The Trophy Hunter

by J. M. Zambrano

  He shook his head and looked down at the table again. “I did, but I had no financial means to do it. Joe even holds the mortgage on my house. It’s a miracle that he hasn’t foreclosed now that Brandi’s gone.”

  Gone? As she realized that he had deflected her original question regarding the children, the waitress brought their food. Diana watched the open flirtation continue, noting that Rogart was not entirely passive during this non-verbal exchange.

  When the girl left, Rogart smiled at Diana. “I know I’m behaving like an adolescent. It’s sort of sweet to have somebody find you attractive … when the truth is you’re at the bottom of your game.”

  Oh, yes. Know that feeling. Diana smiled back, then took a bite of her chicken Caesar.

  When they finished, the waitress placed the bill in front of Rogart. Diana wondered if this was where he would discover that he’d left his wallet at home. Instead, he fished out a battered credit card and placed it on the bill, then snapped shut the brown leather folder.

  As if reading her thoughts, he smiled and said, “I never quite relax until they bring it back for me to sign. Then I exhale and think, whew, there’s still some credit left.”

  They both laughed. And the waitress did indeed return for Rogart’s autograph. Diana wondered what kind of tip he wrote in. He seemed to take an inordinate time with his signature. Did he write in his phone number?

  Rogart appeared in no hurry to leave the table. Diana watched him signal a busboy to refill their water glasses. “You in a hurry to get back to the office?” he asked.

  “Not really. I don’t have any appointments this afternoon.”

  He nodded. “Good. There’s something I’d like to run by you.”

  Okay. So this isn’t a free lunch. Diana matched his gaze, feeling a nibble of disappointment.

  “My financial situation can’t go on like this.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “The fact is there’s a ready solution. My wife has a discretionary trust that was set up for her by her grandmother, Joe’s mom. Problem is Joe’s the trustee. He’d never willingly part with a nickel because he wants me to fail in supporting the kids, so he’ll have a reason to take them.”

  “Do you know the terms of the trust? Can it be used to support your children?”

  Rogart reached into his inside jacket pocket and withdrew a manila envelope. “Better yet, I have the trust paper right here.”

  Diana blinked. “Trusts are not generally of public record. Their privacy is what makes them attractive. How’d you get a copy?”

  “I found it in a drawer at home after Brandi disappeared. If I’m reading it correctly, it can be used to support our kids. But what do I know? Could you at least take a look at it?”

  * * *

  What harm could it do? In the parking lot Diana transferred the manila envelope under her arm while she got out her car keys. After she pressed the lock release, Rogart opened the door for her and held it while she got in.

  As she rolled down the car window, Rogart leaned against the door. “Thank you, Diana. You don’t know how much I appreciate this.”

  “No guarantees. I’ll just take a look and get back to you.”

  To the west, behind Rogart, the sun had paled and was nearly obscured by clouds that had taken on a darker hue. Lunch had lasted much longer than Diana had anticipated.

  Then, as she put the key in the ignition, she felt him move and turned to see him leaning toward her through the open window. Paralysis set in as she felt his warm lips cover hers. Sensations she thought were gone for good ran through her body like electric charges. Yet she couldn’t kiss him back. Though she felt the urgency of his tongue pushing on her teeth, she kept them rigidly clamped shut, in spite of what the rest of her body wanted.

  She blinked as the clouds shifted and a glint of silver in the row of parked vehicles behind Rogart stole her attention. Diana wrenched free, broke off the kiss with a gasp.

  As the sound escaped her lips, Rogart whirled to see what had so alarmed her.

  “Flannigan’s truck,” she managed to squeeze out. “He’s following me again.”

  Rogart turned and strode purposefully toward the silver pickup. Diana could see the hood ornament glinting in the sun’s last rays. Then darkening clouds shifted again, dimming the picture.

  After what seemed like minutes, but she knew were only seconds, Rogart came back with the news. “The truck’s empty. It sure looks like Joe’s.”

  She couldn’t stop trembling. She wondered how much of the reaction was fear of Joe Flannigan and how much was fallout from Rogart’s unexpected kiss. “I think I may need to get a restraining order if this keeps up.”

  She watched him glance up and down the street. “It’s me he’s following.” He looked hard into her eyes. “Looking for something he can use against me. I’m sorry. I just used poor judgment.”

  The kiss, she thought. His SOB son-in-law kissing his former attorney? If Flannigan saw it, he’d go ballistic. “We both did,” she said. It won’t happen again.

  “A restraining order wouldn’t be a bad idea,” he said. “Lock your doors and windows.”

  Diana fumbled with the locks and the ignition key. When she backed out of the parking space and jerkily drove toward the street, Rogart was nowhere in sight.

  Chapter 20

  He knows that the Asian started her shift at the Buckhorn at noon that day. The Hunter didn’t expect such a lengthy wait. Once the wicked, sleety rain begins to fall, he takes up a position under the metal awning that shelters the Dumpsters at the rear of the restaurant.

  Though restaurants had been fertile stalking grounds long before he learned the process, it still astounds him how the volume of slop from the kitchen to the alley can exceed the output of edibles through the dining room.

  The sound of a door sends him slithering back in the shadows. Sometimes it’s a worker taking a smoke break. More often it’s just more disgusting shit from the Buckhorn’s asshole. He likes things clean. Like they are when he finishes with them.

  He knows which car is hers. The little blue Miata. A glance at his watch in the flash of someone’s headlights tells him it’s 8:30.

  As if on cue, he hears the rapid click of her high heels on the wet stone walkway. She’s come out the front entrance and is walking around to the back, staying close to the building to keep dry. The irony. Didn’t she know he wants her wet?

  Click-clack, click clack. She’ll soon be within touching distance. He holds his breath while he watches her take out her car keys ahead of time. She keeps them on a long, red cord, so they’ll be easy to find in her little jam-packed handbag. He’s learned a lot about her in a short time.

  Her legs are long for an Asian’s and muscular, the muscles smooth as silk, not lumpy like an athlete’s. He doesn’t have to feel them to know this. She works hard at keeping her perfect, golden size four body. He pictures her naked, those long legs wrapped around him. But he knows that’s one pleasure he’ll have to forego for the ultimate pleasure—the gift that keeps on giving, beyond a lifetime.

  Her hair, under the black fur hat, is long and shiny. And clean. He knows her habits and her habitat. She always turns on the fan when she showers, unlike the redhead who is beginning to annoy him. Maybe he’ll change the position of that camera. Or at least change the position of the receptor to where he can retrieve it from the outside. He’ll do it tonight, he decides. With the Asian in the truck. He shivers in anticipation.

  Click-clack. Don’t step on a crack. To calm his racing pulse, he thinks of practical things. Like the redhead, this one lives alone, too. No current boyfriend to stir up things when she doesn’t come home tonight.

  She stops in front of the driver’s side of her little car. Clack. He hears the lock release and smiles as he replays his other knowledge. Tomorrow there’ll be no anxious boss checking up on her. It’s her day off.

  He smiles as he turns words around in his head. He’ll do her before he does her, but he
doubts he’ll get much response. Those killer legs will be limp and passive. Some things are best imagined.

  Crunch. The door handle. Metal on metal. Soundlessly, the Hunter steps out of the shadows. Rain turns to slushy snow as she steps back at the sight of him, brushing snow drips from her eyes to clear her vision.

  He’s pulled the baseball cap low over his face so he’s sure that what she sees is mostly smiling mouth. He tries to make the smile reassuring as his large hand curls around the dissecting knife—the same one he used on Larry. Wrong place, wrong time. Too bad, Larry. At this moment, its job is only to intimidate, not to mar his perfect Asian specimen. And the smile is to keep her from screaming until the chloroform-soaked rag can quiet her. Hopefully, the knife is just an extra prop. This one, he knows is not a fighter.

  She peers at him through the wet, stinking darkness of the alley, her expression more curious than afraid. “Do I know you?” she asks.

  Chapter 21

  Restless dreams wrapped their tendrils around Diana’s psyche, making an enemy of sleep. Rogart’s eyes hovered above her bed, unattached to any body. Then he occupied her bed, fully clothed. The turquoise belt buckle he wore cut into her flesh as he tried to embrace her.

  She turned away to come face-to-face with Jess on the other side of a huge bed that suddenly morphed into a restaurant booth. Jessie, I didn’t mean it. Nothing happened. It was just lunch.

  Slowly Diana drifted back into her own bed, alone. A cleansing shower of relief sloshed over her. For a moment she considered phoning Jess. Then a glance at the illumined clock dial told her this was not the hour. She’d call Jess in the morning and find out what was really going on with her and Rogart.

  She drifted off again, but the dreams didn’t give her any peace. That half-waking state, where the insane seemed everyday normal, kept tangling her in its folds, denying her any genuine rest. She slogged through a marshland behind a faceless man. No, no. Wait! But she didn’t know for what.

  As she twisted in damp sheets, horned heads of game animals burgeoned from her bedroom walls. One head didn’t seem to belong with the rest. An ibex hovered over her, its face melting, then coalescing into the face of a beautiful Asian woman. Something familiar about the face pierced Diana’s dream veil. Then a loud crash splintered the vision.

  Diana sat up in bed, breathing rapidly. Had the sound been real or part of her dream? She sat motionless, holding her breath, goose bumps stealing down her bare arms. Hearing nothing further, she got out of bed and slowly edged into the bathroom, wrapping her green robe around her like a security blanket.

  “Mau.” Tigger looked up at her, his tail twitching vigorously. “Mau.” He looked down at the bathroom floor where the empty L’Air du Temps bottle lay shattered on the tiles.

  Chapter 22

  It was no big deal. It wasn’t a date.

  What about the kiss?

  A friendly kiss? No big deal.

  A friendly kiss doesn’t have a tongue in it.

  In the safety of daylight, Diana argued unsuccessfully with herself. Ultimately, she knew she’d have to make the call.

  “How’s your schedule today, Jessie?” she asked, bypassing the usual Edwards-is-a-flake joke.

  “Not too crowded. My nights are busier than my days,” replied Jess. “What’s up?”

  “I’d rather not say on the phone. Can you meet me for lunch at the Chinook?”

  “Sure,” replied Jess without hesitation. “Now you’ve got me all curious. About 11:30? Beat the lunch crowd rush?”

  * * *

  Now they sat on bar stools at a round glass-top table in the Chinook’s lounge. Jess, hungry as usual, devoured the menu with her eyes. “How’s the steak tartare?” she asked the young waiter.

  The youth rolled his eyes dramatically. “It should be outlawed,” he replied in a whisper. “Don’t you know what lurks in rare meat? Exactly. You don’t . That’s my point.”

  Diana couldn’t tell if he was kidding or serious.

  “Shame on you,” scolded Jess, picking it up as a joke. “I’ll tell Manuel.”

  “Well, in that case, I’ll personally vouch for the linguine with marinara sauce,” replied the waiter. “It, too, is one of his favorite creations.”

  Jess ordered the steak tartare anyway, with a side of onion rings. Diana opted for the linguine, giving the flustered waiter a smile as she did so.

  “A vegetarian if I ever saw one,” muttered Jess when the waiter had left. “They’re everywhere these days.” She shot Diana a fake frown.

  Diana laughed half-heartedly.

  “So what’s the big secret?” asked Jess.

  Better just get it out and over with. “I had lunch with Darren Rogart yesterday.”

  “Damn! He hasn’t called me in over two weeks.” Jess looked thoughtful, but not angry. “Not since I left him the message about finding a witness who’d seen Patty. That was before Christmas. He never called back.”

  “Did you tell him you were going out of town?”

  “Why should I? He never even asked about my Christmas plans.”

  “My point is maybe he called. Some people don’t like to leave messages.”

  “Darren is not the shy type. He’d leave a message,” said Jess. “I’ve left at least three for him.”

  “Hey, you never did tell me what you found out about the dead guy’s truck.”

  “What’s to tell? If Darren wasn’t interested enough to call me back, why should I waste my time? One thing for sure, I’m not playing Colfax whore again anytime soon.”

  Lunch arrived and Jess dove into her steak tartare with gusto—or a vengeance. Diana wasn’t sure which.

  “I thought you two had something going. So did Winston,” Diana probed.

  Jess shrugged and took another bite. Diana waited, barely touching her own food, noting Jess wasn’t looking at her as she swallowed before finally replying, “Ever get the feeling you’re being used? Something just doesn’t feel right?”

  The picture of Rogart in the restaurant, pulling out his wife’s trust instrument, flashed in Diana’s mind. She suppressed a knee-jerk remark and instead asked, “Like what? I thought you two … did you actually …?”

  Still not looking at Diana, Jess nodded slowly. “We did. Actually.”

  “And?”

  “It was great. At least I thought so. Maybe he was faking it.” Humor crept back into Jess’s eyes. “Diana, he’s got the biggest—”

  “Jessie, stop!”

  “Biceps. What did you think I was going to say?”

  The women laughed, but Diana still felt something was out of kilter with her friend as she watched the sparkle fade from Jess’s expression.

  “So tell me about this lunch,” Jess continued, looking up at Diana with flat eyes.

  Diana’s turn to look away as she picked at her linguine that smelled wonderful, but suddenly didn’t appeal to her. “As it turned out, he wanted me to check out his wife’s trust, to see if he could squeeze any money out of it. So, you see, I do know about that used feeling.”

  Jess’s eyes widened, the expression flowing back. “You didn’t agree to that?”

  “Umm ….”

  Jess slammed down her fork. “Diana, isn’t that exactly the kind of thing you chewed my ass out for? Read my lips. Conflict of interest. You suddenly develop a double standard or what?”

  “Don’t vent at me. I haven’t done anything with his damn trust.”

  “But you took it with you, didn’t you? You’re going to do something with it.”

  “Hey, I just wanted to give you a heads-up that maybe your boyfriend has a wandering eye.” Diana felt anger merge with her guilt.

  “He’s not my boyfriend, and fucking him does not make a relationship.” Jess’s angry eyes and quivering lower lip were out of synch with her words. “I wasn’t looking for long-term. I just got out of one of those, remember?”

  Diana’s waning appetite vanished completely as she watched her friend’s discomfort. “I
’m sorry. I never should’ve gone to lunch with him.”

  “No biggie,” replied Jess coldly, glancing at her watch. “Hey, I gotta go.” She slammed down a twenty dollar bill as she slid off the bar stool. “This should cover my half.”

  Chapter 23

  In the weeks that followed Diana’s lunch with Jess and the ensuing quarrel, Diana had been swamped with work. Besides her billable hours, she chaired the upcoming annual benefit for the local battered women’s shelter, an event that had always given her immense satisfaction. Seeing women take control of their own destinies was even bigger than taking down enemies in court and garnering hefty fees.

  None of it was enough to dim the hurt she felt at the estrangement from her best friend. Each time the phone rang, at home or the office, her eyes darted to the caller I.D., hoping it was Jess.

  Several times she picked up the phone and started to call Jess. Each time she stopped, afraid to face the verbal slap she thought might be coming from Jess. One more rejection was more than she wanted to face.

  She even analyzed just what it was about Jess that she missed, in an effort to minimize the emptiness she felt. The words that jumped to mind were skewed to reflect Jess’s faults: Caustic, brazen, foul-mouthed on occasion, takes unnecessary risks, immature, can’t seem to finish what she takes on, especially when distracted by an attractive man. What’s to miss?

  Oh, yeah. Loyal, quick-witted, witty, forthright to the point of tactlessness. Who’d miss that?

  I would. Life without Jess is like … deviled eggs without a dash of vinegar.

  * * *

  Winston and Diana warmed up on a racquetball court at the Body Works. She’d arranged the evening match with a two-fold purpose. First, Winston might help her heal her wounded friendship with Jess. Although Winston and Jess had broken up, it wasn’t the first time. Diana doubted that the former couple had severed all ties.