Dexter's Final Cut d-7

by Jeff Lindsay

  “Good morning, Sergeant,” she said. “No, I’ve already had breakfast.” She glanced at me with amusement. “Of course. He even finished mine.… I know, he must have a high metabolism, because …”

  It’s always nice to know people are talking about you, but from the smirks Jackie sent my way, it might not have been the most flattering conversation. But short of snarling and ripping the phone from Jackie’s hand, there was nothing I could do but endure, so I did, and the talk apparently changed to some other topic right after.

  “Really,” Jackie said. “On your day off? … I know; that’s why I’ve tried to avoid it.… No … No, I have to go for a fitting.… A costume fitting. For the show … You did know we start shooting Monday? … Oh, good, because …”

  She glanced at me again, this time with something else in her eyes-challenge? Speculation? I couldn’t be sure. Her tongue poked out between her lips, and her mouth twitched as if she was trying to fight off a mischievous impulse and not succeeding. “Sure, why not?” she said. “It’s a great idea; they’ll love it.… Well, I don’t mind.… No, she’s a little bit of a witch, but I think it’s okay.… I’ll make sure it’s okay.… Sure, that will be great. Bye.” She touched the screen again and put the phone down. “Your sister,” she said, quite unnecessarily.

  “I know,” I said. “How am I?”

  But Jackie was already on her feet and rushing away. “I have to get ready,” she called over one shoulder, and then she was gone, wafting herself away into the murky mysteries of makeup, hair, and whatever else it is that women do when they Get Ready.

  Ten minutes later the doorman called on the house phone to tell me the car was here, and only two or three minutes after that, we were in the elevator and heading down to the lobby. Benny, the doorman, had finally taken a day off, and his replacement waited by the door for us, staring at Jackie with visible tension, mixed with awe.

  Even though there was no actual need for it, I went through my routine of stepping outside and looking around. Everything seemed fine. There was no sign of soaking-wet, barnacle-encrusted stalker anywhere. The Corniche still looked expensive.

  The driver in the Town Car was the same man, which seemed a little surprising. I opened the front door and stuck my head in. “Don’t you get weekends off?”

  “Not if I’m driving Jackie Forrest,” he said. Then he winked at me. “Besides, I get double time.”

  As a fellow workingman, I was very happy for him, and I closed the door and went to get Jackie. I wondered whether I was getting double time. It occurred to me that we had never discussed an actual price for my services, and I wondered how I could bring that up without sounding mercenary. Of course, I actually was mercenary-more than that, with Patrick tucked into his watery grave, I was technically a contract killer now, which seemed just about as mercenary as you can get. I hadn’t thought of it like that before, and I did now; it seemed unimaginable that I had killed for money. I hadn’t done so on purpose-I had killed Patrick so I could relax for a few days and enjoy the life of a Celebrity Companion.

  Of course, that made it seem even worse: I had killed for room service. What a terrible, low creature I was. I wondered whether I should feel cheap and tawdry, or perhaps just jaded and callous. How much lower could I sink? I was already indifferent to the suffering of my victims, so I couldn’t really try to make that fit a new and colder me, if there actually was one.

  I didn’t think I was any different, but you are always the last to know when you have changed for the worse. Perhaps the new me was already a monster of ego and indifference. What next? Would I lose my table manners, or stop tipping in restaurants? But in the short walk back to the hotel’s lobby, I couldn’t really work out any details about how this new thing should make me act, so I decided not to worry about it, and I went back to wondering how I could bring the topic of Disbursement for Dexter to Jackie’s attention.

  By the time I handed Jackie into the backseat of the Town Car, I still hadn’t come up with anything that didn’t seem confrontational or boorish. So I shelved the topic for the time being and settled back to enjoy the ride.

  We rolled across town through light traffic, mostly keeping our thoughts to ourselves. Several times I caught Jackie looking at me with what could only be called a secret smirk, and while it’s nice to be the target of other people’s happiness, I didn’t get any joy from her barely suppressed amusement-especially since I had no idea what was causing it.

  The crew, and most of the lesser cast members, had been put up in the Hyatt Regency downtown. It was a quick drive on a Saturday morning, and we pulled into the short circular driveway in front of the hotel only fifteen minutes later. Once again I got out and pantomimed eternal vigilance, looking all around for any sign of a lurking Patrick. I didn’t see any trace of him, which was bad news for zombie lovers, and I reached into the car and gave Jackie a hand out.

  Wardrobe had a suite on the twenty-fourth floor, and we stepped into an elevator filled with three businessmen, complete with gray suits and briefcases, which seemed like overkill on a Saturday morning. Maybe there was a board meeting at their church. The door slid shut, and one of them glanced importantly in our direction. He looked away haughtily, and then did a double take. “Holy shit, Jackie Forrest?!” he blurted out, and the other two gave a start and then gaped at us, too.

  Jackie smiled graciously and did her part, the noblesse oblige she had talked about. I almost wished she’d been rude to them, since I had to hold the elevator door open for a long minute while she signed one of the briefcases with a Magic Marker. There were distant chimes, indicating that somebody else wanted the elevator, and the door kept thumping me as it tried to close and answer the call.

  But finally, Jackie tore herself away from her adoring public and stepped out onto the twenty-fourth floor, and as the doors slid shut I heard the autograph hound excitedly saying to the others, “Hot damn, what an amazing piece of-” And then, happily, the doors slid shut on the last word, leaving me to guess what Jackie was an amazing piece of, and we fled down the hall to the suite where Wardrobe had set up shop.

  Stepping into the suite was like finding yourself in a beehive the moment after someone has whacked it with a stick. In the eye of the storm, a tall woman of indeterminate age stood commandingly beside a dress dummy. Robert was parked unmoving in front of her, wearing a hideous Hawaiian shirt as the woman tugged it closed and began to button it. Robert looked very much like he was afraid to move, and I looked at the woman a little more closely to see what could inspire such dread.

  Her hair was black, streaked with gray that might have been dyed, and she had large glasses in black frames that swirled out on the sides and glittered with rhinestones. Her face was set in an expression of permanent meanness, lips pinched and eyes squinched, as if she automatically disapproved of absolutely everything and knew just what to do about fixing it and making you sorry.

  A tape measure hung around her neck, and she was yelling at someone named Freddy to for shit’s sake get the fucking hot-glue gun before it fucking froze. And a wispy young man, probably Freddy, fled from her in terror, presumably to find the fucking hot-glue gun.

  Over by the floor-to-ceiling window, on a low couch and several accompanying chairs, a handful of men and women sat together, chatting. On a side table next to them was a large chrome coffee urn and a few pastry boxes.

  Another slender young man ran by in the opposite direction, his arms full to overflowing with blue police uniforms. I glanced at one sleeve that dangled loose; it said, MIAMI POLICE. I wondered where they’d gotten the badges, since I had been around Miami police my whole life and I had never seen anything like them.

  “Close your mouth,” Jackie said, and I realized I had been staring in wonder, mouth agape, at the melee. “If Sylvia sees any weakness, it’s all over.”

  I closed my mouth and Jackie took my elbow to steer us both to safety. But before I could take more than one step, the door to the suite bumped open, and I turn
ed around to look. And sadly for my self-image, my mouth dropped open again.

  Because standing there, framed by the doorway, stood Cody and Astor. Behind them, a baby carriage with two passengers rolled into view, and my jaw dangled even lower as I recognized the two passengers as my daughter, Lily Anne, and Deb’s son, Nicholas. “Dadoo!” Lily Anne called, holding her arms out for me to pick her up, and Nicholas bounced up and down with the excitement of the moment.

  And, of course, right behind them, wearing a smirk and pushing the carriage, was Sergeant Sister Deborah.

  “Hi, Dexter,” Astor said. “This place looks crazy. Do they have any doughnuts or anything?”

  “Aunt Deborah said,” Cody said softly.

  “What, the what what,” I said, sounding brain-damaged even to me.

  “Move it, Dex,” Deborah said. “And close your mouth.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Have you ever noticed that every now and then it begins to feel like the entire world is a conspiracy designed to make you look like a total idiot? And if you are a reasonable being with even a nodding acquaintance with logic, you tell yourself this is mere paranoia; you talk yourself out of it and soldier on. But then something happens to make you think it’s not such a far-fetched idea after all.

  This was clearly one of those moments. In front of me Debs was smirking. Cody and Astor, moving around me to see into the room, glanced up and smirked, too. And when I turned around to look at Jackie, there on her face was the unkindest smirk of all.

  “What, um,” I said, and I was quite proud that I did not actually stutter, “what is going on here?”

  “Dexter, you get to work on a movie,” Astor said, with a certain amount of venom, though not as much as she used with Rita lately. “With stars …” She glanced at Jackie, and then at Robert. “And instead you didn’t even tell us, or bring us here, or anything.” She looked at me now, a cold and cranky glare. “You know I’m going to be an actress, and you’re supposed to care about us, and help us learn things and do cool stuff, and you didn’t even tell us.”

  “You should have told us,” Cody said softly, and that hurt more than Astor’s contempt.

  “Yes, but, school is … and anyhow,” I said, and regrettably, I was stuttering now.

  “It’s Saturday,” Cody said.

  “You’re acting like a putz,” Astor told me. And before I could wonder where she had learned that word, Deborah pushed the stroller through the door and into the room next to me.

  “Rita called and asked me if I could watch the kids,” Debs told me. “Some kind of awful crisis at work involving the euro and real estate prices in Germany. Which you would know if you ever called her.”

  “Yes, but …” I said. “I mean, on a Saturday …?”

  “You really are a putz,” Debs said, shaking her head.

  I glanced at Jackie; she smiled and nodded. “You are,” she said happily.

  They all stared at me with mild contempt and amusement; it seemed like even the two babies had learned the look, and I waited for Lily Anne to call out, “Putz, Dadoo!” Happily for me, she didn’t, and I made a valiant effort to collect the tattered shreds of my dignity.

  “Well,” I said, “I’m very happy to see you all.”

  I could have continued my embarrassing groveling, but Astor had locked her eyes onto Jackie. “Are you an actress?” she asked, almost shyly, which was a very odd tone coming from Astor.

  Jackie looked down at her and raised one eyebrow. “Yes, I am,” she said.

  “Are you famous?” Astor said.

  Jackie gave her a polite smile. “I guess it’s a matter of opinion,” she said.

  Astor stared a moment longer, then frowned, glanced at me, and asked Jackie, “Why are you with Dexter?”

  Jackie looked at me for help, but I had nothing. The tip of her tongue poked out between her lips and she took a deep breath. “Dexter is … helping me with … a problem,” she said.

  Astor shook her head. “What kind of problem could he help you with?” she said, and the old, snarky tone was back in her voice; she even snickered. “Do you have a blood-spatter problem?”

  “No, of course not,” Jackie said.

  “That’s all Dexter can do,” Astor said. “Except-” She caught herself just in time, looked at me, and then her jaw dropped open and she whirled back around to Jackie. “Oh, shit,” she said. “You’re having an affair.” She looked back at me. “Dexter is having sex with a famous actress! That is so cool!”

  Jackie actually blushed, and my sister, Deborah, helpful as ever, let out an amused snort.

  “What? No!” I said. “Astor, that’s ridiculous.”

  “Well, then, what?” she demanded. “Why are you hanging out with her?”

  I hesitated, and Jackie didn’t have anything to say, either. Deborah raised one eyebrow and shrugged, which was not terribly helpful. Apparently it was all on me, so I tried tiptoeing up to it. “It’s kind of secret,” I said.

  “Affairs are always secret,” Astor said. I wondered if anyone would notice if I flung her out a window.

  “Astor, it’s not an affair,” I said, and then, taking a deep breath, I plunged in headfirst. “Jackie got some scary letters,” I said. “I’m just … making sure nothing bad happens to her-”

  Astor’s face lit up and she beamed at Jackie. “You got a psycho stalker? Wow! You really are famous!” she said.

  Jackie turned an appalled expression on me, and I said, “Astor, please, it’s a secret.”

  “Why is it secret?” Astor said. “If I had a stalker, I’d want everybody to know.”

  “Jackie could lose her job,” Deborah said.

  Astor frowned and shook her head. “Why?” she said. “It’s not her fault.”

  “It’s complicated,” I said. “Just please don’t tell anybody.” Astor looked at me like she was calculating what she might wangle out of me in exchange for her silence, and I was ready to promise her a new pony, when fate smiled on me for once. From the far end of the room, near a short hallway, there was a loud outburst of angry yelling and everyone turned to look.

  Renny was holding on to Kathy, Jackie’s assistant, by her wrists; she was struggling to get away and shouting at him furiously to let go or she would tell everybody. Renny said something soft and urgent, and Kathy yanked her arms away and slapped him. “I told you last time!” she said. “I swear to God, Renny, you just-” And then one of Sylvia’s thin young men was there, stepping bravely between them and speaking soothing words. And Kathy backed off, gave Renny one last glare, and said, “I mean it, asshole!” She whirled away and steamed straight over to Jackie. For the first time, her arms were not filled with papers, and she didn’t even have her trademark phone in one hand and Starbucks cup in the other. She pushed past me with a glare and stood in front of Jackie. “Sylvia said she couldn’t wait for you any longer and she was going to do Robert first-”

  “All right, Kathy, it’s all right,” Jackie said soothingly. “Are you okay?”

  Kathy pushed her glasses up with one stubby finger. “I am fine,” she said. “But that piece of shit Renny-”

  “Okay, it’s over,” Jackie said, taking Kathy by the arm and leading her over toward the couch, on the opposite side of the room from Renny. He stood watching her, a look on his face that was a strange combination of anger and amusement. Then he turned and saw me looking, and as our eyes met I heard a soft hiss from a coiled Something inside and the distant rattle of leathery wings as it stretched and twitched uneasily in half readiness to rise and meet the thing that stared back at us from Renny’s hissing Something-And then Renny turned away and the Passenger yawned and turned over and went back to its lazy nap and I was left wondering once again if I had really seen that threat in Renny’s eyes. What, if anything, would it steer him toward? And what had he done to Kathy? She seemed as angry at him as she had been at me-had Renny made her pee on the floor, too?

  But before I could do any more than frame the questions, Asto
r spoke up again.

  “Oh, oh,” Astor said, and her voice was reverent and hushed. “That’s the guy from the show Mom used to like. It’s on reruns all the time. What’s his name …?”

  I turned around to see what she was talking about. Unfortunately, she was staring directly at Robert.

  “You mean Robert?” I said. “Mom watches Robert’s old show?”

  “Robert Chase,” Astor said with excitement. She stared at Robert with a hungry look and licked her lips. “I’ve seen him on TV, like, a hundred times.” There was a tone of yearning in her voice I had never heard from her before, and I realized that, as ridiculous as it might seem to me, Astor was starstruck-and with Robert, for God’s sake.

  Still, I had obligations as her stepfather, as she had already reminded me, and I was willing to do almost anything to take her mind off Jackie’s little secret, so I pushed away the weary sigh that was trying to come out and replaced it with cheerful parental words. “Would you like me to introduce you?” I said. And Astor shot me a glance that made me think there might be some small hope of someday working my way back into her good graces.

  “Hell, yes,” she said.

  “Astor,” Debs said warningly.

  “I mean, yes, please, Dexter,” she amended, with a completely artificial look of angelic innocence on her face. “I really want to meet him.”

  “Me, too,” Cody said, stubbornly refusing to be left out.

  “Well,” I said, thinking of the Robert I had come to know far too well, “I hope you aren’t disappointed.”

  Astor snorted and shook her head. “Dexter, he’s a star,” she said, her voice laced with pity for my stupidity. “How can we be disappointed?”