“Yessss.”
“Destroy him?”
“Yessss.”
“There is no doubt about that?”
“He lovessss them very muchhhh.”
“And there's no doubt what it would do to him?” Lavelle pressed.
“Kill them.”
“I want to be sure.”
“Kill them. Brutally. It musssst be esssspecccially brutal.”
“I see. The brutality of it is the thing that will make Dawson snap. Is that it?”
“Yessss.”
“I'll do anything to get him out of my way, but I want to be absolutely sure it'll work the way I want it to work.”
“Kill them. Ssssmasssh them. Break their bonessss and tear out their eyessss. Rip out their tonguessss. Gut them assss if they were two pigssssfor butchhhhering.”
VII
Rebecca's bedroom.
Spicules of snow tapped softly on the window.
They lay on their backs, side by side on the bed, holding hands, in the butterscotch-colored light.
Rebecca said, “I didn't think it would happen again.”
“What?”
“This.”
“Oh.”
“I thought last night was an… aberration.”
“Really?”
“I was sure we'd never make love again.”
“But we did.”
“We sure did.”
“God, did we ever!”
She was silent.
He said, “Are you sorry we did?”
“No.”
“You don't think this was the last time, do you?”
“No.”
“Can't be the last. Not as good as we are together.”
“So good together.”
“You can be so soft.”
“And you can be so hard.”
“Crude.”
“But true.”
A pause.
Then she said, “What's happened to us?”
“Isn't that clear?”
“Not entirely.”
“We've fallen for each other.”
“But how could it happen so fast?”
“It wasn't fast.”
“All this time, just cops, just partners—”
“More than partners.”
“-then all of a sudden-wham!”
“It wasn't sudden. I've been falling a long time.”
“Have you?”
“For a couple of months, anyway.
“I didn't realize it.”
“A long, long, slow fall.”
“Why didn't I realize?”
“You realized. Subconsciously.”
“Maybe.”
“What I wonder is why you resisted it so strenuously.”
She didn't reply.
He said, “I thought maybe you found me repellent.”
“I find you irresistible.”
“Then why'd you resist?”
“It scares me.”
“What scares you?”
“This. Having someone. Caring about someone.”
“Why's that scare you?”
“The chance of losing it.”
“But that's silly.”
“It is not.”
“You’ve got to risk losing a thing—”
“I know, “
“-or else never have it in the first place.”
“Maybe that's best.”
“Not having it at all?”
“Yes.”
“That philosophy makes for a damned lonely life.”
“It still scares me.”
“We won't lose this, Rebecca.”
“Nothing lasts forever.”
“That's not what you'd call a good attitude.”
“Well, nothing does.”
“If you've been hurt by other guys—”
“It isn't that.”
“Then what is it?”
She dodged the question. “Kiss me.”
He kissed her. Again and again.
They weren't passionate kisses. Tender. Sweet.
After a while he said, “I love you.”
“Don't say that.”
“I'm not just saying it. I mean it.”
“Just don't say it.”
“I'm not a guy who says things he doesn't mean.”
“I know.”
“And I'm not saying it before I'm sure.”
She wouldn't look at him.
He said, “I'm sure, Rebecca. I love you.”
“I asked you not to say that.”
“I'm not asking to hear it from you.”
She bit her lip.
“I'm not asking for a commitment,” he said.
“Jack—”
“Just say you don't hate me.”
“Will you stop—”
“Can't you please just say you don't hate me?”
She sighed. “I don't hate you.”
He grinned. “Just say you don't loathe me too much.”
“I don't loathe you too much.”
“Just say you like me a little bit.”
“I like you a little bit.”
“Maybe more than a little bit.”
“Maybe more than a little bit.”
“All right. I can live with that for now.”
“Good.”
“Meanwhile, I love you.”
“Damnit, Jack!”
She pulled away from him.
She drew the sheet over herself, all the way up to her chin.
“Don't be cold with me, Rebecca.”
“I'm not being cold.”
“Don't treat me like you treated me all day today.”
She met his eyes.
He said, “I thought you were sorry last night ever happened.”
She shook her head: no.
“It hurt me, the way you were, today,” he said. “I thought you were disgusted with me, with yourself, for what we'd done.”
“No. Never.”
“I know that now, but here — you are drawing away again, keeping me at arm's length. What's wrong?”
She chewed on her thumb. Like a little girl.
“Rebecca?”
“I don't know how to say it. I don't know how to explain. I've never had to put it into words for anyone before.”
“I'm a good listener.”
“I need a little time to think.”
“So take your time.”
“Just a little time. A few minutes.”
“Take all the time you want.”
She stared at the ceiling, thinking.
He got under the sheet with her and pulled the blanket over both of them.
They lay in silence for a while.
Outside, the wind sang a two-note serenade.
She said, “My father died when I was six.”
“I'm sorry. That's terrible. You never really had a chance to know him, then.”
“True. And yet, odd as it seems, I still sometimes miss him so bad, you know, even after all these years — even a father I never really knew and can hardly remember. I miss him, anyway.”
Jack thought of his own little Davey, not even quite six when his mother had died.
He squeezed Rebecca's hand gently.
She said, “But my father dying when I was six — in a way, that's not the worst of it. The worst of it is that I saw him die. I was there when it happened.”
“God. How… how did it happen?”
“Well… he and Mama owned a sandwich shop. A small place. Four little tables. Mostly take-out business. Sandwiches, potato salad, macaroni salad, a few desserts. It's hard to make a go of it in that business unless you have two things, right at the start: enough start-up capital to see you through a couple of lean years at the beginning, and a good location with lots of foot traffic passing by or office workers in the neighborhood. But my folks were poor. They had very little capital. They couldn't pay the high rent in a good location, so they started in a bad one and kept moving whenever they could afford to, three times in three years, each time to a slightly better spot. They worked hard, so hard…. My father held down another job, too, janitorial work, late at night, after the shop closed, until just before dawn. Then he'd come home, sleep four or five hours, and go open the shop for the lunch trade. Mama cooked a lot of the food that was served, and she worked behind the counter, too, but she also did some house cleaning for other people, to bring in a few extra dollars. Finally, the shop began to pay off. My dad was able to drop his janitorial job, and Mama gave up the house cleaning. In fact, business started getting so good that they were looking for their first employee; they couldn't handle the shop all by themselves any more. The future looked bright. And then… one afternoon… during the slack time between the lunch and dinner crowds, when Mama was out on an errand and I was alone in the shop with my father… this guy came in… with a gun…”