“If the conversation ever happened, would he call and report it?” Radburn leaned back in his chair, folded his hands on his stomach. “Well, that’s a question,” he allowed. “Why would he bother? Still, she brought the thousand, didn’t she?”
“She didn’t show it to me.”
“No, but she didn’t deny it, either, and maybe it was in case you pitched a bitch about your time and expense, and maybe it was something else. You mind playing it again?”
They listened to the recording a second time through. “What she’s saying,” Radburn said, “is convincing enough, but it’s like her voice doesn’t quite match the words. You know what I mean?”
“I think so.”
“It’s like she decided that this is gonna be her story, so that makes it the truth, so all she has to do is tell it. And she does tell it, and she never exactly sounds like she’s lying—”
“But there’s no feeling behind the words.”
“There you go. Other hand, she’s sitting next to a cool son of a bitch who kills people for a living. Some people might find that to be a case of inhibiting circumstances.”
“It’s easy for me to forget what a desperate character I am.”
“If I had to guess, Doak, she meant it when she sat down with Gonson. She was working the floor that night, so she couldn’t have been all that drunk. A drink or two, maybe, and maybe she’d had a fight with George before she left the house and was still pissed at him. But when she brought up the subject, she genuinely wanted him dead.”
“And then she got to thinking it over.”
“Same as anybody would do. That’s a pretty big step, paying to have a man killed, even if you happen to be married to the fellow. And once you do it, there’s no Undo button.”
“No.”
“Easier to hit that button before there’s anything needs to be undone. Pull the plug, abort the mission.” He made a tent of his fingertips. “And when it’s time for the meeting, just stay home.”
“But she didn’t.”
“No, she showed up, and she brought along the thousand dollars, because you never know when you’ll see just the perfect little black dress.” He peered at Doak. “I dunno,” he said. “Maybe you’re the problem.”
“Me?”
“Say she got in the car, all set to go for the deal, and she took one look at your ugly face and said, ‘Hell no, I don’t want this degenerate getting anywhere near my George.’ ”
“That must be it. How big a payday was this degenerate supposed to be getting?”
“You mean how much is Gallatin County going to pay you? I hadn’t even thought about that, but—”
He was shaking his head. “No, don’t worry about that. I spent a few minutes sitting in my car, and I had better-looking company than I generally get. This can be my gift to the county. No, what I’m wondering is what Frank the Exterminator was supposed to get for his professional services.”
“Haven’t we been saying it all along? A thousand dollars in front.”
“In front of what?”
“Oh,” Radburn said.
“Because even in South Jersey, even in fucking Camden, you can’t expect to hire a hit man for a total price of a thousand dollars.”
“No, of course not. That was just a down payment.”
“Not even that, really. Earnest money, to show good faith. Before the deal went down, she’d be expected to come up with half the fee.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“Traditional, anyway. But half of what, Bill? Did anybody set a price?”
Radburn frowned, thinking about it. “As far as I can remember, the only number I ever heard was one thousand.”
“She couldn’t have thought that was all she was going to have to pay. Didn’t your friend Gonson quote her a price?”
“He wouldn’t, not without letting me know about it. What he most likely did is told her the man she met with would discuss terms with her. Which you never had to do, on account of her pulling the plug.”
“Right.”
“Something the matter?”
“I don’t know. It never occurred to me I was going to have to negotiate a price. I wasn’t prepared, I wouldn’t have known how much to ask for.”
“You’d have come up with a number.”
“Well, I guess. If I had to.”
“Suppose you had to come up with one now. What would you say?”
“Jesus, I don’t know. Fifty?”
“Fifty thousand?”
“Why, is that too low? Too high? What?”
“No, it sounds about right. This isn’t New York or L.A., after all. It’s not even Miami or Atlanta. But, uh, Doak? She called the whole thing off, and even if she didn’t there was never going to be any cash changing hands beyond that thousand dollars we’ve been talking about. So what terrestrial difference could it make what price she might have thought she’d be paying?”
“Well, I can’t really say,” he said. “Not when you put it that way. But it sort of seems I ought to have some idea how much money I just missed out on.”
Seven
* * *
It was a few minutes past two when he shook hands with the sheriff and got out of there. About the time he’d pushed the Play button and started the tape, there was a crack of thunder and the skies opened up. It had come down heavy and hard for twenty minutes, just enough to take the edge off the heat, but now the sun was hotter than ever, and what was left of the rain was rising as steam from the pavement.
He walked halfway to his car, then remembered he hadn’t eaten anything since he left the Cattle Baron the night before. No breakfast, because he hadn’t felt like putting food in his stomach with the meeting at the Winn-Dixie coming up. And nothing after she got out of his car, leaving him to watch her drive off in her Lexus.
There was a diner around the corner from the county offices, and the lunch crowd had thinned down by now. He took a booth in back and studied the mile-long menu, which essentially included every dish the chef/proprietor had ever heard of. The place was called Mykonos, although the original Greek owner had long since sold out to a Chinese couple from Havana. They still had some Greek dishes on the menu, and he’d had the spanakopita once, and it wasn’t bad.
This time he had a cheddar omelet and fries and drank two cups of coffee. Someone had left a copy of USA Today on the next table, and he turned the pages while he ate, but nothing much registered. He was on his second cup of coffee when he remembered to check his phone. It was still on Vibrate, and in his right front pants pocket, with his wallet between it and his thigh. If it ever vibrated, he never felt it.
There’d been a single call at 1:14, there was a seven-word message on his voicemail. “It’s Barb, call me when you can.”
He had his thumb poised to place the call, then stopped himself. No, not just yet.
The Monte Carlo was like an oven. He’d meant to leave a window open, but it was just as well he hadn’t, considering the way it had poured. Now, though, he was paying for it. The car had factory air, it would be hard to find a car anywhere in the state that didn’t, but the years had taken their toll on it. Well, he thought, that was true of everything in the car, including its driver.
Especially its driver.
He drove home, got out of his clothes and under the shower. Afterward he put on a robe and cracked a beer. He thought about Barb Hamill, and what she liked to do, and weighed the pros and cons of having her come over. The beer was about half gone when he picked up the phone and made the call.
It went directly to voicemail. “Doak,” he said, “returning your call,” and rang off.
By the time she called back, the beer can was empty and he was stretched out on the couch, dozing off while an old movie played on his TV.
“I knew it was you,” he said.
“The miracle of Caller ID.”
“No, before I looked. See, I was taking a nap, and I woke up good to go.”
“You mean the little corporal was standing at a
ttention? And that’s on account of it was me on the other end of the phone? Honey, I’m flattered, but knowing you it could’ve been anybody with a pussy.”
“Now that’s not true.”
“Or even a tranny,” she said, “if God had blessed her with a nice ass and a good boob job. Speaking of which, did you ever?”
“Did I ever what? Oh, have a tranny? Christ, no.”
“Why not? I mean, out of curiosity if nothing else. What do they call them? Chicks with dicks? There’s one or two advertise on Craigslist, and I saw a picture one time, and I have to say she had all the ingredients.”
“And then some.”
“You know I’ve never been with a woman, and these days that’s something I almost feel I have to apologize for, like it’s this embarrassing virginity I never got around to losing. But a pre-op tranny might be the best of both worlds.”
“Oh?”
“I could cuddle up to her tits and play with ’em, which would be fun, but one thing about being with a woman is she would probably expect me to eat her pussy, and I’m not sure I’d want to do that, you know? But a tranny wouldn’t have a pussy, not if she was pre-op. She’d have a dick, and you know how I feel about dicks.”
“I remember.”
“Of course I couldn’t expect her to have a dick as nice as yours, but a dick’s a dick, you know? I could suck it while I played with her tits, and maybe if I asked real nice I could get her to fuck me with it. What do you think?”
“I think you should put that perfect ass of yours in your car,” he said, “and bring it over here.”
“Oh, Doak, baby, I wish. That’s what I had in mind when I called, not all this tranny stuff but your dick and some things we could do with it, places we could put it. But that was then, when I had a few unbooked hours staring me in the face, and now I’ve got appointments stacked up clear to dinner. And I’d love to cancel one of them, fuck, I’d love to cancel all of them, but I can’t, I flat can’t.”
“Oh.”
“I got you hot and bothered, didn’t I? Talking like that.”
“What gives you that impression?”
“Well, you’re not the only one. I’m all wet. I’m in my office, I’ve got the door closed, I’ve got half an hour before I have to be anywhere. Hold on a sec, I want to take off my panties. There, that’s better, now I can touch myself. Oh, God, I’m soaking wet.”
“I can imagine.”
“Can you? Are you touching yourself, honey?”
“Yes.”
“You want to take a moment to get a Kleenex? Or a hankie? Of course you wouldn’t need anything if I was there because I’ve got a mouth and an ass and a pussy and you could choose which one you wanted to come in. Oh, Jesus, I’ve got my finger in my ass and my thumb on my clit, and it kills me that I have to waste one hand on the fucking cell phone, but if I put the phone on speaker the whole office could hear us. Is this good, honey? Is it working?”
“It’s working.”
“You know what we could do? You and me, we could tagteam that tranny. She’s just the cutest thing, Doak, blonde hair and perfect skin with an all-over tan, and tits so perfect you’d swear she grew them all by herself, and a gorgeous ass, and you can fuck her in the ass while I suck her cock, oh, and now you’re both fucking me, I’m riding her cock while you’re in my ass, and we’re both fooling with her tits, oh, Jesus . . .”
“Oh my,” Barb said. “Well, that’s a first. That’s something we never did before.”
“You’re full of surprises.”
“Well, I guess. I keep surprising myself. I came really hard. I hope I didn’t make a lot of noise.”
“You were a perfect lady.”
“I did all the talking, didn’t I? You barely got a word in edgewise. But it was having you there that made it so exciting. I hope you had that Kleenex.”
“Well.”
“Or was it a hankie?”
It was neither, because fairly early on he’d stopped touching himself, and his own excitement had ebbed even as hers had heightened. He’d remained an avid spectator, caught up in her rich fantasy, but the urge to complete the act subsided, and his erection along with it.
“I don’t even know that I’d want to do all that,” she said now. “Or any of it, even. You ever done any kind of threesies?”
“Not lately.”
“But in the past? Two gals and a guy, would be my guess.”
“Every man’s fantasy,” he said, “and when it finally came along it was more awkward than anything else.”
“Oh, now that’s disappointing to hear. The best thing about fantasies is they’re always perfect. Nobody has bad breath, nobody has trouble getting it up. And every orgasm is perfect. Well, mine was pretty great just now.”
“I’m not complaining.”
“And yet,” she said, “there’s a kind of lingering horniness after coming that way. Like I didn’t actually do anything, and I kind of want to.”
“But you’ve got appointments.”
“Oh, I do, and then it’s home and hearth for the duration. Which means hubby’s in line to get one amazing blow job before the day is done.”
“And he’ll never know what inspired it.”
“What he’ll also never know,” she said, “is that all the while I’ll be picturing him with an amazing set of tits. And I’ll have a finger in his butt, which we’ve recently established that he kind of likes, but the man hasn’t got a clue where Mama learned that little trick. Oh, look at the time. I’ve got to get off.”
“I thought you already did.”
“Oh, funny. Verrry funny.”
Eight
* * *
From six to seven he watched half an hour each of local and national news, then put on the baseball game. The Rays were hosting the Blue Jays at Tropicana Field, and he watched the Toronto pitcher retire the first twelve batters he faced, striking out eight of them.
He wanted to get something to eat, but was reluctant to leave the house until some killjoy broke up the kid’s no-hitter. There was some cereal left, some pretentious granola that promised you’d be saving the planet if you ate enough of it, and the milk smelled fresh, or at least it didn’t smell sour. He ate in front of the TV, and in the sixth inning the pitcher walked the Rays’ first baseman, so that was the end of his perfect game, but the next man up hit into a double play, so he still had a shot at facing only twenty-seven batters, which the announcer kept calling a numerically perfect game.
In the top of the eighth the kid had a three-run cushion, and his fast ball was still getting over at upwards of ninety-two miles an hour. He struck out the first batter, got the second on an easy grounder to the shortstop, took the third to three-and-two before he got him to pop up. Except it was more of a blooper, hit off the end of the bat, just out of reach of both the shortstop and the center fielder, and the game was suddenly no longer perfect numerically or otherwise, and no longer a no-hitter.
The next batter walked, and the one after doubled off the wall in right, and now it was no longer a shutout. And the kid suddenly couldn’t find the plate, and walked the next Blue Jay on four pitches. The pitching coach came out to steady him, and let him face one more batter, which turned out to be a mistake when the batter in question hit one out. That made the score 5-3, and that was enough for the manager. It was also enough for Doak, who turned off the set.
He got dressed, got in his car. The night was cool enough to roll down the windows and get along without the A/C. He drove, put the radio on, turned it off.
Thought about the phone call. Phone sex, he guessed, was the term for it. Thought not about the call’s content but about his own response to it.
The tranny was beside the point. He didn’t think that was something he needed to try in real life, but it had been acceptable enough on a fantasy level. Barb had made it all exciting, and it hadn’t ceased to be exciting, but he had somehow stopped being excited.
What he realized now was that had been his ch
oice. He’d made an unconscious decision not to continue, when to do so would lead to a climax. He’d decided that wasn’t what he wanted, and he’d instructed his body accordingly. He’d gone on listening, and he’d gotten a decent amount of secondhand satisfaction out of Barb’s very audible orgasm, but for him the war was over.
All that remained was to lie about it. Though he hadn’t quite lied, had he? I’m not complaining, he’d told her, and he hadn’t been, so where was the falsehood in that?
Interesting, his choice.
Saving it, was he?
Maybe, but that was taking a lot for granted, wasn’t it? He was taking a long drive on a dark night, along roads he didn’t know, toward a place he’d never been. That was true, he realized, in a literal sense, and perhaps it was figuratively true as well, because he hadn’t been down this road before, and there was no way to know what was at the end of it.
Well, one way. The same way you found out what the future held, and you didn’t need a crystal ball for it, either. All you had to do was wait and see what happened.
The place he was looking for was on Florida 129 a mile and a half south of Live Oak, and when a sign welcomed him to that town he knew he’d overshot. He got the car turned around and backtracked, and there it was on the right, a fair amount of neon, a sign that said Kimberley’s Kove, a one-story concrete block structure with its windows mostly blacked out, and seventeen vehicles, most of them pickups, clustered on the asphalt.
The Monte Carlo made eighteen, and he knew the number because he took the time to count them. Eleven pickups, two motorcycles, and five sedans including his own, which didn’t stand out from the others. They were all of its vintage, and they too looked as though they’d been driven hard on bad roads.
He could call it a night and go home. It wouldn’t take any longer than it had taken to get here, and it would go quicker, because any route always seemed longer the first time you drove it.
He checked his watch, found out it had taken him less time than he’d figured, even with missing the place on the first pass. So leaving now would be a bit previous, as he’d heard people say.