A slow smile curled her mouth. “I underestimated you, Z. Z.. We may pull this off yet.” She kissed me hard and quick like she was sealing the deal before I could change my mind. It must have been quite a roller coaster ride for her. Just a minute ago, she was ready to run for her life, take it all on the lam. Now she saw an opportunity to get off scot-free, money and all. She melted against me, growing warm with relief and mounting passion.
I pulled away from her. “But don’t think I’ve suddenly gone soft in the head,” I told her. “We aren’t going to have any rest until I get a few things clear. The police say they have eyewitnesses, people who said I’m the murderer. Care to explain that?”
She batted her eyes at me. “What make you think little old me would know anything about that?”
I tightened my grip on her arm and she winced. I said, “I’m getting sick of that tune. If we’re going to be partners in this, you’d better play straight.”
She jerked away from me. “Idiot. Some detective. Maybe you didn’t notice, but all the so-called eyewitnesses were men. Men who lived around here. Men I’d met at the club. Horny, desperate older men who were more than happy to do me a favor. You should have heard my story. I was an angel and you were a piece of shit. I had them feeling like heroes, like they should get a medal for saying you put the knife in pretty little Rachel.”
“But it wasn’t me.”
She smiled without warmth. “No one knows that better than I do.”
“Okay.” I’d heard enough. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“We should get out of here,” I said. “Go someplace and lay low for awhile. Grab your suitcase.”
We went downstairs and out the door, and she dropped the suitcase when she saw Nelson standing there with the cuffs in his hand. She just stood in stunned silence while he read her rights.
“This is preposterous,” she snapped. “I haven’t done anything wrong. It was Z. Z.,” she screamed at Nelson. “Z. Z., you fucking flatfoot!”
I told Nelson everything she’d said up in her bedroom.
“He’s lying!” Nania strained against the handcuffs. She tried to kick me, snarling like an animal. Nelson held her back. “You can’t prove a thing, you son of a bitch. Nothing.”
I unfolded the receipt I’d found in Robert Woolf’s wallet and showed it to her. “Your husband just had to know what you were doing in his bedroom while he was away. He bought some very expensive equipment.”
The receipt was handwritten from Larry’s Electronic Emporium. It listed five items: miniature cameras, microphones, cables, computer and modem. It had been Robert Woolf who’d wired the room for spy work.
“And the cameras were still rolling when we had our little confab upstairs,” I said. “The microphones caught every word.”
Nania spit, and a hot wad of saliva caught me on the cheek. I wiped it off with my thumb.
“I’ll get you for this, Z. Z. DelPresto.” Her eyes radiated hate. “I’ll make you suffer.”
“Somebody recently told me we were all going to hell,” I said. “You’ll get your chance then.”
Nelson put her in the car, but I told him I’d call a cab. I couldn’t ride with her or be close to her, couldn’t bring myself to look at Nania.
They drove away, left me there with hands thrust deep in pockets. They weren’t even my pants.
EPILOGUE
The next three days were ugly and nervous. I was in and out of the police station a dozen times. The cops kept pointing at bodies and asking me what I knew about making them dead. I gave them the pasteurized version of the story, slapping on more coats of whitewash than Tom Sawyer.
The cops rounded up the “witnesses” to Rachel’s murder and leaned on them hard to get the truth. Once the first one cracked, the rest fell in line like a string of Christmas tree lights, all shedding light on our little tragedy’s ultimate villain.
Nania didn’t quite look so sexy in the orange jumpsuit the county had given her. I saw her once at a distance outside the Mobile courthouse. She looked drawn and beaten. I guessed there wasn’t much fight left in her.
I sat in Chuck’s Chuck Wagon reading the apartment listings. My old place stank too much of blood and failure. I needed a new place. A cheap place. Hell, maybe a place out of town.
But that wouldn’t work. Nelson made it clear he’d bust my kneecaps if I tried to skip. They wanted me around for the trial. Sure. Just check me into the Best Western, okay?
Millie brought me a double order of bacon, five fried eggs and toast. I didn’t have much of an appetite, but a fellow had to keep his strength up.
“You okay, Z. Z.,” asked Millie. “You look a little down.”
“I’ve been having woman troubles.”
“You should let me hook you up with my cousin Irene. She used to be a model, you know.”
“You want to set her up with me?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t you like your cousin?”
“Just a thought.” She left.
I set aside the apartment listings and scanned the local section. What I saw put me off my breakfast.
The lead story was about some dead kid who’d washed up on shore. Under identifying marks they’d listed a nose ring. Police were currently investigating.
Perfect.
I reconsidered my kneecaps. Maybe getting out of town would be the best thing after all.
Tipper Jenkins stumbled into the Chuck Wagon with pencils in his nose. His detective radar must’ve been on because he spotted me in one second flat and shambled over.
“Z. Z. old Delly-delly-DelPresto! I got the scores, m-my man.” He sat down without invitation.
“Not now, Tipper. It’s been a rough couple days.”
“Turn that luck around Mr. M-man. Get the scores from tip tip Tipper. You want to win don’t you? You want to clean up up up, right?”
“Not today, okay? Lay off.”
“Egg salad sandwich.”
“I don’t have one on me.”
“You’ll lose, z-z-Z. Z. man. If you don’t have the inside poop you’ll lose out. You’ll always lose.”
I knew that already, but I thanked him for the tip.
END
Victor Gischler is the author of five novels, including Gun Monkeys, Go Go Girls of the Apocalypse, and Vampire a Go Go. He is currently writing for the Marvel Comics title X-Men and Deadpool Corps. He lives in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
Visit him at http://victorgischler.blogspot.com/
Anthony Neil Smith is the author of five novels, including Psychosomatic, Yellow Medicine, and Hogdoggin’. His most recent, Choke on Your Lies, is an e-original currently on Amazon.com and BN.com. He is the editor of PLOTS WITH GUNS e-zine, and the Director of Creative Writing at Southwest Minnesota State University.
Visit him at http://anthonyneilsmith.typepad.com
To the Devil, My Regards Page 7
