by Joy Fielding
For an instant, Will thought Tom was about to cry, and he actually felt himself feeling sorry for him.
It was at that moment that Tom lifted up his head and smiled. “Contrite enough for you?” he asked with a wink.
“Much better,” Jeff said, laughing.
“Shit,” said Will.
“Okay. Think you’re ready to get out of here?”
“He’s not driving my car,” Tom said, pointing an accusing finger at Will.
“Fine. I’ll drive your car,” Jeff said. “Will, you can drive mine.”
“Good by me.”
“Okay, so what are you gonna tell the cops?” Jeff asked Tom.
“That I’m sorry, and that I promise to be a good little boy,” he answered.
“You’ll stay away from your wife?” the police officer who’d brought him in was asking moments later.
“I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.”
“Good,” the officer said. “Because it’s my understanding she’ll be filing a restraining order against you first thing in the morning.”
“What the fuck . . .”
“Tom,” Jeff warned.
“Her parents, too. And once they do that, our hands are tied. We’ll have to arrest you if you go anywhere near them.”
“Sons of bitches . . .”
“Look,” the policeman said. “I understand your frustration. I really do. My ex pulled the same shit with me. But there’s nothing you can do except make matters worse. Trust me.”
“‘Trust me,’” Tom repeated. “Why do people always say that?”
“You ready?” Jeff asked.
Tom reached for the magazine he’d been perusing prior to Jeff’s entrance. “Mind if I take this with?” he asked. “There’s this article I was reading. . . .”
“Be my guest.”
“Thanks.”
“Stay out of trouble,” the officer called as they walked past the high counter of the reception desk in the main lobby toward the exit. A woman officer smiled at Jeff as they were leaving.
As soon as they were in the parking lot, Tom tossed the magazine into a nearby garbage bin.
“What’d you do that for?” Will asked.
“It’s a magazine about fucking wildlife,” Tom sneered. “Speaking of which, did you know that armadillos are running amok in the state of Florida?”
Jeff laughed. “Get in the car, bozo, before I turn you in again myself.” He tossed his car keys toward Will. “You know how to get home?”
“No idea,” Will said.
“He’s clueless,” Tom said, sliding into the passenger seat of his car.
“Okay, follow me.” Jeff climbed behind the wheel of Tom’s Impala, turned on the ignition. “Shit. Do you know you’re almost out of gas?”
“It wasn’t my idea to drive all the way down here.” Tom started to laugh, was still laughing as Jeff backed out of the tight parking space and turned onto the dark street.
“You think this is funny, do you?” Jeff asked, almost choking on the stale odor of cigarette smoke. He rolled down the window.
“You’d think it was funny too, man, if you knew what I do.”
“Which is?”
“Stop the car a minute and I’ll show you.”
“What?”
“I’m telling you—stop the car.”
Jeff pulled Tom’s Impala to a halt a block from the station house. Immediately, Will pulled to a halt behind them.
“What’s wrong?” Will asked, approaching quickly on foot.
“Check under the seat, man,” Tom instructed Jeff.
“What?”
“Check under the seat.”
Jeff lowered his arm beneath the driver’s seat and began rummaging around until he felt something hard and cold. When he brought his hand up seconds later, his fingers were curled around the barrel of a gun.
“Shit,” Will exclaimed, feeling as if he was about to be sick.
“What a hoot!” Tom shouted. “Dumb cops drive my car all the way down here. They don’t even do a search. Don’t have a warrant, I guess. Can you beat that? Stupid fascists.”
“I don’t believe you,” Will said, his legs starting to shake with a combination of fear and relief. “You’re going to get us all thrown in jail, you stupid son of a bitch.”
“Get back in the car, Will,” Jeff told him. “We’ll meet you at the apartment.” He dropped the gun to his lap.
“Give me that,” Tom said, reaching for it.
Jeff knocked his hand aside. “Finders, keepers,” he said.
KRISTIN WAS WAITING for them at the front door of their apartment.
“What are you doing home?” Jeff asked her as the three men walked inside. He checked his watch. It wasn’t even eleven o’clock.
Kristin followed the movement of Jeff’s arm. “It wasn’t busy. Joe said I could go home early. Is that a gun?” she asked, all in one breath.
Jeff handed it to her. “Put it somewhere safe,” he said without explanation.
“Hey,” Tom protested. “That’s mine.”
“Not till you learn a little self-control.”
Tom plopped down into the beige leather chair he’d occupied earlier in the day. “No biggie. You can keep it. I got others.”
Will marched into the kitchen and poured a glass of water, which he drank down in one gulp.
“Is somebody going to tell me what happened?” Kristin asked, her gaze shifting from the gun in her hand to Jeff.
“Allow me,” Tom said, quickly detailing the events of the past twelve hours. “Did you know that there is actually such a thing as a flying squirrel, although they don’t really fly so much as glide, by way of a skin flap that balloons out from their bodies?” He smiled.
“What the hell is he talking about?” Kristin asked Will as he reentered the room.
Will shrugged, feeling faint as he sank down on the sofa.
“It’s true,” Tom said. “I read about it in Wildlife Digest. Anyone for a beer?”
“Bar’s closed,” Kristin said. “Look, Tom, you’ve had a very full day. I think you should go home and get a good night’s sleep.”
Tom reluctantly pushed himself to his feet. “You really not gonna give me back my gun?” He extended his hand toward Kristin.
“Not a chance,” Jeff said, stepping between them.
“Aah,” Tom moaned. “And I really felt like killing someone tonight.”
“Just stay away from Lainey,” Jeff warned him.
“How about we kill the good doctor instead?”
“What?” asked Jeff and Will simultaneously.
“What?” Kristin asked, half a beat behind.
“The Pomegranate’s husband. Apparently he’s some big-shot doctor at Miami General.”
“His name wouldn’t be Dave Bigelow, would it?” Kristin asked, as all three men’s heads swiveled in her direction. She was holding her breath as she reached into the side pocket of her short black skirt, extracted Dave’s card, held it out.
“Where’d you get this?” Jeff asked, taking it from her and perusing it quickly.
“He was at the bar tonight,” Kristin explained, feeling her pulse quicken. “He hit on me.”
“Smug bastard,” Jeff said, crumpling Dave’s business card in his tight fist. “Do you believe this guy?”
“But how would he know . . . ?” Kristin began.
“He mentioned the Wild Zone at the car the other day. Suzy must have told him about it,” Jeff said.
“He probably beat it out of her,” Will added.
“Piece of shit,” Tom said. “We should go over there right now, kill the bastard dead. Just like Suzy asked us to.”
“What?” Jeff and Kristin asked in the same breath.
“She wasn’t serious,” Will said quickly.
“I beg to differ,” Tom said. “I think she was serious as shit. Come on. We could bet on it. Whoever fires the first shot wins the damsel in distress. What do you say?”
�
�I say, go home, Tom,” Jeff said.
“It’s perfect. We go over there, we shoot the bastard, Suzy’s so grateful, she fucks all three of us. You, too, if you’re interested,” he offered Kristin.
“Go home, Tom,” Kristin said.
“Will you at least think about it?”
Jeff walked Tom to the door. The nerve of that guy, he was thinking. What was that smug bastard trying to prove? That he was top dog? That you didn’t mess with him without consequences? Well, if consequences were what the good doctor wanted, consequences were what he would get. Jeff draped one arm across Tom’s shoulder. “I’ll think about it,” he said.
EIGHTEEN
JEFF WAS ASLEEP AND dreaming about Afghanistan when the phone rang. At first his subconscious interpreted the ring as the sound of a bullet whizzing past his ear, and he groaned and ducked down lower in his bed, dragging his pillow over his head. A rocket exploded nearby, and he heard Tom’s voice give the order to attack. Behind closed eyes, he watched himself grab his rifle and rush toward the enemy, although who the hell knew where they were. They could be anywhere, for God’s sake, there were so many damn caves, and the land was so barren, so rocky, so damn foreign, they might as well have been on the moon. The bullets kept flying by, and rockets kept exploding all around him, and soldiers were screaming, some in pain, some in the throes of a pure adrenaline rush, and all hell was breaking loose, and suddenly someone was running directly at him, and Jeff was firing his weapon, as many shots as he could manage as fast as he could manage, and still the man kept advancing, even though the front of his white jacket was soaked through with blood, still he kept coming, and Jeff kept shooting, until the man staggered backward and collapsed, falling to the ground, arms and legs splayed out in all directions, and Jeff walked over to him, kicking at the stethoscope that was wrapped around his neck like a snake, ignoring the eyes that were staring up at him, begging silently for mercy, and shot Dr. Dave Bigelow straight through the heart.
“Jeff,” a voice called from somewhere beside him.
Jeff raised his rifle, spun around, released another round of ammunition, the bullets slapping against the early morning sky. He peered through the darkness. There was no one there.
“Jeff,” the voice said again.
He felt something sharp pierce his side. A bayonet, he thought, grabbing at it and twisting hard.
“Hey,” the voice cried. “That hurts. What are you doing? Let go.”
Jeff opened his palm.
Kristin was rubbing her sore fingers as Jeff opened his eyes. “Aren’t you going to answer the phone?”
In a daze, Jeff reached for the phone next to the bed, his mind only beginning to wrap itself around what was happening. He wasn’t in Afghanistan; he was in his apartment; he wasn’t running across unfamiliar, treacherous terrain; he was lying in his comfortable warm bed. No one was shooting at him; he hadn’t shot anyone. It was only the persistent ring of the damn telephone. What time is it? he wondered, checking the clock on the nightstand as he picked up the receiver. Six thirty in the morning, for God’s sake. Who calls anybody at six thirty in the morning unless it’s to relay bad news?
Ellie, he thought, lifting the phone to his ear. Calling to tell him their mother had died.
“Hello,” he said warily, feeling an unexpected surge of sadness, the threat of tears stinging his eyes. He should have gone to see her, he was thinking. He should have gone to say good-bye. She was his mother, after all. No matter what. “Hello,” he said again, the stony silence that greeted his ear as sharp as any sword.
Kristin pushed herself onto her elbows, stared at him through half-parted lids. “Who is it?”
“Hello?” Jeff said again.
“Hang up,” Kristin advised him, flopping back down and letting her eyes close, trying to will herself back to sleep. “It’s probably just some kid playing around.”
“What?” she heard Jeff ask, and was about to repeat herself when she realized he wasn’t speaking to her. “Oh. Okay. Sure,” he was saying. “Yeah, I guess I can do that. Sure. Okay.” He hung up the phone, pushed his legs out of bed.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
“I have to get going.”
“What do you mean, you have to get going? It’s six thirty in the morning.” Her eyes followed him as he walked toward the bedroom door and opened it. “Who was that on the phone?”
“Larry. He’s a bit hungover. He asked me if I’d take his seven o’clock client.”
“I didn’t think Larry drank,” Kristin said.
“Guess he doesn’t very often. Anyway, I said I’d go in.” Jeff crossed the narrow hall into the bathroom, closed the door after him.
Seconds later, Kristin heard the shower running. She debated getting up, pouring Jeff a glass of orange juice, maybe even making him some breakfast, then quickly decided against it. Jeff would have to hurry to be at the gym by seven o’clock, and besides, who had any kind of appetite this early in the morning? Minutes later, she heard him at the sink brushing his teeth, followed by the soft hum of his electric shaver. A few minutes after that, he was back in the bedroom, the comforting scent of his freshly scrubbed body filling the air like a gentle mist. She felt him tiptoeing around the bed and opened her eyes just wide enough to watch him slithering into the jeans he’d been wearing for the last several days, only to quickly pull them off again, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the floor as he opened the closet and pulled out another pair. He put them on, dragged a clean black T-shirt over his head, tucked his cell phone into his back pocket, and walked to the side of the bed, where he crouched down beside her. Kristin thought he was about to kiss her good-bye and she angled her body subtly toward him, but his focus was on the nightstand beside the bed. She watched him pull open the top drawer, his fingers disappearing inside it. “What are you doing?” she mumbled sleepily, picturing Tom’s gun at the back of the drawer where she’d hidden it. Was that what he was looking for?
“Nothing. It’s okay,” he whispered, his breath smelling of toothpaste and mouthwash. He closed the drawer and stood up. “Sorry if I disturbed you.”
“You didn’t.”
“Go back to sleep.”
“You’ll call me later?”
“Sure thing.” Jeff walked toward the hall. “Have a good day.”
“You, too.” Kristin watched Jeff disappear around the corner before sitting up in bed and fighting the impulse to check the contents of the nightstand. Did she really want to know if Tom’s gun was still secreted inside? The less she knew, the better for everyone, she decided, listening to Jeff talking to his brother in the other room.
“Who called so damn early?” Will was asking, his voice hoarse with sleep. She pictured him sitting up on the sofa, his chest bare, his hair twisting attractively this way and that, his blanket bunched around his waist.
“My boss has a hangover,” Jeff explained. “Asked me to come in early.”
“Nice of you to oblige.”
“That’s me. Mr. Nice Guy.”
“See you later.”
The sound of the apartment door opening and closing.
Kristin glanced at the phone, wondering who had really called at six thirty this morning. She knew it wasn’t Larry. Jeff’s boss was a dedicated health nut who never touched alcohol. And when had Jeff ever told her to “have a good day”? Ignoring the little voice in her head warning her to keep her distance, she reached for the phone, pressed in *69.
“The last number that called your line was . . . ,” a recorded voice informed her in the next instant, rattling off a series of digits.
Kristin held the phone against her bare breasts for several seconds before returning it to its cradle. Trying to control the rapid beating of her heart, she lay down, curled into a tight fetal ball, and willed herself back to sleep.
JEFF WALKED BRISKLY along the outside corridor and down the three flights of steps to the parking garage where his burgundy Hyundai was parked next to Kristin’s Volvo. Wh
at would my brother think if he knew where I’m really going? he thought, wondering when he’d started caring how his brother felt about anything. And why had he lied to Kristin? One of the nice things about their relationship was that he’d never felt he had to lie to her about anything. What had changed? What was different now? And was it for her benefit he’d been less than forthcoming, or his own? He unlocked his car door and climbed behind the wheel. “Hey, this wasn’t my idea,” he said to his reflection in the rearview mirror. Still, he felt the uncomfortable and unexpected sensation of guilt gnawing at his gut. Probably just hunger pangs, he told himself. A cup of coffee and some bacon and eggs would take care of that.
He extricated his cell from his pocket and called the gym. It didn’t open until seven, and it was only five minutes to, so he was hoping for the answering machine. Instead Melissa answered on the third ring.
“Elite Fitness,” she announced, an annoying chirp to her voice.
“It’s Jeff,” he told her. “Listen, I’m not feeling very well. I spent the night throwing up,” he added for good measure.
“Oh, yuck.”
“I’m hoping it’s just something I ate and I’ll be feeling better in a few hours.”
“I hope you’re right. You’ve got clients booked all day.”
“See if you can reschedule, and tell Larry I’m gonna try my best to get there by noon.” That should be more than enough time, Jeff thought.
“Have lots of tea.”
“What?”
“Have lots of tea,” Melissa repeated. “And toast with jam. No butter.”
“Thanks for the advice.”
“Feel better,” Melissa said before hanging up.
Jeff returned the phone to his side pocket as he pulled out of his parking space onto the street. Minutes later, he was on the road, heading toward Federal Highway and Northeast Fifty-fourth. He’d get there early, but so what? He’d have some breakfast, calm his jitters, prepare himself for whatever lay ahead. Why was he so damn nervous anyway? “Absolutely nothing to be nervous about,” he assured himself out loud. “You’re the one who’s in control here.” But even as he was saying the words, he knew they weren’t true. “Shit,” he said, shaking his head. He was turning into as bad a liar as Tom.
