Michael, Antoinette, and Me

 

 

Part 28

 

I expected Antoinette to be beside me in the bed as I struggled to parse dream from reality. I did not dismiss the idea I was dead, lost in a fantasy.

“So real.”

Naked, I rolled to the floor, unsteady on my feet, distance sounds vague in the darkness. The elevator engaged, a door opened, closed. Footfalls sang a whisper far away. An airplane headed to an unknown destination.

“I smell.”

On the way to the bathroom, I picked up one of the two cups on the table, sipping. Twisting, I glanced all directions, expecting Antoinette to emerge from the bathroom.

“Too much milk, too much honey. What the fuck?”

I had no memory of sitting, sipping tea.

“Two cups.”

As the hot water rushed down on me, steam filling the bathroom, I thought I could discover who the server was, ask whether he saw anyone else in the room.

“I think I’ll just accept the gift as given.”

 

“Good morning, Mr. Hudson.”

Hudson paused, narrowing his eyes. “My Miss Grimes, you look even more stunning than usual this morning.”

“I don’t feel like myself.”

He placed a sixteen-inch by eighteen-inch by two-inch plain brown package on the counter. “This came for you, I think yesterday.”

With the package tucked under my arm, I thanked him.

People through the lobby, even strangers on the street smiled at me. I thought I must be glowing. Tilman's Haberdashery caught my eye halfway to the train. OK, I was watching my hem dance on my thighs in the store windows.

I confronted the display, removed my wide brim hat, cocking my head to the right, placing my reflection under the black hat. I raised my right eyebrow and a giggle.

A reflection intruded, over my shoulder. “You’re a bit overdressed for window shopping.”

I caught his dark eyes. “I wasn’t aware of a dress code.”

He shrugged, his shoulders bound in a traditional black tuxedo. “We would do better as a society if people were to dress more formal.”

I turned, stepping back. He brought the whole cliché with his white carnation, black bowtie, dress shoes, and black bowler with a gray hatband, dark russet hair gray in the sideburns, brown and gray mustache.

Before I could snap him with some wit concerning his comment and irony, he tipped his hat, offered a slight bow, and he did click his heels. “I did not mean to intrude.”

“Well, it’s just that –”

“I maybe asked the wrong question.”

I asked with my face.

“I should have maybe asked, Do you like that hat?”

I glanced the window. “I do, like the hat. I was trying it on.”

“That’s an Edwardian top hat. Would you like to try it on for real?”

“Huh?”

He offered a hand. “Edward Tilman.”

“Oh.” I took the hand. “Artemis Grimes.”

“Please to meet you, Artemis Grimes.”

“I, you, Mr. Tilman.”

He produced a ball of keys. “Shall we?”

He unlocked and opened the door, going directly to the window display, retrieving the hat, turning. Hat in one hand, he motioned with the other. “Not exactly traditional. Note the short stack, the angled top.” He snugged the hat on my head as if I were fitted for it, his hand waving behind me, indicating a mirror.

“Mr. Tilman, I believe I’m in love.”

“The hat does look sharp on you. This hat was meant for an adolescent boy. Men have big heads.”

I glanced him in the mirror. “Don’t they ever.”

“Shall I then box it up?”

“You shall.”

 

I was alone in the dim stairwell, my three-inch heels tapping out a chirp on each step, going out, returning in an echo. The song of traffic faded behind me, the shuffle of shoes on concrete, muted conversations called me downward.

Eight indistinct people hovered on the platform in three groups, one man standing alone, reading the newspaper. The train screamed from a tunnel. I looked one way, then down the other tunnel, shrugging. “See? What’s to be scared of?”

Toby didn’t answer, but the universe did, six rowdy boys, adolescents, clambered from the stairwell, noticed and ignored by the people on the platform. They circled the groups, shouting, laughing, yelling unintelligible jokes.

I stepped to within three paces of the platform edge as they danced in a circle around me, one asking me on a date, two shouting what they’d like to do to me, three offering positive yet rude opinions on my appearance. Having experienced the school steps, understanding the situation could escalate if the boys didn’t get the response they wished, I choose my moment, stepped forward, pushing one of my assailants off the platform with my free hand.

As a boy grabbed my arm from behind, Newspaper Man grabbed the boy taking him to his toes. “I think that’s enough.”

The boy scurried back onto the platform, the gang rushing off feeling out intimidated.

“You OK?” Newspaper Man asked.

“Nobody died. That’s a good thing.”

“Don’t let this be the impression you take home with you. I take the train five times a week. This is the first time I’ve seen nonsense like this.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Oh, I recognize you from the paper.”

I rolled my eyes toward the stairs. “Lightning has to strike somewhere.”

“It does, indeed.”

 

Up a darkened stair well, the single door opened, stopped by the chain. “Who are you?”

I removed my hat and glasses. “It’s Toby.”

The chain dropped. “You scared the shit out of me. Come in.”

“Sorry, Jacks.”

“God, I love the peacocking, still.” She removed stacks of newspapers and magazines to the floor. “Pardon the mess. Cleaning woman’s day off.”

I dropped to the small pale red sofa, my box to the floor, package on my lap.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Huh? Oh, I treated myself to a new hat.”

Jackeline Curran nodded. “I’d offer you something.”

“I understand, with all your work, and all.”

“I really like this look on you. Even when you said who you are, I thought at first you were lying.”

“Thanks. You look like a raccoon. A very cute raccoon.”

“Long week, cut loose a bit last night.” She wore an oversized black tee-shirt, gray sweatpants, bare feet, her black hair an eagle’s nest around her head, shades of dark makeup smeared by sleep and partying.

“I didn’t mean to crash in on you.”

She shrugged, waving me off, watching my eyes.

“I wanted to ask you about Antoinette Blanc.”

She let out a long sigh. “Eight-year-old. Tragic. Made me question my career path.”

“You said you worked on the case.”

“I prepared the body.”

“Do you know for a fact a brain tumor killed her?”

“What an odd question.” She sat back, eyes closed. “Not having dissected her brain, no. I cannot say as a matter of fact she died of a brain tumor. That’s what I was told the autopsy said. That’s what Asher said.”

“Asher Sullivan. Is it possible that’s not what killed her?”

She sat up, holding my eyes. “What have you heard?”

“Is it possible?”

“For that to be possible, many, many people would have to be involved, willing to lie. To sign off on false documents.”

“We could say the same thing about Jody Demarko.”

“Toby. What do you have?”

“You’re not an officer of anything are you?”

“Huh?”

“Like a lawyer is an officer of the court, required to report certain shit.”

“The rules of society do not apply to people like us.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Those of us who have seen the dark underbelly of society?”

“Those of us who have seen what lurks in the minds of men.”

“So, now we’re shadow?”

“It’s the shadow.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Let me be less melodramatic. We’ve seen the terrible things people will do, while most others just look the other way.”

“Boys will be boys. Willful ignorance. Not worth pursuing.”

“Sullivan’s favorite phrase. He’s made that note in files.”

“When the bodies start dropping, I’m counting on that not worth pursuing thing.”

She bit her lip.

I narrowed my eyes again. “What?”

“Not now, not today.”

“Do you know Inspector April Mathers?”

“Toby, not now, not today. Antoinette Blanc.”

“Is there any way you can determine for sure she died of a brain tumor?”

“Who told you otherwise?”

“I think we’re trapped in a causality loop.”

She laughed darkly. “I know of a club, dark room, quiet, people expound terrible poetry. We could sip bourbon, muse the mysteries of the universe. God, you’re smart.”

“I read a lot. Antoinette Blanc.”

“Really, Toby. I need to know who told you otherwise.”

“I was answering your question. Antoinette Blanc.”

“Antoinette Blanc told you she didn’t die of a brain tumor.”

“Yes. She said it was all lies. She was murdered.”

“By?”

“I assume her father. I know it sounds crazy –”

“Not to me. Who was she, I mean to you.”

“Let me Cliff Notes it. She appeared in my class, I guess, first grade. I fell in love with her, real and true, first sight. She scared me. I never approached her, though I pretended we were good friends.”

“Before you even had a chance to meet her, she died.”

I nodded. “Chapter two. My parents are asshole drunks.”

“I’ve met both.”

“To escape them, I went to a place in the woods above Newton Lake, to the south. Secluded. My sanctuary.”

Curran nodded.

“I’d dance, ballet, around a fire. In the rain or snow, naked. One day, there she was. Dancing with me.”

“So, you’re not talking just one aberration. You’ve had an ongoing relationship.”

I blushed a blush that should have set the room on fire. “A little weird? Too weird?”

“Not weird at all. In my line of work, I often see people so traumatized by the death of a someone, they hallucinate the person.” She held up a palm to stop objection. “It’s not abnormal to see the dead.”

“But, they’re not really seeing dead people?”

“No, they are not. I have a couple articles around here.” She scanned the stacks of publications. “It’s called grief psychosis.”

“Recognized publication, peer reviewed articles? I’ve been looking for shit like that.”

“I do not remember.”

“If Antoinette is just a hallucination –”

“There’s nothing just about a hallucination.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Sorry.”

“If Antoinette is just a hallucination, that means she’s a product of my mind – I've referred to her as a being of the mindscape – that would mean she cannot tell me anything I do not know.”

“That would follow, unless we can pick up thoughts from, eh, the ether.”

“This moment in my life, I’m going to assume our brains aren’t magical radio receivers picking up thoughts from dead people floating around in the, eh, ether.” I gave her my palm. “Recognized publication, peer reviewed articles.”

“In this moment, I’d agree with that assessment.”

“This past spring, snowstorm of the decade though it’s only the first year, I was camping in The Pines. Antoinette told me she died of a brain tumor. I had not known that.”

“That you know of.”

“Huh?”

“It was in all the papers. Feature articles. I was quoted in one of them. When did you start this well-read habit of yours?”

I nodded slowly. “Fuck. Anytime I get a good grasp on magic, it creeps though my fingers. OK. What can we do?”

“Why is a concern of yours?”

“Her father has creeped up on me a couple of times. Once he told me I could come live with him, be his daughter, call him Daddy. They’ve gotten her presents for her birthday and Christmas. He said her bedroom is waiting for me.”

“Whoa.”

“Right?”

“Now this, then. You’re thinking that your love pulled Antoinette back from death in some form. If that could be true, her family would have done the same.”

“I’ve thought the exact thing. I’ve looked for verification of such a thing in recognized publication, peer reviewed articles.”

“There’s no way we could exhume her.”

“I could, if that’s what you need. How do you think you got Jennifer Longe on your table the second time?”

“Toby. You’re more than just a little scary.”

“That’s what the few people who like me, like about me.”

“Let me dig into the records, first. The records I can get to. Hospital records are confidential, however, I know people.”

“Confidential is a category, not an actuality.” I pulled my red suede bag onto my lap, displaying a bundle of bills. “If you feel someone may need a little encouragement.”

She gave me the wide eyes I so like to see.

“Eh, I was counting on my charm.”

“If your charm and bribery fall short, let me know the room and what I’m looking for. I can pick a lock. Also, I have a friend in college who may be doing a theses study on brain tumors in children.”

“That’s not a bad idea. I might just say I’m doing that.”

“Just be careful. Phone logs, files, and even people disappear.”

“Wait. Are you thinking this may be connected?”

“Jody and Jennifer both looked like Antoinette.”

 

“Mr. Clift,” I greeted.

“Toby! Good morning.”

“How’s Charlotte?”

“Dancing on sunshine.”

“Good.”

I set the box on the counter, removing the hat. “Can I get a pink hatband, bow on the left side?”

“This,” he said, examining the hat, “is a nice piece of headwear.”

“Caught my eye in the window.”

Following the song of the bell above the door, Jennifer Reeves said, “Good morning, eh.”

“Toby’s good, this side of the river.”

I made introductions.

“I wanted to get Char’s signature.”

“You’re worth every penny.”

“I really want to avoid that long drive to New York.”

“Reasons aside, worth every penny.”

Charlotte Clift appeared, first hugging Reeves, then holding me like I’d just been rescued from a well.

“You’re the lawyer Char mentioned?” Mr. Clift asked past us.

“My personal legal representative,” I answered.

“Char said if not for you, that Knapp fellow would have, pardon the expression, taken her to the cleaners.”

Reeves blushed. “I don’t know how true that is.”

“Shark. He called you a shark.” I finally stepped back from Charlotte.

“He suggested I come to New York, the city, work for him.” She shuttered.

“That sounded exciting at first,” Reeves said.

“Not to me. Too many people.”

Right then, I understood Charlotte Clift and our esoteric kinship.

“He was tossing peanuts at you, framing the offer as if it were the only offer.”

“Men are assholes,” I said through my teeth. “Pardon my French, Mr. Clift.”

“I’m good with a little French.”

“The contract?” She placed the form on the counter. “You sure you don’t want to look it over?”

“With all the fiber of my being, Miss Reeves. I’m working on trusting the people close to me.”

She closed her eyes, offering a soft nod.

Charlotte scribbled, giving the contract and another hug to Reeves.

“Walk me out,” Reeves suggested as Charlotte and I held on to each other again.

“Your hat –”

“I’ll be back.”

 

We stood closer than we needed to on the sidewalk.

“You don’t trust Thomas Stenholm.”

I shrugged. “Only as much as I need to. He’s loyal to Jessica Flores, not me. Even if I pulled a splinter from his paw, I suspect he’d still eat me if he were hungry – or greedy – enough.”

“Not too cynical.”

“I have receipts.”

She pursed her lips. “Flores. The restaurant. Archetype LLC. You’re money laundering.”

“You saw the file, not the narrative.”

“The point is, if the partners find out –”

“Which is why I wish to lock my file down. If Koel and Viceroy find out, they’ll just request a healthy bonus like Stenholm takes.”

“What do you mean? He takes a bonus?”

“I am Archetype LLC. I’m also good with numbers.”

I put my right palm up between us. “The narrative. You know who Bill Locke is.”

“I read the papers.”

“You know who I am.”

“I also know you’re dead.”

“Over weeks, he sexually abused me, raped me, all the while dropping duffle bags full of money on the floor. His complete instruction was, You know what to do with this. Since the income tax form didn’t have Getting raped as a listed occupation, I figured investing in a restaurant venture with Jessica Flores a good I know what to do with the money.”

She held my eyes as if attempting to determine whether I was bluffing. “That’s a lot of money for –”

“It still wasn’t enough. If Satan were real, appeared to me, offering to buy my soul for cash, I’d tell that asshole there’s no number big enough.”

“There isn’t.”

I glanced behind me. “Thanks for taking care of Charlotte.”

“She’s delightful.”

“Miss Reeves. Jennifer.”

“Toby?”

“I want you to open a new file. A private file, a file you keep at home. I know you’re not a lawyer. You can still do legal work like the contract you did for Charlotte.”

“Eh.”

“Everything concerning me not requiring you being a lawyer, you can do.” I held my hand forward. “Here’s my contract.”

“Why?”

“I trust you.”

Our hands met.

 

Shawn looked up from the piles of papers on the desk, a ledger book open. “Jane really fucked up.”

“Good morning to you, too.” I set the package on the desk to the left of Shawn.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know I said that out loud. Good morning, welcome to 1 Bread. How can I help you?”

“I said I’d close her out, open the new books tomorrow.”

“I thought I’d get a jump.”

“Aren’t you the eager beaver.”

“Yeah, as eager as Pam following Jessica into the bathroom.”

“No one is that eager about anything. They have a special friendship. Jealous?”

“It’s weird.”

“No kidding.”

“I mean, you letting Pam fuck Jessica.”

I shook my head.

“What?”

“I do not let Pamala do anything. Just like your date tonight. She doesn’t need my approval.”

“Well, though, she is your girlfriend.”

“Pamala loves to dance in groups, I hate it. You can give her that. I’d be a snotty little cunt to object. She loves stuff up her butt. I’m certainly not going to do that.”

“I get the idea. Still weird.”

“I have my own kink. I don’t judge. I’m pretty sure we had this conversation.”

“I’m sure we’ll have it again. Rough draft.”

I accepted her yellow notepad, making a couple cross outs, adding some scribbles. “We don’t want the drivers thinking we’re going to fire them.”

“I would.”

I shrugged. “I was thinking of posting a handwritten note. Once we get the copy where we want it, drop over Maple Printing, get an 8 by 10 printed looking all professional like.”

“Why?”

“I want them to think they’re not special, that they didn’t invent the wheel.”

Shawn nodded. “Anything else?”

“Have a good time tonight. Remember: You and I have a date tomorrow night.”

“Calendar marked, can’t wait.”

 

Redman’s Bar and Grill sat an easy twelve block walk from the Commadore, the streets bustling with cars and trucks, the sidewalks crowded, not overly so. I was hoping for street level windows revealing the interior, Redman’s anchoring a building reaching toward the stars, the stars hidden by the city lights. I paused, marveling at the wood door, the richness not unlike Bill Locke’s dining room table.

“Excuse me,” and “Beg your pardon” came from behind, six people pushing past me, the door swinging open. The six were dressed casually, but not jeans and a tee-shirt casual, all in their forties or close to it.

I thought there’d be carding at the door. Tables stretched far back to a kitchen entrance, a bar the length of the room to my left. Redman’s was busy, three parties short of a wait for a table.

 I was not the only person in a tuxedo, though I was the only skirt tuxedo. Many women wore gowns, men expensive suits. I was the only teenager and even with my fake age of twenty-three, other than the wait staff, I was by far the youngest person in the room.

I worked my way to the bar.

“You look lost.”

I glanced right, then left. “Oh, were you talking to me?”

He chuckled. “Beautiful woman alone. Yes, you look lost. What can I get you?”

“Cold tea over ice in a short glass, two cherries.”

“Sly Mcgee,” he said, nodded, reaching for a glass.

“I was unaware the drink had a name.”

“That’s my name, ma’am.” White shirt, blue sequence vest, black bowtie, black pants, Mcgree filled his clothes, a man of forty, strong face, inviting brown eyes, his dark hair slicked back.

My drink found the bar.

“Artemis Grimes. The little umbrella. Nice touch.”

“Nothing but class here at The Grill. I like the hat.”

“Edwardian top hat.”

“I’ve never given any of my hats a name.”

I sipped, turning toward the room, tired of the patter.

“You aren’t working, are you?”

I did not turn back. “A girl could be offended.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I have the greatest respect for the world’s oldest profession. Management looks unkindly on their room being worked.”

I scoffed. “Without their cut, I’m sure.” I mockingly scanned across the length and breadth of the tables. “There’s not a man – or woman – in this room who could afford me. I’m meeting a friend.”

“Artie!” broke away from the other faces as if proof of my claim. “I thought that was you!”

I rolled my eyes. “Mr. Dixon.”

“Oh, sorry, Miss Grimes.”

“Maybe you can call me Artie after we bury a body together. How’s your friend Mr. Hastings?”

“I did wish to thank you for the introduction. Most productive.”

I glanced behind me. “Mr. Mcgee. Can I help you?”

He blushed, hurrying off.

“Good eye, Artemis.”

“People. Does your caper have to do with allegations of rape from about three decades ago?”

“Fuck.”

I shrugged. “Family tradition. I think Chase is either out of the loop, which would be difficult to believe or suffering from massive denial.”

“I’ve been a year on –”

“I do understand you need to protect your investigation. Why does Mrs. French think I’ve been disowned by my family.”

“I have no idea.”

I leaned my elbows on the bar, Dixon mirroring me. “Mr. Dixon, I feel strongly that most people rule their personal perceptions by conjecture.”

He nodded slowly. “Could be, could be.” With a glance to all directions, he leaned toward me, whispering, “There’s a person, or rather a story of a person, or maybe it’s an urban legend.”

“Oh, do tell, Mr. Dixon.”

“A woman. Beautiful, looks young, like a child, carries herself like a grown woman. Crazy psychopath.”

“That’s redundant.”

“Given the tales, it needs to be said twice. After I talked to your grandfather –”

“You actually called Gramps?”

“I thought my client may have hired you. I don’t want to be cut out of my payday.”

I glanced Dixon, narrowing my eyes. “Really? Throw a young innocent child like me to the wolves?”

He rolled his eyes back at me. “Gramps gave me a no denial denial. Told me who you are, that you stole her name, identity. He sounded crazy, rambling on. Taking everything in, I told Mrs. French you are who you say you are.”

“Just a farmgirl from Ohio.”

“Gramps called Mrs. French. She took it to me pretty good.”

“For?”

“Not telling her that you’re a crazy psychopath.”

I laughed, maybe too loud. “You do understand that for me to operate as I do, people cannot know who I really am and now I have to kill you.”

Dixon took two steps away from me.

I rolled my eyes again. “Relax, Mr. Dixon. I’m just a story. Who people think I am doesn’t really matter. You could tell your new friend Chase Hastings, and she’d laugh at you, not write the story.”

“You are her?”

I shrugged, nodding across the room. “Much of the kitchen staff seems overdressed.”

“Eh?”

“Men in tuxedos. Going in the kitchen.”

“Oh, eh –”

“Mark Hastings did a bad thing three decades ago. With no one talking coupled with the mass of men giving a collective shrug, you’re hired to prove it?”

“It wasn’t just rape, Artemis. She died.”

“Have you engaged a private investigator?”

“I am a private investigator.”

I scoffed again, turning, watching his face. “That gives us either Baker, Snelling, or Bradshaw.”

I chuckled, reading his eyes. “Sierra Bradshaw, it is.”

“I can see why your family disowned you.”

“And why they won’t play poker with me, not with money on the table, anyway.”

“Can I see your file?”

“After I’ve completed my work. I can’t have you getting in my way.”

“I’m not in any hurry. I’m on the meter.”

You’re an asshole, Mr. Dixon.

 

I was amused how people would readily accept as fact what was obviously not true, but then again, I’ve been to church. Amused, still willing to accept the gift.

Dixon and I entered the busy kitchen. At the back wall, because I do live a cliché, a mountain of a man in a dark gray suit, blue striped tie, sunglasses, nodded at Dixon as I dug in my red suede bag.

“Larry.” Dixon nodded back.

“I won’t be needing that, Miss Grimes.” What appeared to be a freezer door opened out.

“Thank you, Larry.”

“Miss Grimes.”

Twenty paces down the dark hall, Dixon said, “It’s illegal.”

“No kidding?”

“No need for sarcasm. I’m just making conversation.”

Sarcasm is always required.

We entered the brightly lit elevator.

“Going down,” Dixon said, tapping one of two buttons.

“More conversation?”

“Pretty much.”

“Is this the only way in and out?”

“The elevator? I guess. Never gave it any thought.”

“What if there’s a blackout?”

He shrugged as the doors slid open.

The ceiling was higher than I expected, the room larger, easily fifty people crowding around a dozen and a half tables. Mostly men, most dressed formally in dark suits like Dixon, most over forty. The few women in the room, all in gowns, all metaphorically hanging on a man’s arm were ornamental.

In the space between the bar and the tables on the far side of the room, men stood in small groups, the relative quiet interrupted by occasional boisterous laughter. Heads around the room turned as the elevator doors closed. Not most heads and even fewer stayed, eyes on me.

“Mr. Dixon. Miss Grimes,” we were greeted.

“Howdy, Bryant.”

Bryant was a half of head over me, dirty blonde hair neat to his scalp, black tuxedo, black bowtie, white pocket square, vest. “Will you be joining Mrs. French?”

“Eh, I think I’m going to shoot some dice.”

“I was asking Miss Grimes. I understand you like blackjack.”

“Artemis, I’m going to be over there.”

I glanced him, squinting, repressing the desire to explore his obvious need to assume he was responsible for me. “It was good seeing you.”

“You, too. Good luck!”

Luck has little to do with it.

“Bryant.”

He offered his arm, which I took. “I simply adore the tuxedo. Not off the rack.”

“Thank you. Definitely not off the rack.”

I nodded to those who nodded, greeted those who offered a greeting looking up from the tables. Many men were driven by the need to introduce themselves, blocking our path to Bryant’s annoyance. I was polite and short, wishing for Jessica’s interference.

“Bryant?” a man said, standing in front of me.

Bryant stifled an eye roll. "Greg Brown, Artemis Grimes.”

“Love that hat,” Brown said, offering a hand.

He appeared out of place without his black shirt and white collar.

I declined the hand with a glance. “Mr. Brown.”

“Call me Greg! Always nice to see a new face. My table is –”

“I’m with Mrs. French.”

He frozen for three seconds watching my face. “Eh, sorry to intrude.” He bowed away.

“Odd one, Bryant.”

“Most are.”

As if to prove the statement, Jack Blanc presented himself, impeccably dressed in a formal black tuxedo. Offering a head bow and click of the heals, he said, “Blanc. Jack Blanc at your service.”

Bryant gallantly took a step forward, right arm half across me. “Artemis Grimes.”

“Miss Grimes, you are a beautiful woman.”

“Thank you, Mr. Blanc,” I answered with all the aloof I could pack into the words. “I’m at Mrs. French’s table.”

Blanc instinctively took a step back. “Perhaps we can talk later.”

Perhaps your final words as I watch the life drain from your body onto a concrete basement floor. I glanced around, thinking my words were said aloud. “Mr. Blanc.”

“Do I need to?” Bryant asked, Blanc hurrying off, glancing back twice.

“Warn me?”

“Yes.”

“You need not.”

“I would feel remiss if I didn’t.”

“Do you know for a fact he hurts woman?”

“There are stories, Miss Grimes.”

“If you would make a list of the men you have heard stories about, stories the mass of men felt were not worth pursuing. Just names. I don’t need the stories.”

“Will this list and the source be confidential?”

“To the fucking grave confidential, Bryant.”

He cocked his right eyebrow, smirking. “Very well, then. Thank you.”

I told Bryant what I wished from the bar.

“Very good.”

French’s table was in the back of the room, against the wall. I leaned on the chair across from French, the only empty chair. “Mrs. French.

She nodded. “Glad you could make it.”

“Mr. Hightower.” He sat to French’s right.

“Artemis. Now we’ll have a game.”

“Mr. Hastings. I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Eh, that was embarrassing. Sorry.”

You’re an asshole. “I’ll be needing you to move over to this chair.”

“Huh?”

I cocked my head. “Like Mrs. French, I don’t like my back to a room.”

“Well, I never,” he huffed, accompanied the Well, I never face.

“Jerry,” French said flatly. “Move over there.”

Hastings grumbled, struggling from the chair, gathering his money and drink.

Nesting, I clocked the faces resisting a smirk at how the universe fucks with me. Artemis knew three people at the table, Toby another three, which left only one stranger and his eye candy standing behind him.

The woman was young, maybe too young to be in the room, my height in her four-inch silver sandals, flowing golden hair like Tammy Flannagan’s, blue eyes, appealing subtle makeup applied with a light hand, shoulders bare, white satin formal gown.

“Deal right, cut left,” French said, placing cards in front of me.

“The other tables have dealers.”

“My table is not other tables.”

Watching all the eyes watching me as I danced one stack into the other, I paused on French to my right. “Bryant,” I said.

He stepped away from the wall. “Miss Grimes?”

“Could we get a new deck. We’re missing a card in this one.”

“Well done, again,” Hightower said. “Well done.”

The people at the table, excluding French, offered soft hand claps, the woman laughing, barely a giggle.

“Amazing,” Chief Joe Meyers said.

“Would you tell us which card it is?”

“I would not. I told you, Mrs. French. I’m not as show dog. I do not do tricks.”

“I could not help myself, Miss Grimes,” French offered as a half assed apology, presenting the two of clubs.

I repeatedly sliced the cards together. “Evidently, you’ve told everyone who I am –”

“Only your name and that you’re good with cards. Even with Mr. Hightower’s assurance, they didn’t believe the story.”

I dropped the deck in front of the man to my left. “Never cut your own throat,” he said, tapping the deck. “Peirce Bradley. Pleased to meet you.”

“Mr. Bradley is head of our in-house security.”

I turned to French. “Have you told him yet?”

She shrugged. “I felt it best you set the agenda.”

“Told me what?”

“Let’s open with some five card draw. Nothing wild, except for tales of my exploits, hundred bucks to see your cards.”

“Hundred bucks!” Hastings said. “We usually start with an $20 ante.”

I paused my card distribution, holding Hastings’ eyes. “Bryant.”

He stepped to my shoulder again. “Miss Grimes?”

“How much did I just give you?”

“Eh, why, $2,000.”

“Hundred bucks to see your cards, else sit this one out, Mr. Hastings.”

Hastings looked to French, French shrugging off the appeal.

The corners of cards were bent up the slightest bit by each player around the table. Sitting back, I held my cards six inches from my face, arraigning them, rolling my eyes. “Who are you?” I asked, watching the man across Bradley.

“Uh, me? Oh, Meyer. Joe Meyer.” He puffed up much more than he should have. “I’m in law enforcement.”

“I didn’t ask what you do.” I dropped one card on the table. “Let’s go five.”

French narrowed her eyes at me, matching my five hundred dollars, dropping two cards.

Hightower pursed his lips, nodding, matching the bet, dropping three cards.

“Reginald Abner,” the next man introduced himself. “My good luck charm, Vienna Rhodes,” he indicated behind him. “You’re awfully aggressive.”

“For a woman.” I kept his eyes.

French laughed.

He matched my bet, slapping two cards down.

French leaned toward me mockingly. “Keep your eye on this one. He oversees all our accounting. Good with numbers.”

I smiled dismissively. “Such an important job.”

“You can’t imagine.”

The next man watched my eyes. “Everyone knows not to try to draw to an inside straight.”

I looked down my nose. “Do they, now.”

He smirked, dropping five hundred and two cards. “I’ll add three, just to make it interesting.”

“Are you shy?” I asked.

“Huh?”

“Alexander Forde,” French said. “He’s on the payroll, but if you need a lawyer, he should be you first call.”

“Maybe my second.”

“Oh, that’s right.”

“Mr. Forde,” I said with a nod.

“Artemis.”

“$800 to you, Mr. Hastings.”

“Fold.”

Meyer clocked the eyes. “I’ll see my next cards for eight.”

Bradley, who I had nicknamed Old Detective, fed the pot, taking one card.

I matched the $300. “This is fun. Let’s separate the women from the boys. Thousand bucks.”

French counted out ten bills. “You just keep baiting them.”

“Like you, Mrs. French, I can’t help myself. Mr. Hightower.”

“Artemis, Artemis, Artemis.” He bit his lip. “I’ll see your grand, up it half a grand.”

“Oh, Mr. Hightower. I can see us having dinner in the future. Mr. Abner. Fifteen large.”

“Large would mean –”

“I know what it means. You know what I mean.”

Rhodes, over his shoulder, goaded Abner to stay in.

“Mr. Forde. Fifteen. I may have a problem with squatters on a residential property. Is that something you do?”

He counted out one-hundred-dollar bills. “I could, I guess. I’d be willing to –”

“I’ll evict them for you,” Meyer chimed in.

“Oh, such a gentleman.”

“I’m out,” Meyer said.

Bradley matched the bet, which told me what trouble he was in forcing him to take work with Bill Locke.

I dropped the additional five hundred, feeding the cards around the table, not looking at my card, rolling my eyes. “Thousand.”

French narrowed her eyes at me.

I answered with a shrug. “I like my cards.”

“Out.”

“Good choice, Mrs. French, which brings us to you, Mr. Hightower.”

“Oh, Artemis, I know you so well. I’ll see your grand, kick you another grand.”

“Forde’s sweating and I know I have you beat, Hightower,” Abner said. “Obviously, Artemis has nothing.”

“We don’t need a commentary, Mr. Abner. Two Grand and shut up.”

French, Hightower, and Rhodes snickered, the others stopped breathing.

“I’m not sure I like your tone.”

“Few people do and when I say people I mean men.”

He held my eyes counting out bills.

Forde looked from me, to Hightower, to Abner, and then back to me. “Cocky little cunt,” he muttered barely audible, slapping money down on the center of the table. “I’ve had my fill of cocky little cunts for a lifetime.”

Bradley drained his cocktail, then counted money into the pot.

With a slide of my right hand, I fanned my cards, rearranging. “Aces and nines,” I proclaimed.

“Well, little girl,” Abner said smugly. My three kings –”

“I do apologize for not being clear, Mr. Abner. Aces over nines, full house.”

I’d like to say the next four hours were a bloodbath. The game was a slaughter. I joked, I laughed, I baited, Mrs. French much too amused, Hightower the only other person able to read the table, sitting back, applying caution. Anger drove the others, making them sloppy, irrational, and entertaining. People gathered to watch, coming, going.

 

“As long as I could get people – read that men – to sit at my table, I could quit my day job.”

French sat back in her chair, watching me hard. “Miss Grimes –”

“I’m kidding. I don’t need a day job.”

She cleared her throat. “Like you, Miss Grimes, I don’t care to be trifled with.”

“Careful now, Mrs. French.”

She calculated into a full ten seconds holding my eyes. “The other night. You lost on purpose.”

“Tonight, I won on purpose. I told you. I like to play. Speaking of playing. You put Abner, Bradley, and Forde at our table intentionally.”

“I did, Meyer, too. Hightower requested a chair. I think he likes you.”

“Did you tell him who I am, or at least hint?”

“I spoke of general possibilities.”

“Oh, one of those people who likes to stand close to the fire.” I half raised my right hand. “Hastings?”

“I like to keep an eye on him. He has a drinking problem.”

“I know the type.”

“Yes, Miss Grimes?” Bryant answered my hand.

I fished five one-hundred-dollar bills from my money pile. “Thank you.”

“Thank you!”

I waved over the table. “Would you be so kind as to bag all this, take it to my room at the Commadore? Leave it on the table.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

I stood, Mrs. French followed.

“Aren’t you going to count it?”

“I did.”

“You know who I am,” Mrs. French asked.

“Yes.”

Facing each other, again, she calculated into a full ten seconds while holding my eyes. “Do you have some time, now.”

“I plan on church, but that’s not for a few hours yet.”

“Let’s go upstairs.”

I smirked. “A girl could be flattered.”

“Work, Artemis. What we talked about.”

“Sure.”

Though getting late, the room still bustling, winners getting bored, losers trying to get one last winning hand. Men circling in small groups boasting and commiserating, likely telling tall tales, drinks in hand.

“I bet that’s a familiar sight.” I indicated four men, one scolding another, occasional glances in my direction. “Jerry Hastings should not drink.”

“I’d ban him from the room –”

“If not for his brother. Oh, I have a good memory. I assume that’s his brother.”

“Mark Hastings. His brother is like an albatross –”

“Hung around his neck. Like I said: I know the type. Jerry’s like that little brother Mom makes Mark take with him when Mark wants to hang with his cool friends.”

“Mark’s a powerful man –”

“They all bleed red, Mrs. French, and pee their pants, crying when they beg for their lives.”

French drew a deep breath. “Those three: Abner, Schmit, and Hastings – Mark hastings, are the most powerful people in the room.”

“I think that statement needs to be amended.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Vienna Rhodes,” I said as she came up to Abner. “Abner’s granddaughter?”

French chuckled. “Girlfriend. The way you baited them, I don’t know how you didn’t get a good smack.”

I returned the chuckle. “They’re not stupid.”

“She likes money, he likes others to know he’s attractive to women.”

“Little men roasting in the pot of self-delusion, which makes them vulnerable.”

I nodded to the face coming at me. “Mr. Hightower.”

“Make my night. Agree to have dinner with me. Strictly not a social dinner.”

“Cameron,” French said, her tone a warning.

“Regrets, Mr. Hightower. Previous commitment.”

“Some night during the week, then?”

I did not discount that Hightower had wished to catch me apart from French in the room. “Leave your information at the desk at the Commadore.”

He looked from me to French and back. “Thank you.” He did not click his heals, hurrying off.

I looked to French.

“I told you I think he likes you.”

“What’s he do?”

“Same thing.”

I resisted the eye roll as Alexander Forde creeped up on us. “I’ve been thinking –”

“Alex,” French snapped. “We’re just leaving.”

“This will only take a minute.”

Such self-importance. I can wait to kill you. “What, Mr. Forde? What can I do for you?”

He looked from me to French, then back again, distaste draping his face as if talking to me was like biting into a rotten apple. “I have a problem.” He looked to French. “Not having to do with our business, but if this isn’t nipped in the bud, it could migrate.”

French knitted her brow. “Why don’t you just see me in the office on Monday. Lay it out if it’s something you can’t take care of?”

“There’s not need to involve Hemingway at this point.”

French’s glare should have given Forde one of Paul’s famous fake head slaps.

“What? Sorry. I thought –”

“Mrs. French. Do you have a problem here that you would like me to apply my personal touch to?”

Forde took half a step back.

French’s lips twisted in a bitter smirk. “No, not at this point. I don’t discount things could migrate. Alex, just come out with it.”

“Two minutes of your time, alone?” he asked me.

“Oh, for the love of God, Mr. Forde. We’re adults. Use your adult words.”

He flushed more of anger than embarrassment, clenching his fists, then relaxing into a deep breath. “There’s a woman, across the river, in cahoots with a couple others, I think. She apparently has too much information, if you know what I mean. She can do some damage.”

“You want me to kill this woman?”

“Isn’t that what you do?” He looked at French again, French with her arms folded across her chest. “I though, since Artemis is here, we’d not have to involve, eh, our people.”

“Name,” I asked.

“Antoinette Blanc, 48C Garfield Avenue, Edgewood.”

“The way you were throwing money at me during the card game, I have no doubt you have one-hundred grand cash.”

“Huh?”

French laughed.

I shrugged.

“I never expected it to cost so much.”

“To take a human life? To rob a person of who she is, who she’ll ever be? What do you think the going rate is? Fifty bucks and an old car?”

Right there, his face. I wanted to slam Shawn against the lockers and fuck her until she orgasmed so hard and long, she’d pass out on the floor.

“Miss Grimes,” French said.

“Mrs. French.” I kept Forde’s eyes.

“Could you please look into this matter for me?”

“For you or for Hemingway?”

“Me.”

“Ah, I got this, Christeen. No need to –”

“Mrs. French,” French bit hard.

“Really, Mrs. French. I’ll handle it.”

 

Once in the elevator behind the back wall, French said, “I do the cards on Saturday to relax. Many people will take the opportunity to do business.”

“I’m never off the clock except when I dance naked in the forest, which is a rare treat for me.”

“Do you really?”

“I do. I really don’t like people.”

“I guess that can be an asset in your line of work.”

“Speaking of. Your business difficulties. Do you wish prior notification before I drop bodies?”

“Well, at one-hundred grand a body, I’m going to have to do some budgeting.”

“I was kidding him, and I’ll drop Forde for free.”

“Why?”

“His existence annoys me.”

The elevator opened to a dimly lit hallway, French leading to the Lark French office, the door relenting to the key.

Desks marched off to the city skyline.

“Mostly for show.”

“I know,” I answered.

Across the room, another key opened a nondescript door. No windows, file cabinets lined the walls, two desks faced each other in the center.

“Only a dozen people have access to this room.”

“Probably ten people too many. I’ll need the list.”

“Of course.”

I dropped to a desk, opening one of the two dozen ledgers, scanning. “I have church in the morning.”

French placed two keys on the desk next to the ledger. “At your leisure, Miss Grimes.”

Without looking up, I opened a journal, flipping pages.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone I’ve trusted close to me.”

“People will take advantage, which is why we need oversight, locks on doors.” I set my hat on the desk, leaning back in the chair, hands behind my head. “No safety net, no accountability.”

“Like you giving Bryant all the money to take to your room.”

“I never miss sarcasm, Mrs. French.

“You don’t miss anything.”

“Bryant has a good idea I’d kill him if he took a dime. Safety net, accountability.”

“Is that what you think I should do?”

I scanned the room. “I’m going to determine who has stolen what, then decide, give you recommendations. Forde is already on my list for that cocky little cunt comment. Not for calling me a cocky little cunt, but for saying it under his breath.”

“I should have scolded him.”

“I would have, in front of men. I wanted to take his money, which I couldn’t have done, him running off from the table crying like a baby.”

“I’d assigned the task to Reginald Abner, to determine who is stealing what. Things kind of broke open recently. Legal matters.”

“The light comes on, people scurry for cover.”

“Like cockroaches.”

“My conjecture at this point is that Abner’s the mastermind, stealing every dime he thinks he can get away with, laundering the money out to others.” I waved a hand over the desk. “Your Bill Locke is just a stooge.”

“You need to know something about Hemingway.”

“You mean I need to know that Hemingway is just a front.”

“How’d you know?”

I waved over the desk again. “It’s obvious,” and explains why the federales failed.

 

“I used to like numbers,” I greeted Richard Sterling as he entered 1 Bread.

“Good morning, Toby.” He dropped to a chair along the wall. “I don’t mind saying, I like Toby much better than Artemis.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

“She scares me a little.”

“She scares me a lot. I had men dropping to their knees, crying for their mothers last night.” I retrieved the canvas bag from the floor at my feet, tossing the bag to Serling.

“What’s this?” He opened the bag. “Did you rob the place?”

“More like they gave me money than robbery.” I offered a chin bob. “My winnings. Consider the money a bonus, or whatever.”

“Thus considered. Good night?”

“As you can see.”

“I mean, with the caper.”

“The universe is a strange place.”

“That it is.”

“I don’t even know where to start.” I closed the ledger, pushing the book aside, folding my hands. “I’ve got to get these books done.”

“Hire an accountant, as least a bookkeeper.”

“Shawn, though I’ll be doing the heavy lifting. I have some oversite from a professional. I still need to keep her out of the entire picture. That’s Christeen French’s problem. She has the foxes watching the sheep.”

“All people are sheep until they’re foxes.”

“Is that a confession?”

“It is not.”

“That’s just what the fox would say.”

“It is.”

“Reginald Abner.”

Serling cocked his right eyebrow, producing a pen and notebook, sitting forward.

“He was at my table.”

“And?”

“I managed to clean him out, make him angry, and crush his ego.”

“And you get paid for this.”

“I wasn’t even trying that hard.” I looked down my nose at his notepad. “Vienna Rhodes.”

“Who’s that?”

“The diddled, though I suspect she’s going to be fucking Abner. A little shorter than me, slim, golden hair in waves dropping below her shoulders. Blue eyes. Expensive dress. Like me, she looks like she could be thirteen years old or twenty-five. I favor her about twenty-five because she was well-kept, polished, not a child trying to look like an adult.”

“You’re a child trying to look like an adult.”

“I look like an adult because I was never a child. There’s no way there can be two of me in the same general region. The odds are astronomical.”

“I’ll do a deep background. Abner’s slippery, public records slippery. He must be hiding his money somewhere. The diddled is what we really needed. Abner’s coy. I’ve been unable to tail him.”

I smirked.

“What?”

“Mrs. French has contracted me, or rather Artemis, to go over the books, determine who’s stealing what.”

“What the fuck? Make sense. You stroll in off the street –”

“Bartholomew Peters. You told him I was a spook.”

“Well, I led him to the forest.”

“Late at night, as the bars are closing, men in their business suits suck on their cigars, sip their brandy, and tell a tall tale of a beautiful woman who looks like a child, independent of any organization, a fixer, a psychopathic killer for hire.”

“They think that’s you?”

“Artemis Grimes. I didn’t even have to lead them to the forest.”

He extended his arm, blinking at the notepad.

“The reason you found Hemingway such a tough nut to crack, is Hemingway is an illusion.”

“Hemingway is a criminal enterprise set up purely as a front for a criminal enterprise?”

“Whoever set this up was brilliant, and certainly no Christeen French.”

“Was?”

“My conjecture is that French inherited the position, is not up to the task, which is why they’re hemorrhaging money. She has no trusted council, which is why she so easily turned to me, or rather Artemis.”

“Lucky you.”

“Yeah, lucky me. Write this down.”

Serling rolled his eyes, presenting pad and pen.

“Cameron Hightower. French said he’s in the same business she is.”

“OK.”

“I’d like to meet Olivia.”

“Well, she fired Mateo Cooke.”

“The pool boy?”

“Gardener. She may be looking for someone.”

“To fuck her or mow the lawn?”

“She’s only about fifteen miles from here.”

“That’s not a bad idea, slip me in the backdoor instead of introducing me as your boss.”

“Partner.”

“Unofficially, officially.”

“You do know that can’t be serious?”

“Jennifer Reeves –”

“Oh, I like her.”

“She’s not a lawyer. She can lawyer under the umbrella of the law firm she works for.”

“She’s not a child, though.”

“Richard. I was never a child. Are you having second thoughts?”

“It’s just –”

“Paul Atkinson, Mr. Serling. He was a blight on humanity. I ended that blight. It’s just the beginning. We’re going down a rabbit hole to a very dark place. A place where we can make no mistakes or have misgivings.”

“I know.”

“Would you rather we slid back to where I just pay you, tell you what to do? That gives you the I was just following orders deniability.”

He watched the floor like a scolded child.

“Reginald Abner is diddling Vienna Rhodes. There, caper complete. You can go back to your bottle of bourbon, wrinkled suit, staring at the door. If you ever get a payout from Olivia, you can send me a check.”

“Toby?”

“Rich?”

“Can I get a hug?”

He held me like a father should hold his daughter, her off to her first day of college. He whispered in my ear. “If I thought I could have had a daughter as cool as you, I would have had two.”

“If you were my father, we’d not have to be who we are today.”

If Richard Serling didn’t have doubts, he wouldn’t be a human being.

The door opened, Shawn shuffling in, dropping to a chair along the wall.

“Thanks,” Serling said, stepping away. “Hi, Shawn.”

Shawn looked up at us, tears filling her cobalt eyes. “Pamala Edwards is a goddess. She opened a window to heaven. I saw god.”

“Even better than getting slammed against the lockers?”

“Toby.” She held my eyes. “Hi, Rich. Good to see you.”

“We were just wrapping up.”

“I can see that.”

“It’s not what you think!”

“I should be thinking something?” She stood. “I’ll take one of those hugs from you, Serling, then send you on your way.”

I passed on the throat clearing. Much too cliché.

I held a hand to Shawn. “I may be out of town the best part of the week. If anything important breaks, talking to Shawn is as if you’re talking to me.”

“Got it.”

I watched the door close.

“Now, we hug.”

Shawn and I flowed into each other. “I can’t stop this almost crying bullshit,” she said, her breath teasing my ear.

“Good night, huh?”

“Toby.”

We broke, Shawn dropping behind the desk, me on Serling’s chair against the wall.

“Allison?” she asked.

“Allison?”

“Pam said she was a friend of yours.”

“Oh, her.”

“She went with us last night.”

“I hope you mean dancing.”

Shawn’s blush should have blown out the windows. “Yeah, dancing. Holy fuck, Toby. Me, Pamala, Allison, Lauren. Lauren – her hair free. Lauren free of Asshole. Wow. We burned the place down. You should have been there.”

“If I were there, you and Pamala would have been so concerned about me having a good time, or being panicked, curled up in the corner, you’d have not burned the place down.”

“I so get that. Thank you.”

I shrugged. “We talked about this.”

She flipped a couple of pages. “Turned out to be more complicated than I thought.”

“Once the books are set up, it’s repetition. Not so difficult. We’ll go over it.”

“Allison.” She rolled her eyes.

“Funny story.”

She closed the ledger, folding her hands.

“I was in the mall, eye fucking myself in the windows. Well, I was Artemis.”

“Artemis can push me against the lockers any time.”

“Right? My father –”

“Your father?”

“Sells ad copy for the newspaper. Lurks around the mall like a ghost not knowing where home is.”

“Oh, fuck. I have a meeting with him Wednesday. You did say I was in charge. Did you want to go over my business plan? I have two. 1 Bread and grass cutting, though there’s some overlap –”

I gave her my traffic stop hand. “I love you, Shawn.”

“I love you, too.” She opened the file drawer. I have ideas for ad copy for taxi Jane, too. I’m going to ask Andy, that’s Samantha Sullivan, to art-up my ideas –”

“Please, take a breath.”

Shawn looked at me for a short five seconds, pursing her lips. “I feel like I’m coming out of my skin. Did I tell you I saw god last night?”

I think I may have recently, too.

“Yes, you did.”

“Oh, you were telling me about your father.”

“Allison, actually. I was eye fucking Artemis in the store windows, a favorite pastime of mine.”

“You’re weird.”

“I am. My father creeps up on me. You’ll get a full helping of how he creeps on women Wednesday. All I ask is you don’t kill him now.”

“Check. He’s coming here. Don’t want to have to clean up. You’ll be out of town, won’t be here to help me bury the body. Did you hurt him?”

“I got him calling me a snotty little cunt, stomping off.”

“I want to be you when I grow up.”

I rolled my eyes. “When I was flirting with me in the Splitzer’s store window, across the store, the woman on register thought I was flirting with her.”

Shawn giggled. “Allison.”

“Allison. So I went in to explain I was eye fucking me, not her, but that made so sense, so I asked her to show me dresses.”

“Dad like Bat. Just like you did me.”

“Not quite just like you. I didn’t fuck Allison. It was there in the dressing room I realized why I wanted to fuck Allison, and it had nothing to do with her.”

“Let me guess: Unlike Allison, you did want to fuck me.”

My blush should have caught my sweatshirt on fire. “It was the dance, the way you smelled, your hand in mine. What maybe started with the rush of making Bat back out of the room scared to death of me, really became I wanted to fuck you against the lockers.”

“Thank you. Ads?” She held the folder in front of her. “I’d really like your opinion, your input. I’d willing accept any praise you may have but having lived with my father and worked for Allen Weber all these years, I’m used to not getting any.”

I held my hand forward. “Let’s see this great work of yours.”

“False praise is worse than no praise.”

I took the folder, leaning back against the chair. “Tell me about this seeing god stuff.”

“You know there are no words.”

“I do. This is good. Downplay the dependable airport service. If you look in the yellow pages, you’ll see everyone says that.”

“What then?”

“Eh, how about grocery delivery?”

“I’d never think of calling a cab to deliver groceries.”

“That’s the point – no one does. They may if they see the ad.”

“Maybe I’ll stop in the three markets in our area, talk to the managers, see what they think. I heard gathering information is a good thing to do.”

“I heard that, too.”

She glanced her watch. “We have to get going.”

“Where?”

“Pamala couldn’t get ahold of you. Dinner. Her house. You have no choice even if I have to chloroform you, put you in the trunk.”

“Those were her instructions?”

“Taylor’s actually. Maria’s home for a few days. God, what is it about these Edwards women?”

“Maria said she needed to see me?”

“Need isn’t the right word. She wants to see you.”

“I think I need a quiet family dinner in a normal world.”

“Right?”

“Almost as good as dancing naked in the woods.”

“Or me watching you dance naked in the woods.”

“We could –”

“I do understand that’s a private thing, a great gift you allowed me to see.”

“You may chloroform me, even if I’m willing to go.”

“That might be fun. I’d rather have you squirming around.”

I retrieved the package from the desk.

 

Pamala met me halfway up the walk, Shawn continuing to the house.

“I love you more than cherry cheesecake,” she said into my ear.

“I love you more than naked dancing in the snow.”

“I doubt that.”

“You haven’t showered.”

“Mom said the same thing. I’m after glowing.”

“I’ve done the same, with you.”

“I like when I smell more like you than me.”

We broke, holding hands. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“It’s not for you. Shawn told me you had a good night last night.”

“I bet there was blubbering.”

“There was a lot of blubbering, and that was just about the dancing.”

“Allison?”

“Yes, Allison.”

“You never told me about Allison.”

“I think I did.”

“John Bailey hired her to replace Tammy.”

“Definitely an improvement.”

“I mean, you had something to do with that.”

“Mr. Bailey was stuck. His relationship with Tammy and Tammy’s father is vastly complicated. Allison didn’t like her job, rather she didn’t like the people she was working under. That’s just the way the universe works sometimes.”

“Great dancer. Lauren, too. Shawn, well you know. I did my first tango. I stumbled a lot, laughed a lot, too. Unlike you, I don’t feel the need to be perfect every step.”

I bit my lip. “I bet Allison’s a get kisser.”

Pamala pulled me to a stop at the door, facing me, blushing. “Toby.”

“Pamala.”

“There was drinking.”

I smirked.

“Lauren really needed it, I mean, the night, the dancing, hanging with people who actually like her. Shawn filled me in on that business with that guy.”

“I understand. Lauren needed you to make out with her. It’s like a public service.”

“It’s not like we were making out. That came later.”

“With Lauren?”

“No!”

“Allison?”

“Oh, I wish.” She rolled her eyes, bouncing on her toes. “Watching her dance set me on fire. No where near like watching you dance, though.”

“I heard about later. Shawn.”

“I have never experienced multiples, I mean, well, once I get the first, the second and third come easy. Shawn, well, um.”

“She said you opened a window to god.”

“That was later, Shawn passed out.”

“Shawn passed out?”

“Twice.”

I released a sigh that shook the foundation of the house, sure if I were crushed under a gray Rambler Pamala would be OK. “I have never loved you more than I do in this moment.”

I dropped the package, gently placing my finders on Pamala’s cheeks like I might a soap bubble, my lips on hers. The universe stopped for eight seconds. I didn’t hear the door open.

“Pam, Toby. You coming in or should we bring your dinner out here?”

We broke again, both blushing, Pamala entering the house. I retrieved the package.

Shawn holding onto Pamala said, “I think it’s past time for a shower.”

“Only if you join me.”

Shawn rolled her eyes.

“That white dress, flares to your knees. No underwear,” I suggested.

“Oh, Toby, I have to wear at least a bra with that!”

“No, you don’t.”

I watched Pamala skip to the stair, Shawn watching me. “I wish I could love her like you love her.”

Maria at the bottom of the stairs held my eyes, I held back. “My soul that I don’t believe in is enriched by the way you do love her.”

“You’re weird.”

“Someday you’ll understand. Excuse me.”

I flowed toward the stairs as if not touching the floor. “Maria.”

“October.”

We became one. “We need to talk,” she whispered in my ear.

“We need to hold each other like nothing else in the universe matters.”

“You’re right, of course. To touch something good, sometime beautiful, something normal, if only for a moment.”

“A rare gift we allow ourselves.”

“Thank you for being you.”

 

Maria fluffed her ankle length rich blue skirt, dropping to the edge of her bed.

I sat beside her, taking her hand.

“I have concerns.”

“OK.”

“Let me do my sister first.”

I smiled, shrugging my shoulders.

“I really love how you love her.”

“Thanks.”

“Shawn.”

“Shawn.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I really, really like Shawn.”

“She’s a special person.”

“Have you noticed, are you aware, eh –”

“That Pamala and Shawn have a special relationship? Yes, I’ve noticed.”

“And?”

“They have a healthy relationship, a relationship that’s good for both.”

“You’re not worried –”

“I am not.”

“Pamala, eh, seems to be getting promiscuous.”

“Pamala has a healthy relationship with sex. I only wish I could be as open as she.”

“Really?”

I shrugged.

“I don’t think she slept last night. Just for example. I believe she and Shawn spent the night in bed, rolled out, threw clothes on, came right to church. She stills smell more of Shawn and sex than herself.”

“Not the whole night. I understand there was dancing.”

“Toby. You’re missing the point.”

I almost said, you cannot understand this, which is always an insult. “You’re missing the point. Let me put it this way: Pamala and I are soul mates, though I play fast and loose with the term. We loved each other real and true before we met, we will love each other real and true after we die.

“That is the kind of love we have. Nothing can diminish our love. Nothing. Pamala loving Shawn in whatever way she sees beneficial to her makes our love stronger.”

“That doesn’t make sense. To me.”

“There are things Shawn can give Pamala that I cannot. In a way, Shawn’s love is a gift I give to Pamala in that I don’t stand in the way of that love.”

“Still.”

“Not that I’m expecting to, but if I get crushed by a meteor rock tomorrow, I’ll die knowing Pamala will continue to be loved fully and completely.”

“Are you in danger? Mom said –”

“In a world where an eight-year-old dies from a brain tumor, we’re all in danger, Maria. We don’t buy life insurance because we think we’re going to see that bus coming around the corner in time to jump out of the way.”

“I understand, I think. I do not feel I could be that magnanimous.”

“She’s a blazing star. Enjoy the light.”

“That makes sense.”

“Dinner?”

“My sister was the easy thing.”

“More things.”

“Well, I’m concerned about Dad.”

“Let me back up and say I’m concerned about what Taylor says about me that I told her in confidence.”

“She’s concerned about –”

“I don’t believe in adulting adults.”

“Pamala is barely an adult.”

“She’ll always be your little sister.”

“You should bring your concerns to Mom.”

“I will. I’ll try not to burn the house down.”

Marie laughed. “OK. Dad.”

“Dad.”

“He got weird.”

“In a way I don’t know about?”

She rolled her eyes. “He rambled at me a couple times. Talking about making things better, fixing things. When I pushed him, he changed the subject.”

“Dad cannot keep a secret.”

“I know. With little prodding, we always managed to ruin the surprises he planned for Christmas.”

“He’s also a terrible liar.”

“Those two things are one of his best qualities.”

I giggled. “I see what you did.”

“Right?”

She pursed her lips.

“I’m not afraid of words.”

“Just one of the many things I like about you.”

“Your father has the misconception that if I do a thing, you’ll feel better.”

“What kind of thing?”

I bit my lip. “Doing the thing would likely not make you feel any better. Your father wants to feel better. About his helplessness.”

“For a person not afraid of words, you’re dancing awfully pretty.”

“That has to do with keeping confidences.”

“I’ll swear an oath, seal it with blood.”

“We’re not going to cut ourselves.”

“I have my period.”

“I love you, you know that, right?”

“I do. Know that. I’ve loved you since before me met, the way Pamala was walking lighter, smiling at anything. How about with swear a Little Match Girl oath. One Match Girl to another. Out there, words spoken where no words can walk, spoken words never spoken that can never be repeated because they were never said.”

“Sacred space. In a time not a time.”

“In a place not a place.”

Even magical, mystical exceptions to confidentiality agreement means there’s no confidentiality agreement.  I pulled the package onto my lap. “Dad said he’d like me to kill the boys who assaulted you.”

“He what?”

“I think the idea came from Taylor, not that Taylor said I should kill anyone. Taylor’s got the idea I kill people.” I rolled my eyes. “I had her looking at a business. Once I got the idea of the financial health, I suggested I may have to do things she didn’t wish to know about.”

“You told her you don’t kill people.”

“I’m a better liar than your father.”

“I’ve thought about it, murdering them. I’ve fantasied about it. Imagined it lying in bed at night. Killing them? I’m damaged, October. I’m broken beyond repair. I’d smile with smug satisfaction reading their obituary over my morning coffee. Fix me?”

“You do that a lot? Check the obits?”

“Morning and afternoon papers every day.”

At that, I made my decision, placing the package on her lap.

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

“My school yearbook.”

“Circle the three. Underline everyone you remember being in the room.”

“Everyone?”

I stood.

“Stay? I’ll do this now. I’ve not seen these faces in years.” A black marking pen appeared from her purse, marking the third page.

“A teacher?” I took the book.

“No.”

“Everet Barrett. Eww. I met him.”

“He was the last, I think he came in to chase the smokers out. He slobbered on my face. Didn't even take his glasses off.”

We shuddered together.

“I thought they were going to kill me.”

“They could have, even by accident. I’m glad they didn’t.”

“For the longest time, I wished I had died. If not for Pamala, Mom, Dad, mostly Pamala. She’s so much like I used to be. I look at her, it’s like I can see myself down a time tunnel.”

I placed the book on the bed, my right knee going to Maria’s left, my left knee to her right.

“October?”

I snuggled in, taking her cheeks in my palms, raising her face.

“Pamala.”

“She won’t mind.”

Our lips met softly, unsure, warm, comforting. Her hands came to my sides, pulling. Time froze for three minutes.

I offered a vague giggle. “A little better now?” I asked into her mouth.

“A little.” Her hands came to my face, her tongue dancing on my lips. “It’s been a long time.”

“I should have figured Barrett was a slobberer.”

She fell back, her head to the bed. “Way to ruin the mood, Toby.”

“I wasn’t going for a mood.” I struggled from the bed. “I didn’t think you liked girls that way.”

“I could have just then until you brought up Barrett.”

“I was being supportive, comforting. I’m not good with those words. I refer people to Pam.”

“You’re confusing at times. Pam is good with those words.” She fished for the book, staying on her back. “Pen?”

I found the marker, handing it off, dropping to my knees on the floor, my head on her knees, my hand running up her ankle.

“October?”

“You said something about a blood oath.”

“Eww.”

“Not to me. Natural. I’d never thought about sex with you. Until now.”

“I hadn’t considered it either, not until you got your tongue down my throat.”

“My tongue was not down your throat, not even a little bit.”

“The kiss was very much what I needed, in the moment. Here’s another one.”

“Mark them. I’ll look later.” My palm raked her knee, onto her thigh, gently parting her legs.

“Another. I put a one and a two on the faces. Ah, one of the Greek chorus. I’ll star the screamers to differentiate them from the gawkers.”

“Adding to their spank bank, I’m sure.

“Eww.”

“Gawkers are as bad as the rapists and screamers because they did nothing to stop it, to protect you.”

“Is the door locked?”

“Maria. Should it be?”

“I’ve never –” She flipped a few pages. “I can’t say I miss that kind of intimacy because I never had any.”

“We’ll be missed.”

“I said this could be a long conversation.”

I locked the door.

 

“Sorry for holding up dinner,” I announced entering the living room.

“We’re having stew,” Taylor said. “I just lowered the heat. I did have to take the bread out, though.”

“Shall we?” Bob said, struggling from the reclining chair.

“We shall. You hurt yourself again.”

“Only a little. Don’t get old.”

Taylor paused, looking toward the stairway.

“Maria said she felt the need for a quick shower.”

Shawn’s eyes bugged, Pamala’s mouth dropped open.

We gathered around the table, Bob at the head to my right, Talyor to my left, Pamala and Shawn across the table, Maria with a perma-blush shyly sitting beside me.

“That must have been some good talk,” Pamala teased.

“Things were said that required saying that only Maria and I could say to each other. Yes, good talk.”

“You need to visit more often,” Taylor said, looking at Pamala. “Are you sure that’s appropriate?”

“What, Mom?”

“The way you’re dressed, or should I say not dressed?”

She answered with a roll of the eye that said, aww, Mom.

“My request,” I said. “Here we are again, Taylor. We had a conversation about private conversations.”

She glanced Maria. “Oh, we can talk after dinner, in the study.”

I shrugged. “I’m good. You’d puzzled why I’d keep anything from you, then when I shared shit in confidence, you blab to Maria. This is exactly what we talked about, you blabbing to Bob.”

“After dinner. Study.”

“Why? If there’s exceptions to the confidentiality agreement, nothing is confidential. I recently had this same conversation with my lawyer.”

“Lawyer are bound by law –”

“Maybe I should get my lawyer to drawn up a contract for you and me, so it’s a matter of law.”

“Toby,” Pamala said.

“I’m just really annoyed at the moment.”

“With?”

“More Taylor’s worried about you stuff.” I looked at Taylor. “Great stew. My beef always comes up dry.”

“I have a spiced flour concoction I roll the meat in, then braise it, add beef broth.”

“Ah.”

“I’ll make a copy of the recipe.”

“Appreciated. It’s not that you shared with Marie what I told you in confidence. You shared conjecture of what I shared with you in confidence.”

“We are family –” Taylor started.

I turned to Bob. “You, too, need to keep your mouth shut concerning anything we talk about in private.”

Bob blushed. “I’m really not good at –”

“Get good at it.”

I turned back to Taylor. “You don’t have the whole picture. Your conjecture is off by maybe eighteen and a half universes. I told you that. Conjecture like that is also called gossip.”

Taylor bit her lip.

“So much for a normal, quiet family dinner,” Maria said. “Mom is a mom. She means well. She wants to protect me.”

“Too late for that.”

“October!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.” I looked at Taylor again. “I think that’s the point, something Bob told me in confidence. Your failure to protect Marie has you conjecturing all sorts of weird, wild conjectures concerning me and the danger I pose to Pamala.”

“Bob said that?”

“Not in those words.”

Maria straightened her back. “Mom. October is a force of nature who I believe is in this world to protect Pamala and me from any harm. If angels of the guardian variety somehow exist, she’s one of them. I honestly, truly believe this.”

“I agree,” Bob said.

Taylor glanced from Pamala to me. “I guess this is what a father feels like when he hands his daughter over at the altar.”

“You’ll not losing a daughter, you’re gaining a daughter is said upfront. What you just said is the more people don’t see.”

She nodded. “I don’t have the big picture.”

“Not even close.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Toby. October. Do you kill people?”

“I do not.”

“A pact sealed in blood, Mom.”

 

The ceiling reached as if to the stars, answering in eerie echoes mirroring every sound we made. I dropped my mop in the five-gallon bucket, then sloshed the mop around the floor. “Were you aware we didn’t have to mop the floor at the Bristle Estate?”

Shawn chuckled. “I was. Pam was having so much fun, I didn’t have the heart to tell her.”

Rows of chairs marched up in three directions, behind me, a twice life size statue of suffering Jesus on the cross looked down. “Not too creepy.”

“A least he just watched, not screaming, spitting, or peeing on me.”

“There is that.”

“Did I tell you I thought they were going to kill me?”

“You did. Some, three that I know of, did die. Likely more. I only looked at a small window.”

“What the fuck, Toby?”

“We’ll go over the file. Conjecture. Newspaper stories. Three decades ago. Came up in connection to something Serling and I are working on. When we get time, we’ll sit in the war room at 1 Bread, go over all the shit.”

The door up the long aisle opened, a portly man in a blue uniform presenting himself, light from a flashlight dancing first over us then around the room. I’d turned the lights on. He didn’t need the flashlight.

“What’s going on here?”

I paused my slushing, leaning on the mop. “Cleaning up another mess.”

He offered a fake laugh, hands on his hips, coming off like a demented Santa Claus. “Oh, those boys and their parties.”

“Boys will be boys.”

“Have a good night.” The door closed.

“You’re so fucking good at this, Toby.” Shawn dropped to her knees, rolling on her back. “Right here.”

I closed my eyes, imagining the Greek chorus cheering as Raymond Montgomery Schmit raped her. “I think we should hang his dead body on suffering Jesus so his corpse can look down on what he did.”

Shawn frantically mocked working on her belt buckle. “Oh, Toby, fuck me, fuck me now.”

I laughed. “There’d be irony in that, huh?”

“If only I could be your virgin. Can we?”

“Fuck?”

“No! Hang Ray on Jesus.”

I examined the room. “Block and tackle. It’d take some work, sure. Time and effort? Risk. If Mr. Security Guy stops by, we’d have to kill him, too. I’m favoring Raymond has an accident at home. Slip and fall in the tub. Happens all the time. No one will give it a second glance.”

“I’d have to see him naked. I’ve never seen him naked, just his pants dropped to his knees.”

“He won’t appear as threatening lying dead in the tub.”

“I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Killing Raymond?”

“The rape, as an event. The meaning. Obviously, raping me had nothing to do with sex. I mean –”

“I know what you mean. If I were to do some serious excavation into history, I’d not be surprised if they literally sacrificed a virgin to join their little college club.”

“Sacrificed as in killed.”

“Yes.”

“He sacrificed me. I was his virgin.” Up on her elbows. she glanced all directions. “My soul could be trapped in these walls. Maybe that’s why I’ve felt dead since.”

“Shawn. Keep your feet on the ground.”

She nodded hard and fast. “Wild conjecture. I get it. That’s why you didn’t have a private conversation with Taylor. You had a lecture for all of us.”

“You’re different inside, maybe the past self just a dream you make up, falling short in your present self.”

“Oh, I feel dead.”

“Like when you saw god last night?”

“There is that. Couldn't feel more alive than that. I didn’t see god when you had me against the lockers, but I bet he was watching. You fucked Maria?”

“We had a moment.”

“Good. She’s in so much pain. Puts on such a show, such a happy face for family. She needed that.”

“The affirmation.”

“I’ve watched the way they look at her. They don’t want to touch the fire. Pamala does but doesn’t know what to do about it.”

“Just that is enough. You can get off the floor.”

Looking up behind her, holding my eyes, she said, “I like it here. I mean, I like being comfortable here, where he raped me. No, that’s not what I mean.”

“Taking back control.”

“Choice. I look back, play in over and over again. I let him rape me. Who does that?”

I pursed my lips, subtlety nodding.

“I expected an argument.”

“Oh, he raped you. As for you letting him –”

“He told me to undress. I did.”

“When Jacob Bancroft asked Lauren Kennedy to help him out of that special project, did Lauren really have the option to say no when he wanted to fuck her?”

“I wasn’t aware she told you the story.”

“She didn’t. That’s conjecture. Here’s you, thinking you’re on a date, Raymond with the authority of the mob giving you instructions. You didn’t choose to take your clothes off. In that moment, you had no choice.”

“It’s not my soul trapped in these walls. It’s my power.”

“Power lies in choice, real choice.”

“Killing Ray may or may not make me feel better.”

“Killing Raymond will give you your power back.”

“That’s conjecture.”

“Like a science experiment.”

“I’m an art major.”

I released a long sigh that shook the walls. “This seems more like a church than a lecture hall.”

“Weird.”

“I want to read the charter. Not the school charter. The charter of this rape club of theirs. Maybe we can hold Raymond in a basement somewhere, pull his fingernails out one by one until he tells us all about it.”

“Even if we didn’t get any information, that’d be fun.”

“I do not believe making people scream would be satisfying to me.”

“Depends, I guess. I’m surprised Mable wasn’t knocking on the door.”

“I really need a house.”

“I still can’t believe you’re OK with our –”

“Shenanigans is a good word.” I worked a folded piece of paper from my back pants pocket. “Honest opinion.”

Still on her back on the floor, she read, “Place not a place, time not a time, I love that. Time can steal flesh, not our love. Also great. Oh, wedding vows?”

“I thought it’d be easy to write.”

She read in silence, twice. “I get it. No forsaking.”

“Our relationship should make our lives bigger, not smaller.”

“You should put that in here.”

“I should. Let’s pack up. Early morning for me.”

“How so?”

“I’m heading for the woods. I’ll be back by Friday at the latest. I have a foundation to dig up on Saturday. Maybe torture more men at a card table, at least start on the books.”

“Eh, first thing, we have to look at the roof for Serling.”

“You can handle that.”

“Serling wants you there.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“OK. Right after we look at that roof for Serling, I’m heading for the woods.”

 

Part 29