Friends Like These(36)
“What is that?” Maeve asks, coming over. Her tone is protective, and fair enough. I am looking through her— possibly dead— friend’s things.
“Some kind of writing,” I say, extending it in her general direction. But I’d like to get a handle on what it is before I let her look too close.
“Derrick’s a novelist,” Maeve offers. “I know he was working on a new book. Maybe that’s it.”
“Or some kind of research,” I say. What do I know about writing a novel?
“Can we have it?” Maeve reaches out. “We’d like to read it whatever it is. Or I know that I would.”
“Sorry, but for the moment this is going to have to stay where it is. It’s too early to know what might need to be collected as evidence.”
“But they’re the victims,” Maeve says, her voice wavering.
“We don’t actually know that yet about both of them, do we?” I say. “Unless you know something definitive that you still haven’t told me, all options are on the table.”
“We’re trying to tell you anything that might be important,” Jonathan says, which sure is a particular choice of words.
“How about you let me be the judge of what’s important.” My tone is sharp. I’m running out of patience with these people. But snapping at them probably isn’t going to make them any more cooperative. “Listen, I’m sure your hearts are in the right place, but sometimes in trying to protect a friend, you can actually put them in harm’s way.”
They are all avoiding eye contact as I head for the door. Something in the garbage can— white and balled up, with big brown blotches— catches my attention. I tilt my head for a closer look, then crouch down, putting on a new set of gloves to fish it out. Crumpled tissues stained a dark red-brown.
“What is that?” Stephanie asks, close behind me.
“Looks to me like blood.” I look up at her unblinking eyes. “And let me guess— you all have no idea where it came from?”
STEPHANIE
FRIDAY, 9:12 P.M.
Four pizza places. That’s how many I called while standing on the sidewalk in front of the Falls. Only one of them— Pepi’s— even answered.
“But the Falls is a bar and not a house,” the woman said. “We can’t deliver to a bar.”
“Could we come pick it up?”
“Yes, but we close in five minutes. You’d have to be here by then. And we’re at least fifteen minutes from the Falls.”
After I hung up, I squeezed my phone and leaned my head back against the brick building. Absurdly, I felt like I wanted to cry. I was also freezing, even in the sweater and jeans I’d changed into before we left the house. I closed my eyes and tried to think warm thoughts. Freezing or not, I’d still rather be out here than inside the bar. Inside, there was a clock ticking down. All those unreturned calls— I’d known it wasn’t the most mature way to handle things. But when the calls finally stopped, I’d convinced myself it was behind me.
“Hey, I know you.” I opened my eyes to a pair of blue ones glowing back at me. “You owe me eleven thousand dollars.”
The contractor and two friends— a huge blond guy with a fleshy pink baby’s face and a slight weaselly guy with a creepy grin and hideous oversize teeth— were approaching the door to the Falls. Out of his hat and in a well-fitted linen button-down, the contractor— Luke, right?— was even better-looking than I’d realized. His eyes were especially hypnotic. The two far-less-attractive guys in back wearing khakis and Ralph Lauren polo shirts— one red, one white— looked like his misfit security detail.
Luke was glaring at me. He was pissed, and he wanted his money— nothing complicated about that. It was the way the other guys were eyeing me that was making my skin crawl. Hungry, that was the look. With a side of disgust. They wanted the pretty black girl they’d just stumbled upon and were pretending to hate themselves for it. Awesome.
Push back. That would be the tactic I’d use as a litigator— always go on the offensive. Forceful, but confident. Like you already know you’ve won. Of course, we were far from a Manhattan courtroom right now. Out on that sidewalk, in the middle of nowhere, deflection was my only safe option.
“I’m up here staying with a friend. If you have some situation with him, that’s between the two of you.” I continued to watch Luke evenly, ignoring the other two. “Anyway, Jonathan doesn’t actually owe you anything. You’re just trying to shake him down. You and I both know it.”
In fact, I did not know it. With Peter involved, anything was possible.
“Oh, he owes me,” Luke said, with an easy smile. So easy it was unsettling. “And he’ll pay, one way or another. You can be sure of that.”
Luke walked past me then toward the door, but his weaselly friend stepped boldly into his place. The six inches I had on him did not seem to be deterring him in the slightest.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asked, voice rising at the end like he was talking to a child.
Fuck off. That’s what I wanted to say. But I also wanted to stay alive. So I clenched my teeth, took a step back. I bumped right into his fat friend who’d closed in behind me. I could hear his breathing.