Choke on Your Lies

by Anthony Neil Smith

  She said, “I was treated with no respect by people who demand it while doing everything possible to show they don’t deserve it. They looked at me as if I were a pain in the ass rather than someone important.”

  “I’m sure they have to be careful. Can’t be accused of treating some better than others.”

  She gave me a dull-eyed dismissal. “If a celebrity had been arrested for, say, a DUI? They’d have fawned over him. One of our more controversial local politicians? They could’ve voted against that crazy bitch and she still would’ve gotten preferable treatment. Rich car dealer? The guy could’ve ripped them off on cars for their daughters, and still better than what the fat chick got. I saw how a couple of regulars had the run of the place. One of the usual hookers flirted with the cops, and they flirted back. No, dear Mick. It’s nothing to do with fair treatment. It’s because if you’re black, Mexican, Somali, or an obese white bitch, the cops only see guilty because they’re too fucking stupid to know that their reflection on the surface of a lake isn’t a completely different person.”

  Louder and louder she soared until that final sentence, realizing she had the rapt attention of several nearby tables. One man, I’d guess Republican, sure, even smiled, applauded, and said, “You tell ’em.”

  Octavia dropped her head to the table, resting it on her forearm. “I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t do one damned thing to deserve it.”

  Jennings and I let her have the moment. He rubbed her shoulder. This was the most affectionate I’d ever seen them. Any time in the past when they’d approached this level of seeming friendship and understanding, the air would fill as if electrically charged, and one of them would finally strike like lightning. But to see him comfort her made me think of Sharon Olds’s “Primitive”: We sit quietly…./and glance at each other askance, wordless, /the corners of our eyes clear as spear points /laid along the sill to show /a friend sits with a friend here.

  Then Octavia raised herself up, her eye makeup smudged. Jennings offered her a napkin he’d dipped in his water glass. She stared at it for a moment, not reaching. He took another napkin, dipped it in her water glass, careful not to touch the water with his fingers, and handed that one to her, which she accepted.

  He noticed me staring, a bit dumbfounded, and said, “She doesn’t trust me. She thinks I probably have some disease.”

  “Almost assuredly, dear,” Octavia said. “You won’t deny you’re a regular cum dumpster, will you?”

  Jennings’s cheeks flushed like a fresh cut watermelon. He gripped his fingers into fists so hard, I was sure his palms would bleed. He twisted his neck to the left, stretched, and then came back to us. Color returning to normal, taking a bite of his greens.

  I tried to get us on subject. “How long were you in?”

  “You won’t believe this. I don’t know why that woman took so long. I mean, you called her right away, Jennings, and she must’ve stopped off for a pedicure—”

  “How long?”

  Cleared her throat. “Three. Whole. Hours.”

  Jennings was trying hard not to sneer. He cut a look at me that said, You want to throttle her, too. Admit it.

  Yes indeed. Three fucking hours. I said, “Just be grateful you didn’t have to stay overnight.”

  As I’ve said, Octavia is a brilliant woman, well-versed in fighting politely. “Well, obviously. It’s not like I killed my lover or kidnapped my ex.”

  Tucked right back into our meals, all three of us filled our mouths in order to keep from escalating the warfare.

  After several more bites, me having forgotten that I was really full and bloating up like a zeppelin, we were able to talk to one another again without aiming for the jugular. For a while, anyway.

  “So,” Jennings started. Always the diplomat. “Are we assuming that the timing of the arrests was not coincidental?”

  Octavia said, “Not only that, but I believe the person responsible isn’t being subtle about hiding it.”

  “The Provost?”

  “After you, after me, same day. Has influence in the community. I’m sure he still has some reach with that club of his. If not blackmail, then some very grateful members willing to do him a favor.”

  I said, “Do you think Alice might have been ordered to collect some intel?”

  She didn’t like that. A week was the longest I’d ever seen her with one person since college. Actually, two days had been the previous record. After a bark of a laugh, she said, “If so, then I’ve heard just as much to bring him down as she learned about me. But honestly, we’ve been so busy fucking that I don’t remember telling her about the greenhouse. Shit, we haven’t even had that much time to get high.”

  The Republican who had applauded her earlier was now looking over his shoulder with a disgusted expression. It spurred Octavia on further, with a wink aimed at him.

  “A dyke, a slut, some toys, and animal attraction. Why the fuck would we talk about dope?”

  “But maybe you did?”

  “I’m pretty sure it never came up. We talked about weed, and I’ve talked about some I’ve tried that she might enjoy, but did I ever say, ‘Let me go grab some primo White Widow out of my backyard’? I’m not an idiot. Jesus, I’ve been doing it for fifteen fucking years.”

  Jennings said, “Then who? Who else knows?”

  I spoke really quickly. Should’ve thought it through. “You.”

  He shot back, “So do you, asshole.”

  “I’m just saying—”

  “Didn’t take you long to throw me under the bus. You’ve known longer than me. And god knows you told your wife everything.”

  Octavia slapped the table a couple times. “You’re both idiots, and you’ve both told people. Shut up and get real. It’s not just the knowing. It’s the being able to do something with what you know.”

  Jennings and I couldn’t help but glare. Paranoid. I told him, “At least I’m pretty sure you didn’t kill Stephanie and Frances.”

  Flick of the wrist. “Your new bit of stuff was pure soccer mom. She killed herself, fashionwise.”

  “Still, wouldn’t Carl be the obvious suspect in the murder? Or Ashton? Being gone is a convenient excuse. That’s when people order hit men.”

  Octavia scoffed. “Most hit men are undercover cops. The rest are mob guys. Ashton didn’t know any fucking hit men.”

  “He could’ve looked one up.”

  “I don’t think he expected to be gone as long as he did. And he couldn’t hire a killer over the phone without a face-to-face. So, unlikely.”

  I looked down to find I was mindlessly twirling my spoon around in my Pho. It seemed really suspicious for a killer to announce himself like this. Especially if I was supposedly the sideshow rather than the big tent act.

  Octavia had already gotten there. “First, if it’s this obvious, there has to be something else going on. Second, it could be that Mick is the star of this ridiculous show, and they had guessed that my finances would support his legal defense. They risked taking me off the playing field on the hopes that Pamela would be busy enough with me, draining my few remaining resources, and unable to help you. A miscalculation, absolutely. But still…” She twisted some noodles around on her chopsticks and lifted them to her mouth, sucked up several strands. Chewed and talked. “Still, it shows a strategy. This is someone who’s been thinking for a while. Maybe a week is long enough.”

  “Can it be so clear to us, but impossible to prove to the police?”

  She shrugged. “That would make whoever this is a Professor Fucking Moriarity. You think that fits Carl?”

  “Kind of.”

  She looked at me, then Jennings, then back to me. “All I know is that it took someone we know selling out private information about us, and that if it turns out to be one of you, then God help you.”

  “Me? I’m being charged with murder here! Jesus Christ, Octavia!”

  “That’s good enough for me. How about you, Sweet Cheeks?”

  Jennings didn’t sa
y anything at first. I thought a confession was coming on, growing from the pit of his heart, through his lungs, about to erupt from his mouth. And I hate to say it, but if it had, a part of me would have been relieved, and another part would’ve not been surprised. Really.

  But when he did finally speak, it was soft and to the point. “Octavia, I hate you. I hate how you treat me. I hate the terrible things you call me because I’m gay, especially when you’re the most butch dyke I’ve ever seen. I hate how you spoil me by letting me buy all the clothes I never thought I would be able to own. I hate how my salary and benefits and free travel make it impossible for me to quit this job, impossible to have a real relationship, impossible to be anyone other than who you want me to be.”

  Octavia’s gaze was stone. They looked each other right in the eye as he spilled, devastatingly quiet throughout. “I can’t stand to look at you, and how you just seem to get bigger and bigger and how I’m supposed to celebrate what you’re doing to yourself rather than criticizing you and helping you get healthy. I hate your cruelty to others. I hate how selfish and petty you can be. I hate what you did last week to those people, I truly do. And I often fantasize about your death, or some catastrophic failure, or your complete physical or psychic breakdown. I do. I revel in it. But…listen to me good…”

  We were on the edges of our seats. At least I was.

  He said, “I would stop a bullet for you. I do everything I can everyday to make you as much money as possible. I never say a critical word outside our circle of friends. I spent all day yesterday putting our emergency plan into effect, and I won’t leave your side, not ever, as long as I know you need me through this. The one good thing I’ll say about you is that you have been loyal to me, and I can never repay that enough. I hate you like I hate my mother, cutting me off the day I came out to her. But whatever it is that makes me cry when I think about all I miss about her, I’m able to find in you. I hate you, and I care about you, and I would never do something like this to you, understand? And If you ever entertain any such thought or suggestion ever again, I will kill myself in your home in the messiest possible way. Got it?”

  The staring contest went on a little longer. Holy God, I’d been waiting for that day to come, but I never thought it would. She needed to hear it. Jennings was a human being with feelings and had treated her better than she deserved. And now, it took this to make him open up.

  Octavia broke off the staredown, winked at me and said, “Who knew this little faggot had it in him?” She reached over, patted Jennings’s hand. “Feel better now? Fine, I get it. You’re a drama queen with too weak a spine to rat me out. Let’s move on.”

  He actually grinned at her. A good sign, I hoped. But he wiped his mouth on the napkin, said, “Fuck you,” then stood and walked out of the restaurant.

  “Aw, come on, get back here.” Louder as she spoke to his back. Farther and farther. “Jennings! Jennings! Don’t be such a pussy!”

  Once he was out the door, she pushed her chair back. “Shit, let’s catch him before he finds some huge cocked bear to console him. Mick, sweetie, could you pay the bill? Jennings has all my money right now.”

  She hefted herself up and made a beeline for the door, as fast as she was able, and left me with three fortune cookies and a check that was probably going to break my bank card.

  SEVEN

  I was being followed. Cops. They either thought I was too dumb to realize it or they didn’t care if I knew.

  Couldn’t wait to find out what they would do when it became obvious I was investigating on my own. Another arrest? Impeding? Contempt?

  I was driving to campus, hoping to catch the Provost in his office. Going right in there to tell him Frances was missing, Stephanie was dead, and that I think he had something to do with it. Octavia thought it was probably a good idea, having observed how he reacted to the revelation of his swingers club the week before. Like a volcano. He definitely liked control, and he was ready to “throwdown” if you challenged him. But Octavia taught me what to look for—the tells that gave away truth and lies.

  And thankfully, Jennings had calmed down by then and was able to contribute. Like brother and sister, those two. He had spotted the cops earlier on our way home from the restaurant, and said the best course of action was to go on with our lives.

  Octavia had said, “That’s pretty stupid.”

  And we had asked her to explain, of course.

  “Well, guilty people would go on with their lives, try to make believe everything’s fine. Innocent people would do everything they could to show that they didn’t do it.”

  “I don’t think Pamela would agree with that.”

  Octavia spread her arms wide, looked around the study. “And do you see her here? Where is our high-priced lawyer when we need her most?”

  I’d thought about answering Working her ass off to save us, but decided against it.

  And so there I was, heading over to see the closest thing I had to an archenemy to accuse him of killing my ex-wife and the married woman I was having an affair with, who was also our colleague.

  Since I had promised to stay off campus, I was prepared for it to end in fireworks. I parked in the administration parking lot, hoping my permit was still valid and not on someone’s “red flag” list. As I walked across the parking lot, I kept my head down, moving fast, hoping not to be recognized. Inside, up the stairs, and into the danger zone. Of course every secretary and executive assistant and professor and maybe even some of the student workers knew the whole story—even the part about my arrest—and knew I wasn’t supposed to be there.

  But no one stopped me. They were openly staring, but no one said a word as I crossed into the provost’s waiting area to find Alice seated at her desk.

  I stopped. I squinted. I said, “Hey.”

  Her chin was propped on the heel of her hand, elbow on the desk. Her spaghetti strap top was off one shoulder, showing whoever walked by a lot of skin. Satsuma orange fingernails rested on her cheek. Like she’d been waiting for me. Back to her usual flirty self. I was somewhat sure she hadn’t been at work all week, spending most of the time with Octavia. In fact, she only left once, bundled in a bathrobe, to go home for a change of clothes. God knows what had happened to the ones she’d shown up in.

  But I had been with Stephanie a lot myself, our days and nights getting tangled and mixed up, wandering around her house naked, rarely showering, me occasionally throwing on pants and a t-shirt to find whatever cuisine best went along with whatever carnal pleasure we’d submerged ourselves in.

  I blinked. Alice’s dreamy grin widened so much, her eyes nearly closed.

  She asked, “Didn’t get raped in jail by any chance, did you?”

  “They kept me by myself.”

  She snapped her fingers and made an Aw, nuts face. “Aw, nuts. And here I thought we’d finally have something in common.”

  “Alice, please—”

  A roll of her eyes, a waving-off of her free hand. “Don’t worry. Just ribbing you. I’m the one who wanted to fuck you, after all. The other stuff, let’s call it even.”

  That didn’t make me feel any better. As long as I lived, I’d always have that fear in my gut that Alice wasn’t really kidding.

  She said, “You want to see him, I guess?”

  I nodded. “I’m not asking. I’m going right in.”

  “Fine. I don’t give a shit.” She toed something under her desk. “Got a box right here. It’s my last day. Told him this morning.”

  “Really?”

  “Honest to whatever. I wish you’d introduced me to her sooner, you know. Maybe if you’d trusted me a little. I’ve never met anyone like her. Octavia’s very special.”

  Special as in bitter? Angry? Bitchy? Selfish? Vindictive? Snobbish? Outrageously mean? “Yeah, well. We’ve been friends for a long time.”

  “She thinks the world of you. Says you’ve really been amazing, and she trusts you. If I’d only known, Mick.”

  Well that w
as just swell. I was the subject of pillow talk. I clutched my stomach, then pointed to the Provost’s office. “I’m going in now.”

  Alice shrugged. “Go for it. I’ll say I wasn’t here when you showed up. In fact, good time for a cigarette break.”

  She stood, brushed by me too close—smelling like perfume, sex, and smoke—and was gone, her flip-flops noisily accenting each swish of her hips.

  *

  How hard did I want to go in? Too hard and I’d get laughed out of the room. Too soft, and he’d have a chance to bounce me out before I’d had my say.

  Hand on the door handle. Now the next step was to push it down, swing it open, step in and start talking.

  So that’s what I did.

  Pushed it down. Swung it open. Stepped inside and started with, “Carl, you’re going to tell me what you did to Frances and pay for what you did to Stephanie.”

  Except he wasn’t alone. Sitting across from Carl, who had obviously been crying recently, were Detectives Fitzgerald and Labat. They turned in their chairs, gave me a cold once over. Labat looked away, shook his head, and muttered, “Fuck Christ, what a tool.”

  Gee, Alice, thanks for the early warning. I froze, felt as if my feet were literally encased in ice.

  Carl said, “Geez, Mick, how can you even say that?”

  “After what you’ve put me through? Don’t even.” I looked at Fitzgerald. “He’s your killer, not me. He’s made it pretty obvious.”

  “Because he had an affair with your ex-wife? The man’s in serious pain here, and you’re calling him a killer?”

  Maybe I underestimated how much Carl loved Frances. Maybe he was a great actor. But I realized that telling the detectives about the swingers club would open a whole new can of worms, one that would drag us under even farther.

  I said, “Well he certainly had it in him more than me.”

  Fitzgerald said, “Yeah, we know.”

  “You do?”

  The detective pointed at the Provost. “He’s spent the last twenty minutes going to bat for you. Said there’s no way you had anything to do with this.”