“I like William Burroughs,” Joachim said.
“That’s because you’re still young and impressionable.”
“As opposed to you, Grandma?”
“Give me a rocker, I’m a happy woman.”
He smiled. “You can go first.”
Cindy looked at him. “That’s not playing by official rules, bud.”
“Yeah, I know. But I’ll beat you anyway. Wind up with…oh, let’s say, twice your score. For William Burroughs’s sake.”
“Arrogant little sucker, aren’t you?”
“I just know my strong points. Go.”
Cindy picked her letters. And suddenly the push of competition made her fierce. No way she could ever win him fairly. Go for the groin, she thought. She punched her clock, put down her first word, punched it again.
Punch, it was her turn again.
She let her shoe drop off. Made her word, punched the clock, then brushed her bare foot against his calf.
He looked up, looked back down. Said nothing and made his word.
Punch, it was her turn again.
Punch his.
Punch hers.
Punch his.
Again, she brushed his calf with her foot. Did it twice.
“You’re kicking me,” he said, red-faced.
Her voice was light. “Sorry.”
Punch her turn.
Punch his turn.
Another brush. He turned red but said nothing, played his tiles, blinking back embarrassment.
The game was over in eighteen minutes. Cindy grinned. “You won. But not exactly twice my score, bud.”
“That’s because I played like an amateur.” Joachim stood, his eyes shot with anger. “See you.”
“You’re mad,” Cindy said.
Joachim said, “You did that on purpose.”
“So?”
“So?” He glared at her. “It distracted me.”
“It was supposed to distract you.” Cindy grinned. “How else could I get a fair shot?”
Joachim continued to stare, then broke into laughter. “I don’t believe…” He turned red. “Next round. Gotta go.”
Cindy went through the rest of the evening without another chance to play him face-to-face. Joachim came in first in all three categories, graciously declined the gifts, which went to the next three highest scorers.
Trying to catch Joachim’s attention. When she got it, she looked away. He waited a while. But eventually he walked up to her. He said, “You seem bored.”
“This is true.”
“You want to get a cup of coffee or something?”
“That’s your answer to alleviating my boredom?”
He blushed, rocked on his feet, started to back away. Cindy took his arm. “I’m just funnin’ with you, guy. Now the proper comeback would have been something like…‘So this is what I have to look forward to in college?’”
He let out a soft laugh. It matched his voice.
Still holding his arm, she said, “I’d love a cup of coffee except some gremlin took away my last three bucks—”
“I’ll pay.”
“If you pay, I’ll come.”
“I have to close up a few things first,” Joachim said.
“That’s okay. Meet you at the bookstore café in…ten minutes?”
“That would work.”
“Good,” Cindy said. “I’m glad it would work.” She dropped his arm. “See you.”
When she was downstairs, away from him, she made a fist and whispered, “Yes!”
Sammy appeared a minute later. “What’d he say?”
“He admitted he did the murders—”
“Cindy—”
“He didn’t say anything!” Cindy said. “We’re going to get some coffee in a few minutes. Go home. I’ll call you later—”
“Nuh-uh, no way,” Sam said. “This wasn’t part of the deal.”
“What wasn’t?”
“You being alone with him.”
“Sam, how can I find out information if I can’t talk to him.”
“The evening was supposed to be purely observational—”
“So it turned into something more—”
“This isn’t what we talked about.”
“I’m improvising. Now go home before he sees us talking to each other.”
“I’m not leaving you alone—”
“Sam, did you get a good look at the kid? Could they make them any more harmless?” She patted her stepbrother’s yarmulke. “Look, bro. No way we can ever prove Joachim’s a hit man. But maybe I can prove his innocence. Find out where he was the night of the shootings. At least that way, if Strapp ever loosens the screws, Dad won’t be spinning his wheels, wasting time on someone useless.”
She was making sense. Still, Sam wasn’t completely convinced. “I don’t like it.”
Cindy tried a different approach. “Didn’t you tell your mom that you’d be home by eleven?”
“Oh sh—!” The boy stamped his foot in exasperation. “Look, Cin, you’ve got to call me. Let me know you’re okay.”
“You don’t have your own line. What do I say when your mother picks up the phone?”
“You press two and then the pound sign. That makes the phone ring in my room and nowhere else. Deal?”
“Fine, fine. I’ll call.”
“When?”
“I’ll call by…twelve,” Cindy said. “Will you still be up? It’s a school night.”
“Yeah, I’m a night owl.” Sammy rubbed his hands together. “So by twelve.”
“Yeah. Twelve. And if I’m a little late, don’t panic. I’m not going to turn into a pumpkin, all right?”
A pumpkin would be fine, he thought. Just so long as it wasn’t a corpse. He kept his thoughts to himself. His hands had turned icy. He was spookin’ himself. Stupid. Because Joachim did look harmless. Trying to calm himself down, Sam told himself to go home. Go home and pray. At least talk to Someone who could do some good.
“I went through like this voices of American literature phase. You know, Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Faulkner, Eudora Welty, Steinbeck…” Joachim dipped a chocolate-covered biscotti into a cup of espresso. “I was doing fine until I got to Light in August. Like I knew it was some kind of allegory for the expulsion from Eden and original sin. But man, it was so heavy with the prose—”
“That’s his style,” Cindy said.
“Yeah, but there’s nothing wrong with making it readable. I mean I’ve waded through The Magus and Clockwork Orange and Beowulf. I’m not averse to experimenting with word origins and syntax. I’m talking about the actual phrases. I guess Faulkner’s theory is why use one adjective when you can use twenty.”
“He’s a Southern writer, Joachim. They drip atmosphere. Something to do with all the humidity near the Gulf Coast.”
“Could be.” Again Joachim took a bite of his biscotti. “You ever read it?”
“Way back when.”
“How old are you anyway?”
“Twenty-one,” Cindy lied.
“So you’re a senior then?”
“Just graduated.”
“Ah. And now what?”
“Loose ends.”
“Grad school isn’t in the picture?”
“Nope.”
Joachim said nothing.
Cindy said, “I’m sick of school. You’ll understand when you get to where I’m at.”
“You’re too young to be patronizing,” Joachim said.
“Four years of college puts us worlds apart,” Cindy said. “Not in intellect, Joachim. I’m just saying you get tired of all the academic pettiness. All the profspeak and the braggadocio and the tired lines they use to get you horizontal—”
“Did they work?”
“Not on me.”
Joachim blushed. “Sorry. That was rude.”
“S’right.” Cindy studied him. “You turn red a lot, you know that?”
Again he blushed. “I don’t get around girls much. Or should I say women? W
hat’s the proper nomenclature anyway?”
“Females will always do in a pinch.” Cindy sipped her caffe latte. “Yeah, you seem a little—”
“You can use the N word.”
“Naive?”
“That was nice.” He smiled. “You wanted to say nerdy, but didn’t. It’s true. I’m a little nerdy. But I’m not bothered by it.” His face darkened. “Rather be nerdy than be like my snot-nosed, drugged-out, weak-willed, spineless, brainless, rich-kid classmates.”
“So how do you really feel about your school?”
Joachim remained grave. “School’s fine. Just the inhabitants whom I loathe.”
“They give you a hard time?”
“I can handle them now. Brains do have their lucrative compensations. But there was a time…” He gobbled his biscotti, gnashed his teeth. “Not entirely their fault. I don’t fit in…never did. You think I’m weird, you should meet my parents.”
Cindy said, “I don’t find you weird. You’re just ill-suited for high school because you’re bright.”
The boy looked down, his face a primary color. And at that moment, Cindy saw how easy it was to manipulate teenage boys. And she wasn’t exactly a femme fatale. Not like Jeanine Garrison. Man, she must have them dropping like flies.
The boy checked his watch. “It’s getting late.”
Cindy looked at her wrist. Eleven-fifteen. “Go ahead. I’m gonna stick around here for a while.”
Joachim licked his lips. “You don’t have to be home or anything?”
“I’m twenty-one, Joachim,” Cindy said. “I don’t have to be anything.”
“You live by yourself?” he asked, shyly.
“With my mom. I’ll find my own place as soon as I’m gainfully employed.”
He drummed on the table. “You…want to come over my house? Watch a late movie or something?”
She stared at him. “Your parents wouldn’t mind?”
“Actually, my parents are out of town.” He squirmed in his seat. “I’ll make some popcorn. Turn on the Monster Cable Station. It ain’t much, but at least you won’t have to worry about me feeding you sorry lines. I’m completely innocuous.”
Cindy waited a moment. “You’re gay?”
“Oh, no…” Again, he became scarlet. “No, that’s not what I meant at all. It’s just nice to talk to someone. That’s all.”
Cindy’s brain went into overdrive. What an opportunity. But what a dumb thing to do. She shocked herself when she heard her lips utter, “Sure. Why not?”
The boy’s face lit up. “Great. You can follow me home.”
“Sure. But I’ve got to make a phone call first.”
“Make it from my house. I live a couple of blocks away.”
They both rose. Joachim left a twenty on the table. Cindy’s eyes went to the bill. “That’s a very generous tip.”
“I’ve got a good racket going.”
“Racket?”
“Uh…tutoring…thirty bucks an hour.” He grinned. “Sometimes it actually pays to be smart.”
32
She had a strange feeling. But the .22 in her purse made Cindy feel bold. Reflecting upon the situation: A poor boy who could suddenly afford to leave a twenty on a six-dollar tab. A boy with a good racket? He said it was tutoring. But where did he really get his money?
Asking herself more questions. What did she hope to discover?
Information, she guessed. Some event that would link Joachim to the nefarious Sean Amos. Either that or an alibi that would prove his innocence. She thought about this as she followed him home.
He drove a ten-year-old Saab, did a series of quick turns, pulled into the driveway of a one-story wood-sided ranch house. A scrub lawn, a few bushes in front. She pulled her Camaro in back of his car. They both got out at the same time. He fiddled with his keys, opened the front door, allowing her to enter first.
“Thanks.”
She gave the room a quick once-over. Basic living-room furniture—a couch, a couple of easy chairs. Old gray carpeting. Wood shutters on the windows. Framed posters on the wall—Maxfield Parrish and Peter Maxx.
Joachim threw his jacket on the sofa. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Cindy asked, “Were your parents hippies?”
“Hippies?”
“The artwork.”
“Ah…” Joachim looked at the walls. “Actually, they’re sci-fi buffs, although they’re not averse to a good fantasy novel, either.” He paused. “Better taste in novels than in artwork.”
“Parrish is okay.”
“If you like kitsch. You can take off your jacket, you know.”
“I need to use the phone.”
“Oh…right.” Joachim pointed to the clear plastic phone on one of the sofa’s end tables. “Help yourself.”
Cindy picked up the phone. “Welcome to space age—”
“Actually, my father fitted it with this chip. You tell it the number and it’ll dial automatically.”
Cindy looked at him, at the phone. “I think I’ll pass. Why don’t you go nuke some popcorn? I suddenly have the munchies.”
“Sure. Be right back.”
She punched the numbers quickly, pressed two and pound. As soon as Sam picked up, she whispered, “I’m here, I’m fine, I’ll call in later.”
Sammy felt his heart go into his throat. “You can’t be serious—”
“I gotta go—”
Sammy whispered, “You’re insane. Get out of there now.”
In the background, Cindy heard Rina’s voice. “Sammy, get off the phone and go to bed now!”
Cindy said, “Looks like you’ve gotta go—”
“Cindy, get out of there—”
“Later.” She hung up, heart doing the steeplechase. This was insane. All this intrigue, and for what purpose? What did she think she’d find? She felt her handbag, felt instantly relieved when her fingers pressed hard steel.
Calming herself. What could possibly happen?
She regained her composure, found the kitchen. Popping sounds were coming from the microwave. He said, “You want anything else?”
Keep him occupied.
“Got any veggies?” she said.
“I can cut some up if you want.”
“If it’s no problem.”
“It’s no problem.”
Cindy stalled. “How about some nachos?”
Joachim turned around. “You want a banquet hall for this, King Henry?”
“Look, if it’s too much work—”
“No.” Joachim turned serious. “No, I’ll rustle something up.”
“That would be great.”
“Anything else?”
“A Coke.”
“You want some wine? You’re over twenty-one.”
“A Coke is sufficient, Mr. Innocuous.”
He said, “I’m not trying to get you drunk. It was an earnest offer. My mom drinks wine all the time.”
“A Coke is fine. You spike it with a roofie, I’ll kill you—”
“Not a chance.” He went to the refrigerator, took out a can of Coke. Opened it and guzzled. Then offered it to Cindy. “I’m a card-carrying member of drug-free America.”
Cindy took the can. “You got a TV in your bedroom?”
He blushed instantly. “Yeah. Wanna watch in there?”
“Why not be comfortable?” Cindy said.
“Why not indeed?” Joachim whispered. But his tone was tight. “Go ahead. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Cindy hesitated. “Are you okay?”
“Uh, yeah.” He saluted her with a carrot. “I’m fine.”
Hesitating a moment. Then she left the room, hooking her purse over her shoulder. As soon as she shut the door to his room, she threw the purse on his bed and went to work.
His lair resembled her stepbrothers’ bedroom. A huge desk upon which rested a computer, fax, phone, answering machine, something that looked like a digital sound board, other gadgets she couldn’t identify. A couple of movie p
osters on the wall. Weird stuff…distorted images of faces and mouths.
She attacked the desk drawers first. Rummaging through them, looking for a gun, looking for phone bills, recent purchases, even a stash of heroin that could have been the junk used to murder David Garrison. Anything that might link him to Sean or Jeanine. She worked quickly and quietly.
And found nothing. Which was to be expected.
She opened the bedroom door, listened for a couple of seconds. He was still in the kitchen.
She tiptoed inside his closet, started going through the pockets of his jackets. A few receipts from bookstores, another from a computer store. She searched the upper shelf of the closet. Came up dry.
Next in line was the bedding—mattress and pillows. Looked under them, inside the covers. Gave them a few pushes. Nothing in there but foam. She dropped onto her stomach and looked under the bed. Nothing.
Then she heard his voice.
“What are you doing?”
On her knees, she peered over the mattress. He stared at her, holding a plate of veggies and another plate of nachos. She smiled benignly. “I dropped my earring—”
“You’re not wearing earrings.”
“Did I say earring?” Again, she smiled. “I meant my ring.”
His face darkened. He placed the food on top of his bed, licked his lips. She got to her feet. “You look upset. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Here’s your food.”
“Thanks.”
Again, she felt her heart beat. Made a move for her purse, but he got there first. Lifted her handbag in the air out of her reach and stuck his hand inside.
Pulled out her gun.
Cindy froze.
Fingers around the trigger. A two-handed grip as he sighted down the wall. Showing her he knew how to use firearms. Then he lowered the barrel toward the ground, checked the safety clip. “Why are you carrying a twenty-two?”
“That’s my business.”
“With all due respect, I disagree.” His voice had become gelid. “You carry a gun into my house, it’s my business, too.”
Think of something! Quietly Cindy said, “I went to school in New York. I got used to packing.”
“You could get arrested for this, you know. Carrying without a license.”
“Are you planning on calling the cops?”
Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 10 Page 30
