A few minutes later, Carson came shooting up the asphalt. The posted speed limit was 15. He was doing at least 60. When he reached the stop sign at the exit, he jammed on his brakes, fishtailing a bit. Then he peeled out, laying down rubber. He was sure pissed off about something.
Favor followed him back to the manse, then drove down to the police station, where he had an old buddy of his run a check on the Mustang’s plates.
“You know anybody who drives a red Mustang?” Favor said three hours later.
“I didn’t know they still made Mustangs.”
“Yeah, they do. This one is red.”
Jane Carson shook her wondrously lovely head.
Jane Dalworth Carson had come from one of the old-money families in the city. Favor had first met her when he was ten, helping his dad in the yardwork business. He got goopy over Jane. No matter what girl he met he always compared her to Jane and found her coming up short. Jane was not only blonde and beautiful and rich and fun to be around, she knew how to make you feel like the most special guy in the known universe. None of Favor’s first three wives had been able to do that.
Jane had called him three nights ago. She said her husband was acting weird. Would Favor kind of, you know, follow him around a little and see what was going on? She suspected he might have a woman. “Nobody married to you would ever have a woman on the side,” Favor said. “Oh, you haven’t seen me lately. I’m looking middle-aged, Favor. I really am.”
Today was the first time he’d actually seen her in eleven years, here in this fern-infested restaurant with the waiters who all wore bouncy little ponytails and nose-rings.
Favor made a point of it to be modern. It didn’t always work. As for Jane, she looked great to him. Maybe a teensy-tiny bit older. But nothing to take seriously.
Jane said “Do you know anything about this guy?”
“He’s a male nurse. Sam Evans.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah. I was kind’ve of surprised, too.”
“Why would he be meeting a male nurse?”
“I don’t know. He handed him a manila envelope.”
“An envelope?”
“I think it had money in it. He went into the bank without it, and then came out with it. There’s only one thing I know you can get in a bank.”
“A male nurse and an envelope with money in it.”
Favor said, “Guy’s shaking him down.”
“Blackmail?”
“Uh-huh.”
She looked stunned by a thought she’d obviously just had. “I saw an Oprah once where this woman didn’t know her husband was gay till she found him in bed with another guy. I mean, a male nurse—”
For some reason, Favor was disappointed she watched Oprah. Princesses should have better things to do with their time. “I don’t think he’s gay.”
“How can you tell?”
Favor shrugged. “I just don’t.”
“Then what do you think it is?”
“He drink a lot?”
“Not really.”
“Take drugs?”
She laughed. “David? God, he’s the most conservative man I know.” Her laugh made him mushy inside. He knew that even if there happened to be a fourth Mrs. Favor, his last thought on planet earth would be about Princess Jane. She was drinking wine and he was drinking Diet Pepsi because he was afraid he might blurt out something embarrassing if he had any booze in him. Many, many drunken nights he’d come this close to picking up the phone and calling her and telling her something embarrassing.
“I guess I wouldn’t blame him if he did have a woman on the side.”
“I told you. That’s crazy. Nobody married to you should even look at anybody else.”
She smiled. “Maybe I should’ve married you, Favor.”
“Yeah, right. What a prize I am.”
He wanted her to go on a little more, you know, kind of extol the hell out of all his virtues, but she didn’t. “I haven’t been much company since Dad died.”
“I was sorry to hear about it. I would’ve been there but I was working in Chicago.”
“That’s all right. We just had a small family funeral. Dad wanted to be cremated. He hated big funerals.” Her blue blue eyes were damp. “Things were kind of rough for him the last couple of years. All the foreign competition. Profits were way down. He didn’t blame David. My two brothers, did, of course. They’ve always thought that they should be in charge of the company. He got so sick, the cancer and everything, he had to turn it all over to David. Actually, after the chemo didn’t do any good, I expected he’d die right away. But he hung on for almost a year.”
“He was a good man.”
“He always liked you and your father very much. He never forgot where he came from. The west side, I mean.”
Her lower lip began to tremble. He wanted to take her in his arms, hold her, comfort her, make her forever grateful for his remarkable powers of succoring. “How’s the business doing now?” he said, trying to forestall her tears.
“Much better.”
“Oh?”
She sipped wine, then nodded with that gorgeous head of hers.
“We were way overextended,” she said. “The bank was even calling in some of our biggest notes. Then, thank God, right after Dad died, David met Mr. Vasquez.”
“Who’s he?”
“A very rich Argentinian. David’s broker knew him. And he brought them together.”
“Vasquez bought in?”
She shrugged. “You know me. I don’t know much about business. And really have no interest in it. I’m really more artistic than anything.”
“Right. Your painting.”
“It’s still the center of my life.”
She was a terrible painter. Fortunately, she chose the representational mode to paint in. If she did abstract art, Favor wouldn’t have been able to tell if she was any good or not. If he found a bunch of paintings by Picasso in his garage, he’d be inclined to throw them away.
“So the company’s doing well again?”
“Yes. As I said, I just wish Dad were alive to see it. He spent his whole life building that company. And at the end—” Her eyes were moist again. “I’m sorry.”
“No problem. I cry sometimes myself.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.”
“Somehow I can’t imagine that. You crying, I mean.”
Favor wasn’t sure how to take that. Was she saying that he lacked the sensitivity to cry? Or was she saying that he was too macho to cry? Either way, he wasn’t sure she’d paid him a compliment.
“The only time I ever saw David cry,” she said, “when my father got on him one night and blamed him for the business going downhill.”
“I thought you said your father didn’t blame him.”
“Just that one time.”
“Oh.”
“It really got to David.”
“I imagine.”
“Took away all his pride. So he went into the den and I knocked but he wouldn’t let me in. And then I heard him crying. It was a terrible sound.” More wine. “I just don’t know what any of this has to do with that man in the red Mustang.”
“Neither do I. But I’m going to try and find out.”
She reached over and put her hand on his. He felt as if he were going into cardiac arrest.
“I really appreciate this, Favor. And I want to pay you for it.”
“No way.”
She gave his hand a cute little squeeze. “Maybe I really should have married you, Favor.” And for one brief moment he had this wonderful thought: what if he really got something on her husband, and she really did decide to take up with Favor? What if...
Sitting in a car and doing surveillance allowed you certain liberties. You could pick your nose, scratch your butt, belch, pass gas, and dig the green stuff out of the corners of your eyes. While his thoughts of Princess Jane were mostly ethereal, every once in awhile thoughts of her got him right in the old libido. He kept seeing the swell of her small but perfect breasts, and smelling the erotic scent of her perfume.