashes in a cup from the bathroom.
I asked, "This joint really a place for prostitutes?"
"Whore Central."
"Well, I know how to pick 'em."
She shrugged. "You got that gat I give you, right?"
"Yeah."
"Well then, you'll be fine. Just don't open the door and let nobody in."
"I'm not afraid of random violence at this point. I got enough deliberate violence to keep me busy."
"What Junius say?"
"He said he had to check with Lou Don. Said it'd have to wait until Vinton was in the ground."
"Hmm."
"What?"
"Sounds weird."
"Why?"
"'Cause Junius Kluge a fuckin' gangsta. Don't normally wait to get feedback from the governor."
"What can I say? I killed Lou Don's brother. I expect he'll have something he wants to say about that."
"Makes sense, I guess."
"Yeah."
"Think they'll come across with some money to keep you quiet?"
"Either that or they'll finish what Vin started."
"You got a feeling about which way they'll go?"
I mashed out the cigarette. "Colfax wants to go to Washington. I suspect he'll do whatever it takes to get him there. Killing is messy. Vin's death is already a mess. Alexis is out there bopping around somewhere. And here I am. I just gotta hope he'll figure that I'm a problem he can fix with money. I mean, after all, I am. I am a problem he can fix with money. I just hope he and Kluge see it that way."