by Nathan Field
I changed the subject. “You look better. The color’s back in your cheeks.”
“Yes, all thanks to you. Maybe you should give up journalism and take up nursing.”
“The money’s probably better,” I smiled. “How’s the bruising?”
She pressed the ice pack against her stomach. “Numb.”
“You’ll look like an eggplant when the swelling goes down.”
She laughed cautiously. “It’s not that bad.”
I stared at her. “No Lucy. It is that bad.”
“Please, don’t start …”
“–How long are you going to put with this? You have to report him.”
“I’m not reporting him.”
“Are you crazy? He treats you like a punching bag.”
“Once in a blue moon. He’s not so bad.”
“Bullshit, Lucy. Listen to yourself – Oh, he’s not so bad. What are you a fifties housewife? You don’t have to put up with this shit.”
“God, do I have to spell it out for you? If I report him, he’ll divorce me. And I can’t allow that to happen.”
“Why the hell not? I know you don’t love him. Just divorce the old prick and take half his money. It’s what he deserves.”
Lucy shook her head sadly. “Oh Johnny, are you really that naïve? You think a man like Sterling is going to marry a woman thirty years his junior and not take precautions?”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
Lucy gave me a patient look. “Sterling made me sign a pre-nup,” she explained. “His first wife took him to the cleaners, so I understood where he was coming from. And despite what everyone thinks, I loved him in the beginning. Maybe it wasn’t a passionate, rip-your-clothes-off kind of love, but I really did care for him. He was sweet to me, and I believed him when he said the pre-nup was just to get his lawyer off his case. So I signed. And now I’m entitled to nothing.”
“Almost nothing or literally nothing?”
“The literal kind. I get what I took into the marriage, which is nothing, plus what I’ve earned since the marriage – also nothing.”
“But that’s so one-sided.”
“Yeah, I see that now. A few months ago I took the pre-nup to a divorce lawyer, to see if the contract would hold up in court. He said it might be contestable, but even if I won a ruling, I’d only end up with a percentage of Sterling’s income over the past two years. Maybe a hundred grand, max. The bulk of his wealth – the business, the properties, the investments – I couldn’t touch. Apparently I’d waived so many rights I’d be lucky if he didn’t charge me back-rent on the house.”
“But he beats you. A judge is bound to be sympathetic.”
“So Sterling might serve time for assault, but that wouldn’t affect the split of assets. The pre-nup takes precedence over any wrongdoing.”
I didn’t know enough about the legal system to contradict her, but I struggled to believe that a divorce could be so grossly unfair. “You should get a second opinion,” I said.
“I’ve had three opinions already. The answer’s the same, there’s no grey area. The pre-nup’s iron clad.”
I turned away from her, closing my eyes. I could feel a headache coming on.
“Don’t worry, it’s not all doom and gloom,” Lucy said. “There’s this thing called a sunset clause. After five years the agreement lapses, and I’ll be entitled to a fair share. I’ve only got three years to go.”
I sprung off the bed, unable to contain my frustration. Lucy’s cynical view of marriage – as tour of duty to be endured for monetary gain – made my head throb. I always knew she was high maintenance, but it was painful to hear her speak so plainly. It was like she didn’t have a romantic bone in her body.
When I turned back to her, her eyes were like pointed blades.
“Don’t you dare judge me,” she said. “You think I’m a gold-digger now? A whore? Well fuck you, Johnny!”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“It’s written all over you face!” she yelled, hurling back the covers and jumping out of bed to square up to me. “I’m not ashamed of what I’ve done, it’s only assholes like you who make me feel guilty. I’m a thirty-four-year-old print model, I don’t have a lifetime of earnings ahead of me. So yes, that’s part of the reason I settled down with Sterling, to secure my future. And I’m sure as hell not walking away with nothing.”
My right of reply was intercepted by the phone ringing. Lucy glared at me for a few seconds before moving to the nightstand. She snatched up the receiver and turned her back to me, speaking in a hushed voice.
“No, I’m alone,” she said. “Because I’m in pain…..I’ve been in bed all day……no, I’m not going to hospital.”
There was a long pause, and although Lucy pressed the receiver hard against her ear, I could just make out Sterling’s muffled growl. I clenched my teeth as I listened to Lucy’s voice become pleading.
“Sterling, I need another day….you really hurt me this time….no, there’s no one here….I swear, I’m all alone....Sterling….”
I heard the line click, and Lucy stood motionless for a moment. Then she sat down on the bed, looking down at the floor.
“What is it?” I said.
“You have to go,” she said in a flat voice. “He’s coming back, he’ll be here in less than an hour.”
I laughed in disbelief. “You’re kicking me out so you can make nice with the wife beater?”
Lucy lifted her head slowly, looking at me with dead eyes. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
In that moment, my perspective changed. Being a supportive boyfriend wasn’t going to solve the problem. Lucy was determined to take a sizable chunk of her husband’s money, even if it meant taking a serious beating once in a while, and I was making it easier for her to stay with him: whisking her away on romantic trysts, showering her with affection, giving her everything she wasn’t getting at home.
For the first time since we’d met, I let my head rule my heart. “Okay, fine. You’ve made your position clear.”
Lucy stared at me expectantly, waiting for the rest of my spiel. But I was done talking. I wasn’t going to be a pleasant distraction in her five year investment plan. If she couldn’t offer me the hope of a proper relationship, she could find herself a new fuck buddy.
I left the bedroom without another word. I paused only once on the way out, in the entrance hall when I heard her sobbing, but I quickly collected myself and focused on getting out the front door.
Lucy had made her luxury king-size bed. Now she could lie in it.
11. “What if something horrible has happened?”
I met Bruno at a mini-mart just before sunrise. He’d already stuffed a handcart full of donuts, pretzels, Butterfingers and Coke in preparation for his long shift. He was excited about the prospect of a stakeout, even though I guessed his enthusiasm for twiddling his thumbs and eating junk food wouldn’t last beyond lunchtime.
Heading back to my building, I told Bruno about the dark corner of the parking lot where he could keep watch over my car space. He balked at the idea, insisting on enjoying his stakeout from the comfort of my office. I pointed out the obvious danger, but he argued that if the killer walked in the door, he’d back himself to prevail. I could tell that Bruno didn’t really believe there was a killer, which was a risk in itself, but when he made it clear that it was either an office stakeout or no stakeout at all, I reluctantly agreed to his revised plan.
After setting Bruno up in my office, I drove back to Potrero Hill. The super had my new keys ready, and it was a huge relief to feel secure in my apartment again. I skipped my usual morning wind down and went straight to bed, falling asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
I woke at 4:45pm, an hour earlier than usual. I called Bruno right away, anxious to hear his report, but his cell went straight to voice-mail, and there was no answer on my office line. My mind immediately started playing tricks on me. Where the fuck was he? I’d told him
not to leave the building, otherwise the stakeout was a waste of time.
After sending Bruno a call me ASAP text, I switched on the five o’clock news. Three stories into the bulletin, there was a brief progress report on Ralph Emerson’s murder. A detective with slicked back hair pleaded for eye-witnesses to come forward. Images of Ralph’s family flashed on screen. Then a bubbly news reporter said “sources close to the case” believed the killer knew the victim because the “modus operandi” didn’t fit with a robbery or mugging.
In other words, neither the cops nor the media had a damn clue. If there was anything remotely sinister or surprising about Ralph’s past, the media would’ve been all over it, desperate for a new spin on a rapidly cooling story. It was possible the police were keeping something juicy under wraps, but I just couldn’t see it. They were still getting in front of the media, pleading for eye witnesses, hoping for a lucky break.
The only clues the killer had left were the ones he’d personally delivered to me. I was the ultimate target of whatever retribution he was seeking, and he wanted me to make a connection – a link between Ralph and Sacramento. But as yet, I couldn’t find the common thread.
I stood up and let out a deep breath, giving my brain a rest. The more I tried to force the pieces together, the more distorted the big picture became. I had to concentrate on the present, and the stakeout at my office. If I solved one little mystery, maybe everything else would fall into place.
I called Bruno’s cell again, cursing when I hit his voice-mail. I sent him another call me text and followed it up with a WTF? Then I went and stood in front of my living room windows, gazing into the misty blue evening. The base of my spine suddenly shivered, like it had been daubed with an ice-cold washcloth.
Bruno never turned off his cell phone, ever. He was paranoid about missing an important call, thinking it could be a heavyweight booking agent, or a film producer, or Jimmy Kimmel. For the same reasons, he was constantly checking his messages and always replied right away.
Bruno wasn’t shirking his duties. He was in trouble.
.
San Francisco at 6pm was at the very edge of my comfort zone, even in October when night had already fallen. After eight years of nocturnal living, I just wasn’t used to rush hour crowds anymore. And Christ was downtown crowded. The roads were choked with commuter traffic, and the city’s office workers were pouring onto the streets like there was a coming apocalypse. I was relieved to be in my car, encased in steel and tinted glass, with the doors securely locked. That way I could pretend the chaos surrounding me was like a cheap 3D movie, a nightmare world that would soon disappear.
Turning down the ramp to my building, the basement parking lot was still half full, and my mind quickly raced ahead, imagining crowded lifts, strangers in the corridor, and random knocks on my office door. But before fear could paralyze my joints, I reminded myself why I was here. Bruno. My self-indulgent anxiety attacks would have to wait another day.
I needn’t have worried about my office building being a hive of activity. I enjoyed a solitary elevator ride to the fourth floor, and passed only one person in the corridor – a shambling, white-haired man in a frayed brown suit. I prepared to offer a polite nod, but the white-haired man lowered his head when he saw me coming, frowning down at the carpet. I guessed my scarred face and sunglasses must’ve looked even more sinister in the workplace.
Reaching my suite, I put an ear to the door. All I could hear were creaking footsteps from the floor above. The door was unlocked, and when I pushed it open, I was struck by freshness of the air. So, the killer hadn’t visited the office. But what had happened to Bruno?
It didn’t surprise me that there was no one inside. I’d expected as much, given the unanswered phone calls. But I was disturbed by the lack of evidence Bruno had spent any time in the office at all.
Everything was exactly as I’d left it the night before. The lights were dimmed. The second desk was bare. My chair was pushed up against my desk, my computer was switched off, and all of my papers and folders were arranged in their correct piles. Even the trashcan was conspicuously clean.
Bruno was a born slob – he liked eating and drinking in large quantities, and always left a trail of debris in his wake. If he’d spent even an hour my office, the only explanation for its immaculate state was that he’d cleaned up after himself. And that was beyond belief.
My mind scrambled for the next step. What I really needed to do was drive over to Albany and check on his apartment. The reason for his absence could be as mundane as he’d fallen ill and taken to bed, shutting off his phone so he wouldn’t be disturbed. I hated the thought of battling bridge traffic at rush hour, but since an overcrowded train was out of the question, I couldn’t see any other way.
Then I remembered Chloe. Of course. I didn’t know her number, or even her last name, but I knew where she lived – South of Market, just a short drive away. If anyone could shed light on Bruno’s whereabouts, it was his new girlfriend.
I couldn’t recall Chloe’s exact address, having only visited once to meet Bruno, but after ten minutes of circling one-way streets, I found her apartment block – a dreary concrete mid-rise near the freeway turnoff. I parked in a yellow zone outside and went up to the entrance, sucking the night air deep into my lungs.
The apartment directory only showed numbers, and I annoyed a couple of Chloe’s neighbors before her voice came over the intercom. She sounded distracted, buzzing me in before I could finish my greeting.
I took my time climbing the stairs to the second floor, wiping the sweat from my brow and pulling my shirt away from my chest. My plan was to play it cool and casual, like I just happened to be in the neighborhood and thought Bruno might’ve stopped by. However, when a dark-haired woman opened the door, I was momentarily thrown.
“Maxine,” I blurted after an awkward pause. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Chloe asked me to come over,” she said coolly.
She appeared to be wearing the same clothes as the night before – a white blouse and tailored black trousers – although I supposed she could’ve owned more than one set. She remained in the doorway, blocking my entrance.
“What’s going on?” I said. “Can’t I come in?”
She squinted at me thoughtfully, like she was actually considering saying no.
“Max,” I heard Chloe call from inside. “Let him through.”
My eyebrows lifted over my shades, and Maxine finally got the message and stood aside. She wasn’t happy about it though, grumbling under her breath. I wondered – was she upset about the night before? I’d let her down pretty gently, but maybe she wasn’t used to rejection.
I quickly forgot about Maxine’s feelings when I entered the cramped living room and saw Chloe slumped on the sofa. She was wearing a black cocktail dress and sparkling jewelry, but her make-up and hair were a mess.
“Are you okay?” I said.
“I was stood up.”
“You don’t know that,” Maxine said, stepping around me to join Chloe on the sofa.
“I do,” Chloe insisted. “He’s got cold feet.”
“Could someone tell me what’s going on?” I said.
Chloe turned to Maxine. “You tell him,” she said. “See what he thinks.”
Maxine frowned. “He’s his best friend. He’s not going to give you an honest answer.”
“I swear to God, I have no idea what you girls are talking about. I came here looking for Bruno, that’s all.”
Chloe gave me a tired once over. “Yeah, he’s alright, Max. I believe him.” She smiled at me weakly. “Why don’t you take a seat?”
I lowered myself into an armchair as Maxine’s dark eyes studied me intently. She’d obviously been on her best behavior at the Red Drum, but now I’d been stricken off as a potential boyfriend, her true nature was shining through. I’d dodged an even bigger bullet than I’d first thought.
She said, “The situation is, Bruno called Chloe this morni
ng and told her to get ready for a date tonight–”
“–a special date,” Chloe said.
“A special date,” Maxine confirmed patiently. “He said she should wear a nice dress and pack an overnight bag. Beyond that, he wouldn’t say. Only to be ready at six when he’d pick her up.”
I checked my watch. “It’s only just gone seven.”
“He’s not coming,” Chloe dismissed. “Bruno’s never late.”
“Have you tried calling him?” I said.
“He’s switched his phone off!” Chloe said, throwing her hands in the air. She also understood that Bruno couldn’t stand to be incommunicado.
“So that’s where we are,” Maxine said. “Waiting to hear from Bruno.”
“He’s obviously run off,” Chloe said. “Did he say anything to you, Sam?”
I paused to recap. The inference of the special date was clear – Bruno had planned to pop the question – but Chloe believed he’d chickened out at the last minute. He’d switched his phone off because he couldn’t handle talking to her and, for all she knew, their relationship was over.
I wanted to defend my friend’s honor, but I couldn’t risk Chloe finding out about the stakeout. She’d be onto the police in a nanosecond, and the whole sordid can of worms would open up.
I felt guilty about misleading her, but I had to play dumb. “No, this is all news to me,” I said, which was technically true. Bruno hadn’t said a word to me about his plans to propose.
“But you can connect the dots,” Chloe said.
I nodded, stealing a glance at Maxine who continued to eye me suspiciously. She wasn’t swallowing a word of my story.
“Do you have any idea where he might’ve gone?” Chloe asked.
“No, that’s why I’m here. I was going to run some new material by him but I couldn’t get past his voice-mail.”
