The Complete Matt Jacob Series

by Klein, Zachary;

  Shunted off in a corner of the living area sat a tired, twelve inch TV. If, as Anne claimed, Paul came here to watch television, it wasn’t for his viewing pleasure. In any event, he wasn’t watching now.

  “Why you’re not Paulie,” Vivian said without surprise or fear from the shadows next to the Formica table. “Much, much too big. Paulie doesn’t take up that much space,” she said, sounding delighted.

  “I’m Matt Jacob, Mrs. Rowe. We met at Lauren’s party a couple weeks ago. I’m Lou’s son-in-law.”

  “Come closer, boy, so I can see how that large body moves.”

  The squat figure sitting just outside the small stripes of light made a noise that sounded like a throaty purr. “It’s turned into quite an evening, two men calling.”

  Vivian paused to catch her breath. “I said come closer,” she ordered. “I simply will not wear glasses when a gentleman visits.”

  Vivian didn’t bother with too many clothes when a gentleman came calling either. She sat on a red padded kitchen chair dressed only in a gigantic black underwired bra and a frayed black half-slip. Her wrinkled stomach protruded and her button winked a greeting. Regrettably, she made no move to cover herself. Didn’t matter, I found myself staring at her hair which hung halfway to the kitchen floor. Apparently, Vivian liked trying out different colors on different sections. Maybe she was trying to keep up with today’s styles, an eyebrow or belly ring next on the list.

  The gray-flecked table was crowded with a pack of Lucky Strikes, a deep ashtray full of bright red, lipstick stained butts, a really old table radio, an assortment of hairbrushes, and cigarette scorch marks. I also noticed a half empty gin bottle and two drinking glasses—one half full, the other dry and empty.

  Vivian held a freshly lit Lucky in one hand and a long-handled mirror in the other. She was clearly torn between me and the mirror. “You’re here early,” she accused. “Well, there’s not much I can do about it now. Pull up a chair, but don’t even think about naughty before we go out. This is one lady you have to feed.”

  Vivian put down the mirror, stubbed out her smoke, and reached for one of the brushes. “I have to finish with my hair.”

  I suddenly remembered Vivian’s problems with reality when she didn’t eat her meds. Paul’s absence and Vivian’s half deck slashed any hope for a quick conclusion. Fuck it, bye and back to the car.

  But before I made my excuse, she spoke in a completely different rhythm. “So you’re Lou’s son, are you? I’ve a lot to say about that scoundrel father of yours. Be a good boy and hand me that robe?”

  So much for an easy out. Vivian took the aged terrycloth, though instead of slipping it on, she placed it carefully beside her and went back to brushing her wild hair. “I’m too tired to move,” she complained. “Should be asleep but Paulie is going to need me.” Vivian’s hand fumbled as she placed a new, unlit cigarette between her painted lips.

  “Light?” I asked, leaning toward her, forcing myself to look at her garish face while I lit her smoke. Tilting back in my seat I lit one of my own.

  “A real gentleman you are. Too bad your father isn’t more like his son.”

  “Actually my father-in-law is the real gentleman.”

  “A gentleman doesn’t steal another man’s wife or filch his property.”

  Vivian puffed hard on her filter-less smoke, every so often spitting tiny shreds of tobacco behind her hand. “At least these have some goddamn taste,” she said, the earlier singsong springing back. “But they burn your tongue and force you to act unladylike. That’s why I rarely smoke outside.”

  She finished the gin in her glass. “You might have offered to pour some more,” she accused, then softened. “I suppose if you’re sitting here while I’m half naked, we’re past polite.”

  Vivian took a deep drink, staring at me as though I was out of focus. “Were we good together?” She suddenly grabbed the mirror and watched herself slowly, sensually, French inhale.

  I glanced at the nearest wall. It was almost impossible to believe this bat shit crazy lady with her multi-colored hair had ever been that young, attractive child and woman.

  “You never answered me,” Vivian said, the cigarette out and the mirror back down on the table.

  “You were telling me about Paul,” I said.

  “No, I was bitching about your father. Don’t worry, I don’t blame sins of the father on the son. Or, as I tell Paulie, sins of the daughter on her mother. I’ll never understand why he hangs on so.”

  “Lauren and Paul are separated,” I said quickly. If I peppered, maybe I could keep her eyes away from the fucking mirror.

  “Paulie thinks my daughter will come to her senses.”

  Vivian snorted, her voice rising. “That child has never been sensible about anything! She’s tormented me my entire life, cock-teased a good man into marrying her, then destroyed their lives. Destroyed their children.”

  Vivian frowned into her drink. “Let her blame me all she wants, I never had her advantages. I never had a father for my child, someone to work for me while I sat on my ass.”

  Vivian lifted the mirror and jerked it harshly as if trying to shake her ghastly reflection into a different image. “The past is the past, that’s what I tell him. But he just won’t listen. Well, tonight I think he’ll listen.”

  “Tonight?” I asked, flashing on Lauren’s odd mood during our last discussion about her family.

  Vivian smiled sadly, “I’ll be here for him to cry on. Where else can he go? Who else can he talk to? That mousy live-in will just get angry.”

  I was listening to the drunken ravings of a crazy old lady, but was Vivian’s madness hers alone? “Do you expect Paul tonight? It’s pretty late.”

  “Not too late for you to be here, is it?” Vivian’s smile deepened her powdered and rouged wrinkles. “Paulie thinks everything will turn out the way he wants. But I know better, I always have.”

  Sometimes the shortest distance between two points has little to do with straight lines.“Lauren’s relationship with Lou must have hit him pretty hard,” I said calmly, fighting a fresh rush of concern. Lauren and Paul were rapidly turning into just Paul. Some fucking Sherlock. Watson wasn’t gonna write this one up. I instinctively reached for the nearby gin bottle, caressed it with my fingers, then jerked my hand away. No need to compound my stupidity.

  “Lauren brushed him aside like so much garbage.” Vivian was watching herself blow thick smoke rings. “I always drove men crazy, but I was never mean. I let them down gently.”

  I didn’t want to hear about her men. “Has Paul been spying on Lauren?”

  Vivian dropped the mirror onto the table and yanked at her patchwork hair. “He’s been protecting her. They’re only separated, that’s all. She had no business falling in love with your father. The man is so old he’s half dead.” Vivian was almost panting. “After everything she’s done to him, Paulie still wants her back.”

  “Paul believes that Lauren will go back to him after all this time?”

  “I’ve kept Lauren’s father waiting a helluva lot longer,” Vivian cackled, stroking then lifting the mirror. “There’s been nights I almost let him return, but I’m strong. Paulie is different, a kind and forgiving man. Joe Rowe would as soon slap your face than listen to you.” She stared into the chipped glass, “To love is to forgive, to hate is to remember.”

  “You think Paul and Lauren are meeting tonight?” I asked, my concern turning into anxious horror.

  “I’m sure of it. They were planning to meet at the Hacienda. Paulie’s chair was still warm when you took it.”

  When Vivian realized I was leaving, she said she’d be dressed in a flash and we’d party the night away. She flew to the bedroom continuing her desperate chatter as she dropped to the floor and ripped through the piles of clothes. She finally stood, holding a fifties velvet evening dress in front of her, cursing as the door slammed shut.

  I didn’t bother to call. Instead, I gunned the sedan toward the Hacienda. Call it
vibes. Bad vibes.

  And they got no better when I squealed to a stop in front of the big old house. Like Vivian’s, the place appeared deserted. But when I ran up the front stairs serenaded by the ocean slapping against the rocky shore, I spotted a low-power lamp in the cluttered room behind the bays. I let myself inside the unlocked door, rushed into the sitting room, and felt something shatter across my head.

  I awoke to Elvis singing Fools Rush In, blood matting my hair and Paul Brown sitting cross-legged on the floor cradling Lauren Rowe’s head. The rest of her inert body was on its side, stretched between us.

  Paul aimed a gun—my gun—at me as soon as I sat up. His eyes were glazed, his teeth bared. No silver fox now; he looked like a mean wolf.

  “What happened?” I asked, fighting to keep calm, picking bloodstained pieces of a vase from my hair.

  “She won’t breathe,” he said as if insulted. Carefully he rolled Lauren onto her back.

  “Maybe we ought to call the hospital?” I suggested, though I knew it was useless. My controlled calm plunged into a cold numbness. Strangulation marks were still visible on Lauren’s white throat.

  “It’s too late,” he whispered hoarsely, “too late for everything.”

  “Not to give me my gun,” I said tonelessly. I’d been too stupid for too long, and it had cost Lauren her life.

  He stared straight through me; gave no sign that he’d even heard me. “I came here expecting so much,” he complained. “She sounded so friendly on the phone. Her voice was happy. I felt full of promise.”

  He kept the gun trained on my body but rested his free hand on her arm and petted her skin. “What was I supposed to think?” he asked.

  “I think you ought to give me my gun. If we hurry, we might have time to get her help.” Yeah, time for an autopsy. Fuck me and all my crazy about Lauren and close relationships. It cost her her life.

  “You’re talking about time? Our hair was black when we met, now look at us. So damn much time and you want more? For what?” he demanded. “The fat man?”

  As I thought of Lou, Lauren’s death, all its implications started slicing through my helpless rage.

  Paul pulled Lauren’s body up a little higher, onto his legs, holding her possessively. “She used to make fun of fat people, said they had no control. But there she was with this guy,” he said, waving my gun.

  I cringed, wondering if I’d get out of this alive. Knowing the only way that was gonna happen is if I talked my way past this stupor. “Must have been hard,” I said, “waiting all these years.”

  Paul kept waving my gun, and I grit my teeth to keep from scrambling. “I never left,” he insisted. “It didn’t matter where we lived, who we were with. We were always one with each other.” He looked down at her, smiled tenderly, and stroked her thick hair.

  I felt my skin crawl. “Until Lou came along.” I wasn’t sure whether I was playing chickie or searching for a crack in his crazy.

  “She was different with him,” Paul said. “I always knew it was in her, always wanted to give her a chance to flower.”

  “Only she flowered with Lou, not you.”

  He squeezed Lauren’s shoulder. Hard. “I’d be working on the Hacienda and hear them laughing. When they left together, I’d follow. You know what got to me?”

  “What?” I asked, sliding forward until my sneakers touched Lauren’s shoes, hoping he was too distracted to notice

  “They held hands,” he said despairingly. “Whenever I tried to hold her hand she’d refuse. It feels claustrophobic,” he mimicked, tossing his head, his hand snaking down to clasp hers.

  “You didn’t stop with the occasional follow, did you?” He was getting more and more upset, but his grip on the fucking gun was steady. I wanted to keep him talking while I looked for some sort of opportunity. Opportunity for what? There was no opportunity left for Lou, no opportunity for Lauren. But Lauren’s cold body didn’t matter to Paul—death didn’t do them part.

  “Sometimes, watching them was almost enjoyable. Lauren was blossoming, and I knew it was only a matter of time before we’d be back together,” he said.

  “You mean a matter of time until you murdered her.”

  He looked confused. “You never murder someone you love.” He let go of her fingers and ran his hand across her breasts.

  His obsessive pawing was weirding me out. “I get it, you killed her with kindness.”

  He glanced at me with the first hint of anger shining through his cloudy eyes. “She took him to the cliffs. Our cliffs. He couldn’t make it to the ridge, so they only went out a little way. I’d sit and watch them from the woods.”

  “That made your blood boil, didn’t it? This man sitting on your rocks, taking your place, with your woman while you hid in the woods.”

  Paul’s eyes gleamed as he shook his head. “Patience.”

  For a moment I thought he was warning me.

  “I have patience,” he continued, “there was no need for anger.”

  He might have patience, but I was losing mine. My headache was starting to recede, my self-loathing quieting. I wanted out, and I wanted to bring this motherfucking murderer with me. “You stopped following them for a while,” I said.

  “You,” he said pointing the gun. “When I heard that Lauren asked you to help, it worried me.” Again he drew his lips across his teeth. “A blessing in disguise; it gave me time to think. When she called it “stalking” I knew I was finally having an effect.”

  “Scaring the shit out of her was one hell of an effect.”

  He bent down from his seat on the floor and gently kissed Lauren’s forehead. But he lifted his head too quickly for me to do anything but prop myself up with the palms of my hand. “I was sending her all my feelings, all my love,” he said with a pleased expression.

  Lauren had promised to listen to me, had promised to stay with Lou. But she hadn’t. Lauren never fucking listened to anyone, always did what she wanted. I heard my own ‘blame the victim’ and shook it out of my head. It was time to shift gears. If Paul remained in his delusions, I’d be dead without him even realizing he killed me. “You loved her so much you tried to murder her in her sleep, poison her.”

  He frowned, “You’re talking about the furnace. Yes, I was upset about the divorce but that had nothing to do with the furnace. Alexis needed to sell the Hacienda. I’m sure she owes that Shylock of hers money. I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. I just wanted Lauren to sell the house!”

  Daughter helping Daddy, Daddy helping daughter. One big, happy murder.

  Paul’s eyes blinked rapidly, drops of spit gathering at the corners of his mouth. When he spoke it was directed to Lauren. “Even after I stopped giving you money, I put it away for us.”

  Paul caressed Lauren’s cheek, running his fingers lightly over her parted lips. “I love you, I’ll always love you.”

  I pushed past my disgust and clubbed him with words. “You’re one sick fuck, Paul. You’ve never loved anything but yourself and power. That’s why you stopped giving Lauren money, why you went back to stalking. You loved the power it gave you, the power to frighten her.”

  “No,” he protested, his calm finally starting to crumble.

  “That’s what floats your boat,” I barked. “You want ‘em scared. Or you want ‘em dependent like Anne. You love the power, Paul, not the person.”

  Paul’s hand moved to her upper arm. “You make it sound simple, but it isn’t.”

  “Bullshit! Lauren wanted a divorce and you made her pay. Made her pay for all those wasted years you played house with Anne while you waited. Only Lauren wasn’t coming home and all your waiting wasn’t gonna matter.”

  He rubbed his forehead with the trembling gun. “No matter where I really wanted to be and who I wanted to be with, I helped Anne heal a broken heart.”

  “Man-Of-The-Year,” I said snorting. “All that patience for nothing. All that good housekeeping for nothing. All that time for nothing. So when Lauren told you about the divorce y
ou decided to kill her. If you couldn’t have her, no one would, right!”

  “I never thought about killing her, ” sweat staining his madras shirt.

  “Then why isn’t she breathing, Paul? Why is she lying in your fucking lap branded with your fucking finger marks?” I sat completely still while he looked down and stared at Lauren’s lifeless eyes.

  “It just happened,” he murmured, his eyes widening with rage. “It was the same our entire life. Things just happened. One after another. No matter what I did or what I tried, things just happened.”

  His hand—and the gun in it—started to shake.

  He glared down at Lauren. “You told me the old man was moving in. You told me to stop coming by, you didn’t need a handyman. What was I supposed to do, walk away? I wasn’t even working on the Hacienda for you. I was doing it for Alexis.”

  “Alexis, Anne, Lauren, Vivian” I spat, “you were helping ‘em all! What about Stephen? Or Ian? Were you helping them too?”

  He acted like he’d been asked a different question, from a different person: The dead one in his lap. “You didn’t mind Allie being mine as long as the boys were yours,” he said. “But you never expected them to despise me. I don’t blame you for that.”

  Paul suddenly pushed her head, dangling it over the side of his thigh, his eyes blazing. I tensed, thinking he was finally going to shoot. He glared at me but kept speaking to Lauren. “You let that old man take care of you and taking care of you was all I ever wanted!”

  He paused, his hand coming to a full stop on Lauren’s shoulder. “That’s why I couldn’t understand what you were talking about,” he said, his voice cracking, a violent convulsion rocking his body. “Your words didn’t make sense,” he shouted, shaking his dearly departed. “But you wouldn’t stop, you wouldn’t listen. You just kept saying the same thing over and over again.”

  Before I realized it, his large hand was around Lauren’s neck. “You were going to marry Lou, you were going to fucking marry Lou...”

  I leapt head first over Lauren’s body, heard a shot, then listened to Paul shriek as a bullet grazed his leg. I grabbed the gun and slammed him on the side of his head. Slammed him again, this time knocking him unconscious. But still had to pry his fingers from Lauren’s throat.