“I was really something, honey,” he said.
“I’m sure you were,” she said, laughing.
“No, really, they were terribly impressed, not just with the speech but the handouts, the whole package. I do believe we are on a roll,” Charles said.
“That’s wonderful, darling,” Amber said, and kissed him on the lips. He kissed her back and I decided to fade into the background. I had never seen Amber kiss Charles in the office before. Not in front of everyone. Perhaps she was just happy for him, perhaps it was because of me. I wanted to deck the bastard. The girl killer. And his accomplice.
“It’s all thanks to you, darling,” Charles was saying.
“No, darling, it’s you, all your hard work,” Amber said.
“I love you,” Charles said.
“And I love you, darling,” Amber said as I finally made it out the conference room door. I was seething. I wanted to get away from everyone. In the main office, Robert had found a cigar clipper and was offering it to anyone who wanted to use it. Abe and he were smoking provocatively under the No Smoking sign. I went to the bathroom, filled the sink, dunked my head, held it there longer than was strictly necessary.
A long, boring day stuffing envelopes.
That night we drove all the way down to Colorado Springs again. Robert, Abe, and Steve West taking the vans, both Charles and Amber staying home. Amber still not feeling well. Robert bossing us about. Like a lot of weak people, Robert was a bit of a bully.
When I’d got enough memberships, I went to look for Robert. I had a couple of things I wanted to ask him. He was glad to see me, he wasn’t making much headway.
“I’m done, Robert, I did every house twice, got fifteen members, I thought I’d keep someone company, you’re the first one I’ve found,” I said.
“Fifteen members, good job, very good job. Charles w-will be pleased,” Robert said.
I hung out and did some of his doors for him. In between we talked about the woeful state of his garden and how well CAW was doing. Finally, I got him off the environment and onto the topic of crime. Two or three questions in, I asked the lead.
“You know, I worry about some of the girls or someone like Amber out on her own, going door to door, you never know who could answer, once when I knocked someone came to the door with a loaded gun. Or there’s vicious dogs. Shouldn’t she have some protection?”
“Amber? Oh, don’t worry about her, she can look after herself. She’s a b-brown belt in one of those martial arts.”
“Yeah, well, not if the guy has a gun. The guy who hassled me the other night. He thought he was James Bond, he was carrying a Walther PPK.”
“Oh, well, I know Charles gave Amber a p-pistol when she moved to Colorado, the gun laws are very liberal here, not like Boston, both Charles and m-myself own rifles, although neither of us were any good. Papa tried to take us hunting once, dreadful, we both cried. They drummed us out of the ROTC, you know—”
“Yeah, so you said. So Amber carries a pistol?”
“I don’t know if she carries it, she should, a.22-caliber revolver.”
“She owns a.22?”
“Oh, yes. Charles had it handmade in Italy. Gold inlay. Work of art, really. His and her initials. Beretta, I think. Anyway, I d-don’t know much about that; Charles and I both learned how to shoot rifles. Totally different thing. We’re both NRA members, have to be if you’re going to run with the big boys in the GOP. Keep that under your h-hat, by the way, August sixth, Alex. Just a few weeks away, hush hush.”
I smiled, talked about the NRA and hunting, changed the subject back to the weather….
So had Charles killed Victoria with Amber’s.22? Had Amber told him to toss it in the nearest river — Cherry Creek? If so, by now it was nudged halfway down the goddamn Mississippi River for all I bloody knew.
I chatted with Robert about politics and CAW and other things, but he was done with his revelations.
We met the others, stopped for pizza, drove the long ride home.
Colfax Avenue. My building. On the third floor I was so exhausted I had to stop for a breather.
With heavy legs I made it up two more flights.
I opened the apartment door, went in. All I wanted to do now was sleep, but I could hear John and Areea, in my room, screwing. That shit, what did he think he was doing? I was going to go in and kick the bastard out, but I stopped myself. Why should I interfere, what business was it of mine? They couldn’t do it in her place because of her folks, they could hardly do it in the pullout bed in the middle of the living room. John had every right to be in the bedroom. I sighed. But if I gave in tonight, I would be giving him the room with its cooling cross breezes for the whole rest of the summer. I eased myself onto the sofa and listened to them. They weren’t talking, they weren’t being dramatic, they were just having good, beautiful sex. Slow and wonderful lovemaking between two people who were very fond of each other. When was the last time I did that? Last night? I wasn’t sure.
I sat there and wondered what to do. Was Areea going to stay there all night? It seemed unlikely, sooner or later she’d probably slip back down to her apartment.
I felt I had intruded and it made me uncomfortable. The apartment had only limited space and you could hear everything. I backed out of the living room and walked down the hall, closing the door quietly behind me.
I looked at my watch. It was twelve-fifteen. I walked all the way along the corridor and around the bend to Pat’s place.
I knocked gently on the door in case he was asleep.
“Yeah,” he said, almost immediately.
“Pat, you’re up,” I said.
“Alex, is that you? What’s up?”
“John-Areea-fucking-my-place.”
Pat opened the door. He was wearing his day clothes, but he had wrapped a huge duvet about him. It wasn’t cold, I felt the chill more than most and it wasn’t bad, so Pat must have been really feeling under the weather.
“Drink?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said.
“What?”
“What are you having?”
“I’m drinking rum and coke, it’s a nostalgia thing,” he said.
He poured me a glass, and I sat on the sofa in front of the TV.
“What’s on?” I asked him.
“You ever see the Tonight show?”
“Yeah, once or twice, I think,” I said.
“Used to be good, now they got those Dancing Judge Itos on all the time,” Pat said.
I had no idea what Pat was talking about, but he switched over to Letterman anyway
“What was that?” Pat asked during a commercial.
“A beer ad,” I said.
“No, I heard something,” Pat said.
I listened, but I couldn’t hear anything. Letterman came back on. A few minutes later we both heard a girl’s scream.
“What the hell was that?” I said, getting up.
“You better check it out, tell John to keep his woman under control, and if it’s a bad scene come back,” Pat said calmly.
A bad scene. I trudged down the corridor, got my key, but the apartment door was already open. Even in the ambient light coming through the windows I knew that it felt wrong. Something smelled bad. There was something the roaches liked.
I hit the light switch. Blood on the doormat and floor tiles and a smeared blood trail that led from the front door and down the hall. Someone had been stabbed or shot, had fallen, had lain there for a moment, had dragged himself backward down the hall.
“John,” I said. I ran in.
The blood pooled in the living room in an ugly, confused mess that led to the bedroom.
“John,” I called out.
I heard movement.
I skidded into and opened the bedroom door. It smelled like a butcher’s yard. I turned on the light. Blood everywhere, on the bed, on the floor, on the walls. John, leaning halfway out the window of the fire escape. He was naked, there was a hunting knife sticking out of his chest, sticking out of his heart. John had tried to pull it out, but it was a six-inch serrated blade.