“This could have been my ring,” he said.
“That was a long time ago, Doug.”
“Yeah. And you’ve forgotten all about it. You didn’t even remember me. The guy whose life you ruined. There hasn’t been a day go by that I haven’t thought of you.”
“Doug-”
“No. I remember you. I remembered everything, snapping away with my camera outside that kid’s window. You haven’t changed a bit.” He smiled. “You still do that little biting thing. I remember how you used to do that when we parked out on Lake Herman Road, or when we went to the drive-in. It used to drive me nuts.”
Amy didn’t say anything. She didn’t like the direction the conversation was taking. Maybe Doug Douglas wasn’t the complete slob that she had taken him for when she first saw him sitting on the bumper of her Mercedes. After all, he had a fresh haircut, was clean-shaven and smelled of Irish Spring, and his clothes were cheap but new.
So he wasn’t a slob, but he wasn’t the hard-bodied athlete she’d dated in high school, either. Amy guessed that Doug weighed in excess of three hundred pounds. The Mercedes leaned to one side under his weight. He was a lump.
And his eyes wouldn’t let her go. “I liked you better when you had long hair, though,” he said. “I used to knot my fingers in it. Pull it, just a little bit. You liked the way I pulled it, didn’t you?”
The prospect was revolting. Amy loathed herself for even considering it.
“Those were the good old days, right Amy? Both of us workin’ on our night moves.”
“Bob Seger,” Amy whispered. The prospect was revolting. But…
“You remember some things, all right.”
Amy exhaled, slowly, so it would mean something. “Some things you never forget.”
Doug massaged her palm. “Christ, you’ve taken good care of yourself. I followed you to that health club one day. The one by your house. I even got a picture of you in that sexy leotard. The black and purple one, you know? But, Christ, I never dreamed what was underneath it. You’re solid. You look better today than you did in ’76.” He loosened his grip on her hand, as if he were sure that she wouldn’t pull away. “But it’s not going to work. Amy.”
“Why not?”
“I know how fat I am. It’s embarrassing. I’m into video. I’m into watching.”
Amy held her breath, dreading what Doug Douglas might say next.
“See? You’re disgusted. You’d probably have an easier time fucking that old prune-faced husband of yours than you’d have doing me. I guess even a snake can have a little pride.”
The condescending hand-pat that followed the last remark was more than Amy could stand. “I’ve had about enough of this,” she said, adopting the same icy tone she’d used to shame Doug Douglas when they were both eighteen. “Poor little Dougy. I’m into watching. You were into watching then, but I guess you’d rather forget about that.”
“Hey-”
“Why don’t you grow up? I never could stand your little persecution complex. Why don’t you stop whining and tell me what you want?”
Without warning, Doug drove Amy’s wedding ring the length of her finger. She gasped in pain as he twisted it back and forth while trapping her fingers in his massive grasp. A one-carat diamond bit into her pinky and her middle finger, drawing thin lines of blood, and she blinked back tears.
“Don’t you talk to me like that,” Doug Douglas said. “ I’m in charge here.” He laughed. “This time the shoe is on the other foot.”
“Okay…okay.”
“You remember what this is, then?” Doug asked. Amy didn’t answer. Doug twisted the ring. The big diamond tore flesh. “You remember?”
Amy answered through clenched teeth. “Blackmail.”
Doug Douglas shoved her hand away with such undisguised disgust that he might as well have thrown a piece of garbage at her. “It might have been different if you’d come to April’s funeral,” he said. “She didn’t even have any family left. I was the only one there. I know she had other guys. I know that. But I was the only one who had the guts to show up. If it wasn’t for me, she wouldn’t have even had a headstone or a decent burial. It cost me my savings to do that for her.”
“I didn’t even know she was dead,” Amy said.
“Like you would have come anyway.”
“She was a whore, Doug.”
“Yeah? And why was that? We all know who did that to her. But who helped them do it?” Silence hung between them.
“April used to come to my place. A couple of mornings, every week. She fixed me breakfast… Eggs and pancakes and sausage and hash-browns and toast and fresh-squeezed orange juice. The works…I know she had other guys…but…she used to just kiss me. She kept her eyes closed, just for me. That was all we did. Just kiss.”
“You told her everything, didn’t you?”
“Not everything. Only the things she hadn’t figured out for herself. April wasn’t stupid, you know.” He laughed. “You make it sound like I should have been loyal to you or something.”
Amy grinned. “I’ll bet there were some things you didn’t tell her. I’ll bet you left a few things out.”
Doug actually blushed.
“So, what happens now? What am I going to have to do to get that film?” Amy looked at the camera, not at Doug. “Answer me, Doug!”
“I don’t like your tone of voice. What now, Doug? Answer my question, Doug! It’s just the way you used to talk to me. Like it didn’t matter at all what I said unless it was what you wanted to hear.”
“Deal with it, Doug. Maybe I’m not going to roll over so easily, like you did eighteen years ago.”
“Okay, then. If that’s the way you want it, I think we’ll do it the hard way. First off, I think we’ll try a little B amp;E. That’s cop talk for breaking and entering, in case you didn’t know.” Doug Douglas dug into his pocket and slapped a key onto the dashboard. “I’ll make it easy for you. This will take care of the ‘breaking’ part. You can take care of the ‘entering.’ ”
Amy stared at the key. Her adrenalin surge had run its course. A wildfire of anger had burned through her body, leaving only charred remains behind.
With great effort, Doug Douglas pulled himself out of the Mercedes. “You remember breaking and entering, don’t you. Amy? You remember the thrill you used to get by invading someone’s privacy?”
Amy didn’t move. She was tapped out. All her smart remarks were gone.
“C’mon. I know that underneath that fancy name you’re still the same old Amy. I’ll bet that you end up enjoying this. See, April left something for you.” He tossed a hand-drawn map onto the passenger seat. “And don’t be afraid. April hasn’t been dead that long. I don’t figure her place is haunted.”
Doug laughed, walking into the darkness.
“Not yet, anyway.”
2:15 A.M.
It wasn’t a matter of record, not with The Six Million Dollar Man’s doctors, not with his employers. April Destino was the only person who shared his secret. But April was dead, and The Six Million Dollar Man wasn’t making any new confidences. So no one knew that his conscious mind fired like an eternal machine, twenty-four hours a day.
Simply put, Steve Austin had stopped sleeping when he was seventeen years old. And, like so many paths in Steve’s life, this one led back to a certain dead cheerleader.
Steve had had an art class in his junior year. April Destino was in it. The class had been doing watercolors on a September day that sang of Indian summer. Simmering heat broken only by an occasional sea breeze that slipped over the dry, weed-choked hills to the northwest. Venetian blinds rattling with each breath that whispered through the open window, the sound of a playing card tickled by bicycle spokes.
Each student wore an old shirt-something loose and sloppy enough to ruin with paint. That meant, in most cases, a shirt dad had grown tired of wearing. April’s dad worked at the shipyard, and her shirt was one of those dark Ben Davis numbers that had been the uniform of blue-collar guys back in the sixties. Steve’s dad worked on the docks in nearby Oakland, and he was more than familiar with the uniform. But it had never looked as good on anyone as it looked on April. Once seventeen-year-old Steve Austin saw April Destino in that Ben Davis work shirt, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Her blonde hair overflowed the worn collar, the perfectly curled strands a brilliant white-yellow against the dark, olive-colored cotton, her hair still holding the highlights that came from a summer spent in the sun. Her skin was golden and alive, and her perfect fingers were wrapped around a paintbrush.