When Tony starts coming around, I punch him again. Next time he comes around, we’re in the parking lot of Wildrose Memorial. I get out, walk around the front of the car, open the passenger door.
“Where are we?” Tony says, looking around.
“Quick lesson, sport. Next time you wear a wire, don’t start the conversation by asking the mark his name.”
“They made me say your name like that! We practiced!”
“Yeah? Well, I’ve been practicing, too!”
I pull him out of the car, grab his good ear between my thumb and fingers, and tear it cleanly from his head. It’s a vile, messy business, this ear-tearing thing. Generates far more blood than you’d expect. As Tony starts to go into shock, I hand him his ear and point him toward the E.R.
I start heading to George Best’s house, but get sidetracked by Callie’s phone call.
“Mr. Cohen?” she says. “There are two detectives at my condo. Is there any way you can meet me?”
I look at my watch. “This time of night? They must think they have something.”
Callie says nothing, so I say, “I can come right now, but I don’t have my lawyer business card with me.”
“That’ll be fine,” she says. Then adds, “They don’t understand why you’re representing both Gwen and me.”
I smile. Callie makes it easy to read between the lines. “I’ll be glad to explain it to them when I get there.”
“Thanks, Mr. Cohen.” She tells me her address and what floor she’s located on, since the attorney, Mr. Cohen, wouldn’t know.
“I’ll be there in five minutes,” I say.
25.
I’VE GOT A key to get in, but we don’t want the detectives to know that, so I buzz Callie’s penthouse and she clicks the lobby lock open. I take the elevator to the top floor and knock on her door. When she opens it, I see two plainclothes detectives looking very disgusted by my presence on the scene. They look so much alike, they could be brothers. One has a brown suit on, the other’s wearing navy. Both are wearing ties. Callie leads us into the living room. I study Gwen’s face for any sign that might indicate she asked Carmine to kill me. But her expression offers nothing. I catch myself thinking she’d make a great agent for me, if I could trust her a little more. Or at all.
“Don’t worry boys,” I say to the detectives. “You’re going to love the way I work.”
“Oh yeah?” brown suit says. “Why’s that?”
“Because I’m going to let my clients answer all your questions.”
“You’re what?”
“That’s right. They’ve got nothing to hide.”
“If that’s the case,” navy suit says, “you don’t need to be here at all.”
“True. Except that my presence will keep you on your best behavior.”
“I’ve never seen you, never heard of you,” brown suit says. “You got proof of representation?”
“My proof is my client called me and asked me to come. When I got here, she let me in.”
“I’m—”
I wave him off. “Look, I don’t care what your names are. You’re brown suit, he’s navy suit. I’m Carlos Cohen.”
“Carlos?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
Brown suit starts to say something, thinks better of it. Turns to Gwen and says, “You don’t seem very upset about your husband’s death.”
“I’m not.”
The detectives look at me, stunned. Not only have I allowed Gwen to incriminate herself, I motion them to continue.
They look at each other.
Blue suit shrugs and says, “Your husband was murdered in cold blood and you’re not upset? Why?”
They look at me again. When I continue to say nothing, brown suit says, “Are you sure you’re a lawyer?”
“I knew you’d love working with me. Just wait till you hear her confession!”
“Her what?”
To Gwen I say, “You may answer the detective’s question.”
“I didn’t love my husband,” Gwen says. “He lied to me, and cheated on me.”
Brown suit is so befuddled, he has to regroup.
Blue suit says, “Mrs. Peters, do you own a handgun?”
“Nope.”
He turns to Callie and says, “Do you?”
“Do I look like the kind of woman who needs a handgun?”
Both suits look at me.
“Please answer the question, Miss Carpenter.”
“No. I don’t own a handgun.”
“May we verify that fact by conducting a quick search?”
“Define ‘quick,’” I say.
“A cursory search. Ten minutes, max.”
“That’s all you need?”
“That’s all we need.”
I look at Callie. She nods. “I’ll allow it, subject to ground rules. You stay together, we go where you go. No questions during the search. You’ve got ten minutes, starting now.”
Ten minutes later blue suit says, “We can wrap this up in five minutes.”
“You’re done,” I say. “My clients have been completely cooperative, and we utilized your time frame.”
“We can come back with a search warrant,” brown suit threatens.
“I wish I could be there when you ask the judge.”
“Why?”
“Because you asked for ten minutes to search the premises. I asked if that was all you needed and you said yes. My clients consented to the search. You did, in fact, search the premises, and found nothing.”
“There’s sufficient cause to conduct a more thorough search.”
“This will be fun to hear. Please enlighten us.”
Brown suit points at Gwen. “Her husband was murdered in her house.” He points at Callie. “And her lover was murdered at the same time.”
“Is that your sufficient cause?”
“Probable cause,” blue suit corrects.
“And did you just now learn that both my clients were connected to the victims?”
“We knew it the night of the murder,” brown suit says.
“Which means you knew it before you asked for ten minutes to conduct your search,” I say. “So you’ve already used up your probable cause search.”
They don’t like what they’re hearing, but they’re veterans. While I may be confusing them, I’m not intimidating them.
Brown suit says, “You may be right. We can let the judge decide.”
“Then let’s,” I say.
We go back into Callie’s living room.
“Miss Carpenter,” brown suit says. “Was Eva LeSage your lover?”
“I’m not going to answer any questions I’ve covered with the police. Gwen and I have cooperated fully, and you know these answers. I’ll give you a quick synopsis, and then you can either ask me something new, that no one has asked during the last four sessions, or you can leave.”
“Let’s hear the synopsis,” blue suit says.
“Eva and I were lovers. Lucky Peters hired Eva for three-way sex on Tuesdays. Sometimes Gwen participated, sometimes she didn’t. Gwen and Eva were friends, which is how Gwen and I met and became lovers. On the Tuesday night they were murdered, Gwen and I were here in my apartment. You’ve spoken to the neighbors. They told you we were here all evening.”
“They told us you were here all evening.”
“That’s because Gwen was already in the house when they saw me come home that afternoon.”
“Can you prove it?”
“My proof is she’s alive.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. She could’ve killed them.”
“Right,” Gwen says. “That’s exactly what happened. I killed the two bodyguards, killed Eva and Lucky, drove to Callie’s condo—wait—I must’ve flown here, because my car was and still is at my house. Anyway, I killed everyone with a gun I don’t possess, flew here on my broomstick and entered Callie’s condo in such a way that none of the neighbors heard or saw me.”
“There’s the
confession I promised!” I say. “Now if you boys will go ahead and arrest Mrs. Peters, we can take it straight to the courtroom. And don’t worry about a search warrant. We’ll provide the broomstick now, so you can enter it into evidence.”
Without batting an eye, blue suit says, “Mrs. Peters, do you know Carmine Porrello?”
Gwen looks me dead in the eyes, but I can’t make anything out of her expression.
“Answer truthfully,” I say.
“I know him,” she says. “I used to dance in his clubs. So what?”
“The four victims were executed.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I was at the crime scene,” brown suit says.
“So?”
“In the twenty-three years I’ve been on the force, this was the most professional hit I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh. Oh my!” Gwen says. Her face starts to flush. She actually looks at Callie and smiles. She’s proud of her girlfriend’s work.
“Did you just smile?” blue suit says.
“I sure did!”
He looks at me.
“She’s got a beautiful smile,” I say. “Don’t you agree?”
“Thanks, Mr. Cohen,” Gwen says, brightly.
Blue suit looks at Gwen. “Why would that comment make you smile?”
“Because it sounds like you might have a suspect. Carmine Porrello.”
“When’s the last time you saw Mr. Porrello?” blue suit says.
Gwen looks at me. For the first time, she appears nervous. We both know if they’re asking they already know the answer. I wonder if they’ve had a tail on Gwen and Callie. Then realize they’ve probably got surveillance on Carmine’s club.
“Answer truthfully,” I say. “If you saw him this afternoon, tell them.”
Both suits look at me, incredulously. But neither speaks.
Gwen says, “I saw Carmine this afternoon.”
“Where?” blue suit says.
“His place. The Top Six.”
“Why?”
Gwen locks eyes with me. “I wanted to ask him something.”
“What?”
“I asked if he knew who killed my husband.”
“And he said?”
“He said he didn’t know.”
Brown suit says, “What’d you expect him to say?”
Gwen looks at Brown suit with the most beguiling expression I’ve ever seen on a recently widowed woman and says, “Should I not have asked him?”
Both suits frown.
“Anything else boys?” I say.
After they leave, Callie says to Gwen, “Why did you meet Carmine Porrello today?”
26.
“CAN WE DISCUSS this later?” Gwen says. She pauses a moment, then adds, “In private?”
Callie and I exchange a look.
I say, “Callie and I are a team, Gwen. Whatever happens, you’re not going to come between us.”
“Is that true, Callie?” Gwen says.
Callie says nothing.
To me, Gwen says, “She doesn’t need you, and I don’t need you. You know what you are?”
“Tell me.”
“A candy ass!”
I frown.
“Maybe you should put some oil around your ankles,” she says.
“Why’s that?”
“To keep the ants from getting to your candy ass!”
Gwen looks at Callie for approval.
Callie says, “Why did you meet Carmine Porrello today?”
“I wanted to ask him something.”
“Go on.”
Gwen looks at me again. “I wanted him to kill someone.”
“Who?” Callie says.
Gwen nods at me and says, “Donovan.”
Callie studies my face.
“You knew,” she says.
“I did. What I don’t know is why.”
We look at Gwen. Callie says, “Why?”
Gwen sighs. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Try,” I say.
She frowns at me. Then says, “I couldn’t choose between you.”
“What do you mean?” Callie says.
“I like you both. I mean, I like you better, Callie. You’re beautiful, you’re stable, you treat me great…”
“But?” Callie says.
“But today when I fucked Donovan, I felt terrible. Not at the time, of course, but…”
“Back up.” Callie says. “You fucked Creed today?”
She looks at me.
“It’s partly my fault,” I say.
“Partly?”
“Mostly.”
“So anyway,” Gwen says, “afterward, I felt terrible. I really like Donovan, but I decided today I love you.”
“Before or after you fucked him?”
“After.”
Callie looks at me. “I would’ve expected better from you.”
I shrug. “You had to be there.”
To Gwen, Callie says, “You love me?”
“I do.”
“How could I ever expect to trust you?”
“If Donovan dies, the problem goes away.”
Callie looks at me and says, “Why is it all your girlfriends want to kill you?”
I shrug. “Some don’t.”
“So far as you know.” She looks at Gwen. “We’re not killing Creed. Pack your things.”
I say, “Callie? She knows everything.”
Gwen says, “Wait. I would never tell!”
“The detectives aren’t done with this,” I say. “They might try to work on her.”
“What about my t-shirt business?” Gwen says.
“It might raise some eyebrows at the next board meeting if she turns up dead,” I say.
“They haven’t approved the reorganization yet though, right?” Callie says.
“True.”
Gwen starts backing up. “Can’t we just forget what happened today?”
“Which part?” Callie says.
“All of it. I want a do-over. No more Donovan. Just you, Callie. For ever and always.”
Callie says, “You sound sincere. But can I trust you?”
“Yes. I swear.”
“If you ever cheat on me again, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” Callie says. “Come.” She holds her arms out. Gwen’s face breaks into a broad grin as she moves across the room toward Callie. I see what’s about to happen, and jump between them.
Callie arches an eyebrow, which is never a good sign. Word of advice: you ever see Callie Carpenter arch an eyebrow at you, run!
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Gwen says.
“Sorry, I slipped.”
“Bullshit!”
Gwen tries to get around me to hug Callie. I mirror her movements, keeping my body between them.
“Do you mind?” she says.
“Sorry. I seem to be all tangled up.”
I catch Callie’s eye. She says, “Creed. Relax.”
I move away, and Gwen embraces her. Callie watches me over Gwen’s shoulder, completely oblivious to Gwen’s affection. I’d come between them just now for a reason. Callie was about to give Gwen a “loving sister,” a move I created years ago to be used on my ex-wife, Janet. It works like this: if Janet shoots me and claims self-defense, Callie will meet her a few days after the funeral, and put her arms out as if to give Janet a sisterly hug. Janet will move toward Callie to return the hug, but at the last second, Callie will sidestep her, spin around, come up behind her, and break her neck.
Callie says, “I don’t tolerate infidelity. Could it be I didn’t make that clear enough to you when killing Eva in your bedroom?”
“She’ll be faithful,” I say.
“I will!” Gwen says. “I swear!”
“She was willing to have me killed to remove the temptation,” I remind Callie.
“That idea might still have legs,” Callie says, backing out of Gwen’s embrace.
“I’m step
ping out. You have my word.”
“I don’t want you involved with Ropic Industries.”
“Good. Because Tony and I haven’t been getting along.”
“Tony?”
“Tony Spumoni. I think he’s planning to file assault charges against me.”
Gwen sticks her bottom lip out. “What about my t-shirt company?”
“I’ll have them buy you out.”
“How much?”
“The company’s worth eight million, but they’re short on cash and this would be a fire sale.”
“How much?”
“Eight hundred thousand.”
“Ten percent? That’s a terrible deal!”
“It’s enough for a t-shirt company.”
“Take it,” Callie says.
Without batting an eye, Gwen says, “Okay.”
I notice she’s looking at Callie with bedroom eyes.
“Are we good here?” I say to Callie.
“You and me?”
“Yeah.”
“For now.”
27.
Maybe Taylor.
MAYBE’S FIRST ENCOUNTER with this stupid vaginal muscle spasm thing occurred eighteen months ago. She kept it to herself for a long time, hoping it would go away, but it just got worse. One night, while feeling particularly low, she tearfully explained her problems to Daddy, the man she now calls Ralph. Over time, he talked her into seeing an OBGYN, which is how she obtained the diagnosis. She then met with a specialist, but that didn’t work out, so Daddy did an exhaustive search that ended with his paying Dr. Scott a ridiculous amount of money to get Maybe on his patient list.
Over the past few months of therapy, Dr. Scott explored the possible psychological reasons for Maybe’s condition, including the fear of painful sex, and the belief that sex is wrong, or dirty. He even suggested a traumatic incident may have triggered her condition. Maybe cooperated in general, but never told Dr. Scott about Taylor, the young man whose name she added to her alias.