He pulled out his cell phone and dialed, to remind himself.
“Hello?” his wife answered.
“Calling to check on you, baby.”
“I’m doing fine. Don’t you be worrying about me.” There was a leaden, groggy quality to her voice that told him she’d taken more than her prescribed dose of antidepressants today.
“It’s nice out,” he said. “You ought to get out the house.”
“Naw, they got an ozone alert on. I’m staying in the bedroom with the air-conditioning going.”
“Go downstairs and visit with Della, then.”
“It’s too hot in her apartment. Besides, I’m tired of listening to her talk.”
“No good sitting alone in the house, Betty.”
“I’m doing just fine here, Randall. You go about your business now.”
“At least get up out of bed. Cook me something good for dinner.”
“Aw, come on. You don’t even know whether you coming home for dinner tonight.”
He laughed hollowly. “You too smart for me, girl.”
“You got that right,” she said, laughing. Her laugh sounded natural, raised his spirits a little. Only a little, though. She seemed worse to him as time went on, rather than better.
“Okay, I’ma check on you later, and you better be up out that bed, you hear?” he said.
“Mmm-hmm,” she said lethargically, and hung up.
RANDALL HUNCHED HIS SHOULDERS AS HE yanked open the door of the bar, so dark inside after the blazing sidewalk. The air-conditioning in the place was on the fritz, the stench of urine and beer nearly overpowering in the sultry interior. He kept his head down, not wanting to look around, not wanting to see where he was going and what he was about to do. Looking neither to the right nor to the left, he made a beeline for the booth in the back where his associate waited.
“You’re late,” the associate said, dragging on the last remnant of a cigarette and stubbing it out.
“Yeah, well, this isn’t exactly a convenient time for me.”
“Where’s your partner?”
“Skip the small talk, all right? Let’s get it over with.”
The associate reached under the table to get something. Randall stiffened, his hand flying to the gun at his waistband. But the associate simply pulled out a thick white envelope and tossed it on the table. It landed in front of Randall with a resounding thwack.
“What the fuck is that?” Randall asked, his voice dangerous.
“What the fuck does it look like?”
“You’re very much mistaken. I’m doing this because you’re forcing me, not for money. I’m not like you. Don’t think I am.”
The associate took back the envelope, frowning.
“This ‘honorable man’ routine is getting stale, Randall. It’s about money for you, just like it is for everybody else.”
“My pension is something I’m entitled to! Twenty-five years on this fucking job. I earned every penny.”
“Yeah, well, I know a few people who wouldn’t see it that way if they knew what I know about you.”
Randall stood up, livid. “You been holding that one mistake over my head for years. But, you know, I been thinking. You give me up, you give yourself up, too. Why should I even believe you would do it?”
The associate looked Randall in the eye, his expression cold and dead.
“Believe it, friend. That old shit ain’t nothing to me now. I got a lot more serious business to worry about.”
It was clear he meant it. Randall stood looking at him for a moment more, then sat down.
“Don’t call me your friend,” Randall said, but they both knew he’d given in.
“Whatever makes you happy.”
“Like I said, I don’t have all day.”
“Well, then,” the associate said, lighting another cigarette, “you better start talking.”
29
IN THOSE MOMENTS WHEN YOU HAVE AN IMPOSSIBLE amount to do and too much on your mind, you have to put blinders on. Choose the most pressing task and perform it as if it is the only one. Block out emotion. Otherwise confusion and anxiety will overwhelm you and you will accomplish nothing. Melanie understood this as she sat down in her swivel chair and logged on to her computer. She was here to type a subpoena for Amanda Benson, period. She wouldn’t go through the envelopes piling up in her in-box, wouldn’t check her voice mail or e-mail or check in with her boss, wouldn’t review the videocassette that was burning a hole in her handbag. She wouldn’t think about Rosario or Jasmine or her disintegrating marriage. It wouldn’t do much good if she fell apart, would it? Accomplish the task at hand, and get the hell out of here.
She pulled up the grand-jury subpoena macro and began typing information into the blank fields. She tried to keep her mind focused. But her message light was in her field of vision, blinking insistently. Finally she reached for the receiver. She’d multitask-play the messages on speakerphone while continuing to type.
The first message advised her that evidence she’d ordered had been sent out to her office. The second one was about a sentencing in another case she needed to postpone. But the third one-the third one was intriguing.
“You have a collect call from a correctional facility. Caller, state your name, please,” said the automated operator’s voice. Inmates weren’t allowed to dial out directly from prison. Even though she’d heard that same message a thousand times-every time one of her cooperators called her from jail-the name of this caller was totally unexpected.
“Del-vis Di-az,” he’d enunciated painstakingly.
Why was Delvis Diaz calling her? She hadn’t been at her desk to accept the charges, so he got disconnected before he could explain. Did he want to confess? Unlikely. Cooperate and provide information against Slice? Possibly. Too bad she didn’t have time to take a ride up there and find out. She finished typing the subpoena and sent it to print.
There were more messages, but before they could play, the other line rang. Could it be Delvis calling back? She dropped her voice mail and picked up right away.
“Melanie Vargas.”
“It’s me,” Steve said.
“Oh. Hi.”
“I left you four messages. Couldn’t you tell how upset I am? I can’t believe you haven’t called me.” He sounded distraught.
“I’ve been running around all day,” she said hesitantly. “Really. I didn’t even listen to my messages yet.”
“You just leave your wedding ring for me to find, like a piece of trash, and then you don’t call? That’s so cold. Can you imagine what I’ve been going through?”
“Steve,” she said, but then stopped, helpless. Even with all her agonizing about taking her rings off, somehow she hadn’t grasped how huge a step it would be in his eyes. She felt terrible for the pain she’d caused. And yet maybe it would wake him up. Maybe he’d finally see he had to do better in this relationship, that she wouldn’t stay with him otherwise.
“You just keep slipping further and further away,” he cried, his voice breaking. “I don’t know how to reach you. Tell me what to do, please. Because I don’t want this, not for us, not for Maya.”
“I don’t want it either!” she said with sudden vehemence, the thought of Maya’s chubby little face cutting her to the heart. She had to think of her daughter’s future. As disgusted and outraged as she was with Steve, maybe she could get over it. But only if she believed he was sincere.
“Tell me what to do,” he said. “Anything. You want to see a marriage counselor? I could arrange that. I already got the name of somebody good.”
Her other line started ringing. If it was Delvis Diaz, she couldn’t afford to miss him. He might give up and stop calling.