Face of Evil

by George Morris De'Ath

  “Writer’s block?” asks Alex, smiling. Lydia cringes. Only someone who wasn’t a writer could deploy that term so cheerfully.

  “Something like that.”

  “And whisky helps you think?”

  Lydia grips her glass, resisting the strong urge to fling its contents in Alex’s smirking face. The bartender sets a cold bottle of beer atop a napkin in front of him.

  “Mind if I keep you company while I wait?” asks Alex, taking a swig from the bottle.

  “Sure,” says Lydia. In her head it sounds like “no”. She is annoyed with herself for being such a pushover, but then again knows that she could certainly use a distraction.

  “So, how’s it going?”

  “Yeah, great,” Lydia lies. “Making good progress, few chapters down already.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Excuse me?” Lydia glares at him.

  “I can tell,” he points the neck of his bottle towards her face. “You disengage when you’re lying.”

  “I what?”

  “All your facial features kind of reset, like a mask. I noticed it the other night.” He takes another drink.

  “You’re going to teach me about reading people?” asks Lydia, incredulously.

  “Woah, settle down, Lyd,” he says, holding up his free hand in apology. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  Lydia turns back to the bar. She picks up her phone, hovers her thumb over the home button but sets it down again.

  “Something bothering you?” asks Alex, tentatively. Lydia shrugs. “Did you… see Devere again?”

  “This afternoon,” she says, tipping back the last of her drink and ordering another.

  “How did that go?”

  “It was fine,” Lydia replies. She doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that Jason got to her, just as Alex said he would.

  “Okay.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means okay, Lydia, what?” Alex looks hurt, and Lydia feels as guilty as if she had just kicked a puppy. There’s a long pause.

  “He got under my skin,” she says finally. “Just a little bit.”

  “Well,” says Alex seriously, “that is bad news.”

  “Why?” Lydia frowns.

  “It means you’re only human.” He looks her right in the eyes, the hint of a smile twitching the corners of his mouth. Lydia can’t help herself. She laughs.

  “Asshole…”

  “I’ll drink to that.” He raises his bottle as the bartender refills Lydia’s glass.

  “To assholes?” asks Lydia, one eyebrow raised.

  “To liars,” says Alex, brazenly. Lydia glares at him again, but she’s smiling. Somewhere deep inside her she feels a release, like a dam breaking and washing all of her tension away. She raises her glass and clinks it gently against the bottle.

  “What kinda music d’ya like?” Alex’s speech had grown increasingly slurred over the past hour. Thankfully the wailing woman had retired from the stage and the old jukebox in the corner had taken over her duties.

  “I hate that question,” Lydia replies. She goes to take another sip of whisky but thinks better of it and puts the glass down. A sick feeling in her stomach is threatening to bubble over. “What kind of movies do you like? What kind of food do you enjoy?” She waves a dismissive hand. “As if you can learn anything about a person by generalising and compartmentalising their tastes.”

  “Woah,” says Alex, “didn’t mean to offend the psychoanalyst.” Lydia gives him a look. Oh please. “Why don’t you show me instead, then?” He nods towards the jukebox.

  “Alright,” says Lydia, pushing herself off the bar stool and then grabbing it again to steady herself as her heels hit the floor. Alex takes her arm. “I’m fine,” she snaps, jerking it away. Alex turns away as he gets to his feet, so Lydia can’t quite make out what he’s mouthing to himself, but she’s sure it isn’t complimentary. She follows him unsteadily over to the music’s source.

  “You pick one, I pick one,” says Alex, pushing a few coins into the slot.

  “You first,” says Lydia. Even in her high heels, Alex is a full foot taller than her and standing so close to him makes her feel girlish. Young. Safe. She inhales his cologne, that subtle, flowery scent, and feels a tingle inside.

  “Aha,” says Alex, pushing the thick, mechanical buttons, “a classic.” Lydia watches him select ‘Come Get Your Love’ by Redbone and nods approvingly. “Your turn.” He slides over to give her room. Lydia flips back and forth through the albums before settling on ‘Under My Skin’. “You like Sinatra?” asks Alex, surprised.

  “Who doesn’t?” she replies, hazily.

  “Good girl. Two spiced rums over here,” Alex calls to the bartender. She makes a face.

  “I hate rum.”

  “You’re gonna love this rum,” he insists. A flash of anger makes Lydia’s pale cheeks warm. Why are men like this? she wonders, the thought almost forcing itself from her lips. The bartender pours the shots and Lydia sniffs hers doubtfully, recoiling immediately.

  “It smells disgusting.”

  “Trust me.” Alex laughs, picking his up and motioning for Lydia to do the same.

  “Ugh,” she sighs. “Really?”

  “C’mon, Lyd,” he teases, “where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “Fine.” Lydia picks up the shot.

  “On three,” says Alex. “One…” Lydia’s glass is already at her lips before he can finish. Taken by surprise, he raises his own quickly and tips it back.

  “Ergh!” Lydia splutters, gagging and sticking out her tongue. “That’s horrible.”

  “Really?” asks Alex, his face crinkled from the harshness of the alcohol.

  “Tastes like shit and shoe polish,” says Lydia, gesturing for the bartender to bring her a glass of water.

  “Oh come on!”

  “It does,” Lydia insists, her eyes wandering to the large analogue clock behind the bar. “Hey, where’s your date?”

  Alex follows her gaze. “Huh,” he says, quietly. “Guess I’ve been stood up.”

  “Oh come on, Alex,” says Lydia, impatiently.

  “What?”

  “There is no date, is there?” she says. Alex looks like he’s about to protest, but withers beneath Lydia’s penetrating eyes.

  “Alright, you got me. There’s no date.”

  Lydia nods thoughtfully, then leans in towards him. “So why are you really here?” she whispers. Alex looks at her, then to the bartender, then around the room.

  “Not in here,” he whispers back, jerking his head towards the door. Then without another word he gets up and heads outside. Blindsided and bewildered, Lydia grabs her leather jacket from the back of her stool and follows.

  The frozen air hits her like a wall of ice. Her heel slides and she wobbles, catching hold of Alex’s arm to steady herself.

  “Oh now it’s okay,” he teases.

  “Shut up,” Lydia replies, grumpily. “What are we doing out here?”

  “Okay,” says Alex, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “this is going to sound crazy but hear me out.” Lydia stares at him impatiently. “Right, well the thing is, I’ve been here the past few nights looking for a guy.”

  Lydia’s eyebrow rises.

  “Not like that! He’s a fence for a crime lord round these parts, name of Falcone.”

  “How dramatic,” says Lydia, intrigued but trying not to sound it. “And what is it exactly you want from him?”

  “Information.”

  “That isn’t very exact, Alex,” says Lydia, stuffing her hands in her pockets and pulling the jacket tight around her.

  “I can’t tell you everything, Lydia, you’re not a cop.”

  “Are you afraid I’m going to run off to all my criminal friends and warn them?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “I’d be breaking the law, for a start.”

  “Oh come on.” Lydia
gives him a withering look.

  “I would!”

  “You break laws every day for pity’s sake, we all do. The reason you don’t want to tell me,” she steps closer, looking him right in the eyes, “is that information is power, and you like the feeling of having power over me.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Lydia grins. “So tell me.”

  “You think your amateur psychologist routine is going to work on me?”

  “No.” Lydia bites her lip and tilts her head just a little. “I know it is.”

  Alex stares at her for a moment, then forces himself to look away. “Fine. I’ll tell you. But not because of that little performance,” he adds as Lydia spins away, laughing. “I’ll tell you because I trust you.”

  “Thank you, Alex.” Lydia looks comically over-serious. “Thank you for trusting me.”

  “Forget it.”

  She starts laughing again. “I’m sorry, come on, tell me. What’s the information?”

  Alex rolls his eyes. “Fine. It’s no big deal anyway. They’re making over stolen cars someplace and I’d like to know where, so we can get eyes on their people more easily.”

  “Okay,” Lydia nods, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  “Oh shut up.”

  “So is he here tonight, your fence?”

  “I’m not sure,” Alex replies, sheepishly. “I’ve been a bit… distracted.” He meets Lydia’s eye and then looks away quickly.

  “Well, go look, dumbass!” Lydia fans him inside with her hands, still stuffed in her pockets. “Go!”

  Alex stumbles back inside and the heavy door closes behind him, shutting out the sounds of the bar completely. The silence is quite pleasant. It reminds Lydia of her childhood, walking home from school alone in the winter. What she would give for life to be that simple again. Then the door opens again and Alex spills out into the snow.

  “He’s in there,” he says, unhappily.

  “So go get your information, you idiot!” says Lydia, staring at him in disbelief. How she could ever have thought this man smart seemed, in this moment, completely beyond her.

  “I can’t,” he sighs. “I’m too drunk now.”

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” says Lydia impatiently. “Just go and get it.”

  Alex looks away, then walks away a few paces and stands with his back to her. Lydia marches after him, heels knocking the ground, grabs his shoulder and hauls him around to face her. The effort almost topples her over. “Pull yourself together, for god’s sake!” she says, forcefully. “This is your job, isn’t it?”

  “Not the part I’m good at.”

  “What part is that?”

  “Getting people to talk.” Alex sighs. “I don’t have the patience for it, or the empathy, or whatever it is that you need to get people to like you. I just lose my temper and then they shut down.” He stares at the ground. “That’s why Devere was on the run for so long.”

  Lydia frowns. “What are you talking about?”

  “The motherfucker got to me. Got in my head,” he waves a hand at her, “like you did just now. And I lost my cool. And our leads started drying up.”

  “Oh, Alex,” says Lydia, annoyed but also feeling a little sorry for him. “Getting people to talk is easy.”

  “For you, maybe.”

  Lydia thinks for a moment, her face struggling with itself, as though trying to decide something. “Fine,” she says eventually. “I’ll show you. Come on.” She grabs his sleeve and leads him back towards the door.

  “Wait,” Alex calls out, jerking his coat from her grasp. “Lydia, I can’t let you do this. It might be dangerous.”

  “Alex,” says Lydia, whipping around to face him, “I sat alone in a room this afternoon with a murdering psychopath, asking him at what point his life went looney tunes. I can handle a bog-standard mobster!” Alex stared at her sheepishly, like a little boy being told off by the teacher. “Okay then,” Lydia says, impatiently. “Let’s go back in, and you point him out to me and I’ll find out where the dodgy dealings are being done with these cars.”

  “Far side of the bar,” says Alex, not moving. “Black shirt, silver tie, moustache.”

  “Got it.” Lydia grasps the door handle, freezes for a moment, then stops and turns. “If I get you what you need…”

  “Uh-oh…”

  “If I get it for you—”

  “No.”

  “I want to see those crime scene reports.”

  “I can’t!”

  “Okay, but you see I know that you can.”

  “How on earth would you know that?”

  “Because I’ve done this—”

  “You’ve done this before,” Alex finishes for her. “Of course you have.”

  “So how about it?” Lydia bites her lip and cocks her head, leaning towards him while keeping one hand on the door handle, and the other lightly on his strong arm. Alex watches her for a moment and a smile spreads across his face. He knows he’s being played, but it’s different this time. She’s putting on the performance for him, not with him.

  “Fine,” he says finally. “You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours.”

  “Ooh!” Lydia curls her slender fingers through the air like a claw.

  “Will you get in there already before he leaves?”

  “Alright, I’m going!” She pulls herself back towards the door and turns the handle as she does so, tumbling through it back into the hazy bar.

  She squints as her eyes re-adjust to the yellow-orange light, and spots her mark at once; a heavy-set man in his forties with tanned, leathery skin and bushy eyebrows. As Alex said, he’s sitting at the far end of the bar, alone. Lydia takes a breath to compose herself, then marches right up next to him.

  “Beer and a shot,” she barks at the bartender, then waits just a moment for the mark to take her in before making eye contact with him. “Some asshole smashed my tail light,” she says, breaking the eye contact. Don’t let him read you. “You believe that?”

  “In this city?” the heavy-set man replies. “Sure.”

  “I’m not from around here,” she says, downing the shot and then putting the beer bottle to her lips and tipping it back. As she lowers it again, the liquor spills unseen from her mouth into the bottle.

  “Yeah? Where you from?”

  “New York,” she replies, sliding onto the stool next to him.

  “Shoulda guessed.”

  Lydia smiles. “Why’d you say that?”

  “You got an attitude about you.”

  “Only when some punk messes with my goddamn car.” She takes another phantom swig of beer.

  “What do you drive?”

  “Mustang.”

  “New or classic?”

  “New.”

  “Damn.” The man shakes his head.

  “What?” Lydia stares him down.

  “Here I took you for a real classy kind of girl.”

  “What would a real classy kind of girl be doing in a dump like this?” She waves a hand at their surroundings.

  “Good point.” The mark’s eyes linger on her chest. “You need a ride then?”

  “Nah, I’ll risk it.”

  “You sure? Asshole cops in this city are happy to pull you for a broken tail light.”

  “I’m staying just down the way,” Lydia replies, gesturing vaguely, “it’s not far. I’ll sort it tomorrow.” She sighs. “If I can find a repair shop around here.”

  “Take it to Red’s, over on Lincoln Avenue,” the man replies. “Tell ’em Joe sent you, they’ll fix you right up.”

  “Yeah?” Lydia wears a mask of grateful surprise that hides her triumphant glee. “Joe, huh.”

  “That’s me.”

  “Sarah.” She offers her hand, and leans right into him as he takes it. “Lemme buy you a drink, to say thanks.” She beckons the bartender over.

  “I won’t say no to that.”

  “Two beers,” she says, pulling her phone from her pocket and pretending to chec
k it. “I should let my friend know I’m gonna be a while… damn.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I got no reception in here.” Lydia makes a show of waving the phone around, looking for a signal. “I’ll be right back.” She slides off the stool and calmly, confidently makes for the exit.

  Outside in the snow, the door bangs open loudly, and Lydia comes marching through it. “Red’s on Lincoln Avenue,” she says, with a smug smile. “Oh yeah, and here you go.” She produces a thick, brown leather wallet from her pocket and tosses it to Alex.

  “How the hell did you do that?!” Alex stares at it, then at her.

  “Like this,” says Lydia, stepping close to him, shifting her weight to her hip and tilting her face up towards his. She runs her hand along his arm giving it a gentle squeeze, smiles, and flutters her eyelashes just a little bit, then sheepishly bites her plump, ruby red bottom lip and moves her face even closer to his, almost to the point of a kiss. Then suddenly she lets the mask slip and takes a step back.

  Alex snaps out of his trance. “What the hell was that?”

  “Ta-da!” she says, presenting a watch theatrically as if it were a prize. Alex looks down at his wrist, where the watch used to be.

  “Where did you learn that?” he says, impressed.

  “Flirting?” Lydia asks, innocently.

  “Sleight of hand,” says Alex. “I knew you could flirt from the other night.”

  “Hey!” says Lydia, feigning outrage. “That was barely flirting.”

  “That’s kind of cheap, Lydia,” says Alex, snatching back his watch and slipping it onto his wrist.

  “What did you call me?” says Lydia, indignantly.

  “Not you,” he replies, “the trick.”

  “The end justifies the means,” she says, nonchalantly. “So said Ovid in Heroides.”

  “Stop showing off, Tune.”

  “Heroides means the heroines,” says Lydia, smiling, her eyes twinkling.

  “Are you flirting with me right now?” asks Alex, grinning back at her.

  “Why,” Lydia replies, “do you have something I want?”

  Alex’s grin fades. “That isn’t funny.”

  “Oh lighten up, Gilbey,” says Lydia. She looks up and down the street. “You know another bar around here?”

  “Yeah,” he says cautiously, “there’s a hotel around the corner. Why?”