All acts of pleasure argi-7

by M. R. Sellars

  “No, but my overnight bag is a bit of a different story, then,” she confessed. “And, you need to know that no matter what they imply to you, I have never…”

  She didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence before the guard outside opened the door once again then stepped in and announced, “Time’s up.”

  “Just another minute or so,” I appealed.

  “No sir. I already let you go long as it is,” she replied in a vindictive tone. “ Your time is up. Now you’re wasting my time.”

  CHAPTER 17:

  I wasn’t smiling when I walked out into the afternoon daylight. There wasn’t even an expression remotely resembling good humor in close proximity to my face. I know the chorus of the once popular song said that after “fighting authority”, I was supposed to come out “grinnin’”, but it just wasn’t going to happen.

  I’d been locked in this me-versus-the-law free-for-all since Friday morning, and it was getting tiresome. Thus far I hadn’t accomplished much of anything other than digging myself into a deeper hole because, also like the song says, the bastards did indeed keep coming out on top. There was, however, a point other than the “grinnin’” where the lyrics and I would again be diverging-and that was very simply the fact that I wasn’t about to let them “always win”.

  As far as I was concerned, they were welcome to claim victory in all of the skirmishes they wanted. The truth was they already had, with their latest triumph being my unceremonious ejection from the interview room and immediate escort out the front doors of the Justice Center. However, when it came down to the fate of my wife, I was going to prevail, not them. They just didn’t know it yet. However, the fact that the details of how I was going to accomplish this were still radically fuzzier than my crystal clear conviction was a moot point at the moment, because my mind was actually elsewhere.

  It was still back upstairs with my wife.

  I was certain that had I been a bit less surly-okay, a lot less surly-in my interaction with the corrections officer, I might have gotten the extra minute or two I had asked for. Instead, I was all but manhandled out of the room before Felicity could really begin her story, much less complete it. The fact that it had begun in such a cryptic, confession-like manner worried me. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her because I did, that wasn’t the issue at all. However, when you mix “overnight bag” and “whatever they imply, I didn’t…” together, the result can be more than just a little disconcerting. Suffice it to say, since something about an overnight bag had the police taking particular notice, and with an opening like the one she’d provided, I couldn’t help but have a few questions of my own.

  Of course, as it stood now, I had probably done more damage than good with the authorities inside where my visitation rights were concerned. With that, and the fact that Jackie was still inside with Felicity, I wasn’t sure when I would be getting my answers anytime soon. Yet another overt and undeniable chunk of evidence to support what everyone around me had been saying all along-that I needed to calm down. Unfortunately, it was much easier for them to say than it was for me to do.

  I stopped mentally castigating myself for a moment and looked up to glance at the traffic cruising along Tucker before stepping off the curb on my way around to the driver’s side of my truck. As it turned out, it was a good thing there weren’t any moving vehicles nearby because the voice that suddenly came from behind gave me an alarming start.

  “So, how’s she doin’?”

  I flinched involuntarily as the unexpected words caused me to lurch then immediately stumble headlong toward the street. At the same instant I felt myself pitching forward, someone clamped onto my upper arm and pulled me back. It should have been obvious that whoever had grabbed me was merely trying to help, but my paranoid mind took it in a completely different direction. I twisted around quickly, tensing as I tried to assume what I thought would be a defensive posture.

  Ben took one look at my face then released my arm and held his hands out in a yielding gesture as he took a half step back. “Whoa, Kemosabe. Just a bit jumpy, ain’t ya’?”

  I allowed myself to relax once I realized who I was dealing with, but only slightly. My mood hadn’t exactly been uplifted recently, and to be honest, I wasn’t in a big hurry to talk to Ben. We had made some headway last evening, but it had really only taken the edge off my anger. While that was a start, it definitely hadn’t repaired the schism by any stretch of the imagination.

  As we stood there, I gave him a quick once-over. He really didn’t look any better than I felt, so I suspected he was dealing with his own demons and sleepless nights. I couldn’t say that I was sorry about that. I also noticed his jaw looked just about as bruised as my fist. Right or wrong, I took a modicum of satisfaction in that.

  “Didn’t see you,” I finally replied, voice flat.

  “Yeah…kinda got that from the ‘I’m gonna kick your ass’ look on your face.”

  “Uh-huh…well, as I recall you’re the one who told me to be careful when I’m in the city.”

  “Yeah, but I meant the parts where ya’ really need ta’ be careful. I mean, look around. Ya’ got coppers all over the place down here.”

  “All the more reason to watch my back, don’t you think?” I just couldn’t stop myself from uttering the choleric words.

  “Yeah, uh-huh. So, obviously you’re right back ta’ bein’ major pissed,” he grunted. “Thought we’d patched things up a bit last night.”

  “Maybe a little, but this is going to take more than a little patching. I mean, look at what I’m dealing with here? Can you blame me for being pissed off?”

  “Guess not,” he assented with a shallow nod. “But ya’ need ta’ try and get over it ‘cause we ain’t the bad guys, Row.”

  “It’s been my experience that the bad guys rarely think of themselves as such.”

  “Yeah, okay,” he replied, holding up his hands again in surrender. “Not gonna go there with ya’. Don’t wanna argue right now. You’re pissed, that’s fine. It’s all good. We’ll just hafta work around it.”

  “Thank you so much for your approval,” I offered with heavy sarcasm overtly tagged to the words.

  He just shook his head but didn’t reply.

  “So,” I asked out of curiosity. “Are you following me now? Am I under surveillance? On the verge of being arrested as Felicity’s accomplice or something?”

  “Gimme a break,” he grunted. “If you were under surveillance, you wouldn’t know it unless we wanted ya’ to. The real deal is I was gonna call ya’, but I noticed your truck sittin’ here when I pulled in a couple minutes ago. Thought I’d just come over and talk to ya’ in person instead.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. But I was seen talkin’ to ya’ last night, so if there’s gonna be any fallout, the damage is already done…for me, anyway.”

  I didn’t really understand what he meant with his addendum to the sentence, but it wasn’t important. The fact was that his obvious conclusion about me being concerned for his career, while somewhat logical, was a misinterpretation of my query. I thought I should probably just let it go, but again my mouth was running out of sync with my brain.

  “Actually, I was talking about your jaw,” I corrected him. “You aren’t afraid I might take a swing?”

  “Uh-huh,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah. Well, don’t expect another free shot anytime soon, white man. Ain’t gonna happen.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” he said, still not pursuing the caustic tone of my replies. Instead, he peered back at me with questioning eyes then repeated his earlier question, “So, anyway, how’s Firehair?”

  “She’s been better,” I answered. “Of course, that stands to reason when you think about where she is.”

  “Yeah,” he mumbled, inspecting the sidewalk for a moment before looking back to my face. “But, she’s tough. She’ll hold up.”

  “
Yeah. I just hope she’s tough enough.”

  “She is.”

  “Glad you’re so confident.”

  “You ain’t?”

  “Let’s just say I’m worried.”

  “Yeah, I can understand that…” he agreed with a nod.

  “So,” I asked. “This great confidence you have in her fortitude…is that recent revelation?”

  “Just drawin’ from what I know about ‘er.”

  “Really? I thought you’d pretty much discounted all of that last night when the irrefutable evidence became the thing.”

  “I never said that.”

  “Not in those exact words.”

  He shook his head. “Ya’know, the only reason I’m resistin’ the urge ta’ kick your ass right now is that I know your head ain’t on straight.”

  “Okay. Am I supposed to say thank you?”

  “It’d be nice, but I’d settle for ya’ tryin’ ta’ be a little more civil.”

  “This is me being civil, Ben.”

  “Yeah, right,” he harrumphed. “It’s more like you bein’ an asshole.”

  “Live with it.”

  “It ain’t helpin’ your wife, Row.”

  “Coming from you, that sounds a bit empty.”

  “Look, I’ve been doin’ some thinkin’ about all this and askin’ a few questions.”

  “Oh yeah? Did you come to any conclusions?”

  “Yeah, actually, I did.”

  “Let me guess…you still think Felicity is guilty.”

  “Actually, considerin’ some of the answers I’ve gotten, what I think is some shit don’t add up.”

  “Okay, so, is that a yes or a no on the guilty part?”

  “It’s a ‘I think some shit don’t add up’,” he replied and then added, “On both sides.”

  “So what you’re saying is that now you’re on the fence?”

  “Shit, Rowan, I was climbin’ the goddamned fence last night. Just wasn’t quite sittin’ on it yet.”

  “I couldn’t tell.”

  “Wanna know why? ‘Cause ya’ were too friggin’ busy bein’ pissed off ta’ listen to me.”

  I paused for a moment to weigh what he had just said. In truth he was probably correct. Much of the previous evening was a painful blur, with even more excruciating but still out of focus highlights. I’m sure my emotional state clouded much of it just as it had been doing all along.

  I finally gave him a shallow nod and replied, “Maybe so.”

  “Yeah…so listen…you wanna go grab somethin’ ta’ eat this evening?”

  Taking into account the events of the past day, the invitation seemed to come out of nowhere. While I was willing to make a concession about my stubborness, I was still on a roller coaster ride where my feelings about Ben were concerned. I was willing to talk, but I wasn’t so sure I wanted to sit down to dinner with him. On top of that, I had more than enough to deal with at the moment.

  “No offense, Ben,” I replied, begging off the invite. “But I’m not much in the mood for socializing right now. And, to be honest, I’m still not so sure about the company.”

  “Yeah, well in case ya’ didn’t notice, that last part was actually kinda offensive.”

  “Sorry about that. Just being honest.”

  “Okay, but ya’ gotta eat.”

  “Trust me, if I get hungry I’ve got food at home.”

  He reached up and smoothed back his hair before dropping his hand back down. He started to say something then glanced almost furtively from side to side. I followed his gaze and noticed a fairly steady stream of people moving along the sidewalk.

  Gesturing obliquely, he fixed me with an odd stare. As he spoke, he carefully enunciated the words. “Listen to me, Row. I really think you need to come to dinner with me.”

  For whatever reason, I wasn’t getting his point, even with the out of character exactness of his speech. In fact, the only thing I was getting was annoyed. “Ben, I just said…”

  “Fuckit,” he muttered, cutting me off as he shook his head then gave me an even more wide-eyed stare. “Listen to me very carefully, willya’?” His next sentence was slow and deliberate with heavy emphasis on each individual word. “You… Need… To… Come… To… Dinner… With… Me.”

  It finally dawned on my overtaxed and under rested brain that what I was getting was not a social invitation but quite possibly an offer of information, or even help.

  “Oh” was all I could think of to say.

  “Yeah, oh,” he echoed. “Say around six-thirty. Meet me over at that Mexican place there in the middle of Westview Plaza?”

  “Yeah, I can do that,” I said with a nod.

  “Good. So, look, I gotta get back ta’ work.”

  “Yeah, okay. Guess I’ll see you around six-thirty then.”

  “Good.”

  As he started away I called after him, “Hey, Ben, just a second…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Is Constance going to be there?”

  He gave his head a quick shake. “Nope. Just me.”

  I scrunched my brow and cocked my head to the side. Once again, without bothering to think first, I spoke. “I don’t get it then…Why the cloak and dagger? I thought you just said you weren’t worried…”

  He shook his head again and looked confused. “I got no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

  Before I could say anything else, he shrugged then turned and continued on toward the police headquarters building down the street.

  I looked after him for several seconds, the furrows in my forehead deepening. Still puzzling over the conversation, I gave my own head a shake then turned and stepped off the curb. After waiting for a pair of vehicles to pass, I finally managed to get into my truck without being startled and falling into the street.

  I had already turned onto Market and was three blocks away when my cell phone began to ring. I extracted it from the cup holder on the center console and peered quickly at the display. The number showing on the liquid crystal was completely unfamiliar to me. I considered ignoring it but went ahead and thumbed the answer button anyway.

  “Rowan Gant,” I said, trying to remain businesslike despite my mood.

  “Did you take a goddamned stupid pill or somethin’ this mornin’?” Ben’s voice hissed into my ear.

  “What?” I replied.

  “Jeezus, I knew I shoulda just called you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “What’d I tell ya’ yesterday, Row?”

  “I’m not sure I follow?”

  “Jeezus…Constance is about half an inch from gettin’ put on administrative leave, white man.”

  “Okay, so what’s that got to do with…” I stopped mid sentence as my brain caught up with what I was being told.

  “I’m thinkin’ you just had an ‘oh shit’ moment, right?” Ben chided.

  “So she is going to be there,” I returned.

  “Ding ding,” he said. “I’d give ya’ a fuckin’ cigar, but right now it’s my turn to be pissed, so I’d probably shove it down your goddamned throat.”

  “Sorry. I’m just not all here right now.”

  “No shit. Jeezus! Now, keep your mouth shut and go home an’ take a friggin’ nap, willya’?”

  *****

  Ben had made an excellent point, and one that I actually agreed with for a change. Sleep was something I desperately needed; the problem was I just didn’t think I had time for it.

  Upon arriving home I went through the motions of everyday life, if for no other reason than to keep myself on an even keel. Things like letting the dogs out, making sure they had plenty of food and water, and carting the kitchen trash out to the waste can at the back of the house. While they were mundane activities at best, they felt very much like they were probably the sanest events in my life at the moment.

  A quick listen to the answering machine revealed a fresh pair of insult barrages from Shamus, one of our ongoing mystery hang-ups, and several frantic messages
from various members of our coven. I knew I needed to call all of them and fill them in, but I was tired of explaining at this point. As much as I hated to leave them hanging, they were just going to have to wait.

  The final voice on the machine turned out to be calm as well as familiar. It was my mother-in-law, Maggie. While I knew she wasn’t any more a fan of mine than Shamus, I couldn’t accuse her of ever being anything but a class act. The message was concise and even apologetic to an extent, simply asking that I please call them as soon as I had any new information about what was happening. She even went so far as to offer to help in any way they could. My paranoia told me the offer was likely nothing more than a way for Shamus to try assuming control over the situation again; however, I tried not to think about that and left the statement to stand at face value.

  Of note was the fact that according to the time stamps, all of the messages had been left during a relatively short period very soon after I had left the house earlier in the day. Following up by checking the caller ID, it became clear that Felicity had been on target with her comment about her mother taking care of Shamus, at least in the interim, because she had been the last caller. Out of a weird curiosity, I even picked up the handset and checked to make sure the phone hadn’t suddenly stopped operating.

  There was little left for me to do now. Until Jackie called or I heard from Doctor Rieth again, I was in a kind of limbo for a few hours. I looked around the room and gave consideration to starting in on the cleanup but couldn’t muster the energy to do anything more than simply think about it. Picking my way around piles of books, I wandered over to the sofa and sat down, eventually leaning back and letting myself sink into the cushions.

  Sometime after that my body switched to automatic pilot. The last thing I clearly recall was thinking I didn’t really have time to be sitting here doing nothing. However, as exhausted as I was, not to mention emotionally hot-wired, neither my brain nor my body was particularly concerned with what I thought.

  CHAPTER 18: