Pernicious (56 page)

                                     
* * * * *

         
Tasha looked around for an ashtray but didn’t see one.
       
“Is there an ashtray here, Neal?”

         
Neal didn’t respond.

         
He lay on the black couch, facedown. One leg hanging over the armrest, shoeless, a big toe sticking out through a dirty sock. The other flopped down the front of the couch, the tip of an ostrich-skinned boot touching the floor. His right arm under his body. The left bent behind his back; hand resting on his buttocks, palm up.
        

         
His blue jeans were intact, a hint of a crease still showing. His shirt, a yellow rib-knit Puritan, was painted red, with six large, gaping holes.

         
A housefly alighted on his right earlobe and ventured halfway inside the ear canal before taking off.

         
Tasha dumped the ash into the palm of her hand. “I’m sorry, Neal. I forgot you’re dead.”

         
She let the cigarette burn down to the butt and then got up and extinguished it into a blue coffee cup on the mahogany coffee table. Next to the cup was a Glock, the barrel pointed toward her. She sat back down.

         
“Neal, there’s one thing I’d really like to know. I can understand you falling head over heels for her. What I don’t understand, what I’d really like to know, is how in the world did she convince you to take my gun?
My
gun, Neal?”

         
Tasha waited for him to respond. He didn’t.

         
“I know you gave it to her, there’s no other way she could’ve gotten it. What did she do to you to make you do that?” Again she waited for a response. None came. “Guess I’ll never know, will I?”

         
So she sat there on the ottoman, a Band-Aid under her chin, right eye black and swollen shut; wearing a brick-red cardigan vest over a white shirt, blue jeans and snake-skinned boots, legs crossed, smoking one cigarette after the other, listening to the steady hum of a large ceiling fan.

         
Presently she heard the sound of a car out front, its motor knocking, and then a car door slammed shut…

         
…Footsteps, heels clicking on concrete…keys jingled…The doorknob turned…Tasha watched as Perry entered and closed the door behind her, talking to herself.
    
Perry leaned back against the door, closed her eyes and said, “Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!”

         
“I know the feeling,” Tasha said.

         
Perry’s eyes snapped open. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”

         
“Neal and I decided to pay you a visit,” Tasha said, staring at Neal. Perry looked at him and gasped. “I wanted to tell you personally that you and I could never be bosom buddies.”

         
Perry stared at her a long moment. “You have truly misplaced your motherfucking marbles, haven’t you?”

         
“No. I come close, though.” Tasha held up a pinkie and wiggled it. “This close.”

         
“I’m calling the police!” Perry said, not budging from the door.

         
“Go right ahead. Call them. Use my phone.”

         
“You broke into my house!”

         
“No, I didn’t. Neal gave me permission.”

         
“He’s dead! I didn’t see a car--how did you get him here?”

         
“Wasn’t easy at all. Neal was very reluctant coming here, wanted no part of this whatsoever. I dragged him into it.”

         
“Tell your doctor the meds ain’t working,” looking at Neal. “Not even a little bit.”

         
“The waiter, the one at Laskers? I paid him a visit this morning, at the crack of dawn. He lives in this neighborhood, owns the restaurant, did you know that? I just knew you and him were in cahoots, and was anxious to grease his skillet.

         
“He said he didn’t know you from Eve, said I was crazy. I believed him. Not that I was crazy. I believed he didn’t know you from Eve.”

         
Tasha tapped a cigarette out the pack, stuck it in her mouth, struck a match, lighted it, and tossed the match into the coffee cup.

         
“There’s an ashtray behind the television,” Perry said.

         
“I was looking for one. This’ll do.”

         
“I prefer you use an ashtray.”

         
“I’m sure you would,” blowing smoke her way. “I did some hard thinking after I left his house. How did she spike my drink with me sitting there looking at her?” She leaned forward and tamped the cigarette on the rim of the cup. “The straw! You put that crap in the straw. Pretty clever, I’ll give you that. Sick and psychotic, yet clever.”

         
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

         
“Yes, you do. Why don’t you sit down?”

         
Perry glanced at the gun on the table. “What do you want?”

         
“In case you’re confused, that’s my gun, not the one you bought from Jake. Your gun has a scratch on the barrel. Check it out.”

         
“I see it’s not loaded. What do you want? You want money? How much?”

         
“I don’t want your money, Perry.”

         
“What do you want?”

         
“I want you to pay.” She stubbed the cigarette out in the cup. “I want you to pay for what you did to Tyrone Banks, Lester Perkins and Willie Davis. Not happening, is it? You covered your tracks well. You’re paying for what you did to Derrick.”

         
“I didn’t do anything to Derrick.”

         
Tasha gave her a hard look. “You’ll have a serious problem if you lie to me again about my son. They pumped that crap out of his stomach last night! A few milligrams more and you would have been dead the second you opened the door.”

         
Perry looked away, glancing briefly at Neal and then the gun on the table.

         
“You can check it out anytime you like, girlfriend.”

         
“I’m sick of this shit! What the hell do you want?
 
You’re not the police anymore, you can’t arrest me. What the hell do you want? You want me to beg? You wanna kick my ass? What? What the fuck do you want?”

         
“When Bob and I first talked to you by the pool you were reliving a bad experience. You jumped when Bob said hello, looked like you saw a ghost. Who was it, Perry? Willie drowning in Fourche Creek? Lester screaming as he fell to his death? Tyrone begging you to call for help? Who was it?”

         
“If you leave now I won’t tell the police you were here. I’ll tell them I came home and found Neal. I don’t know how he got here.”

         
“Would you really do that for me?”

         
“Yes, I would. I’ll even wait an hour before calling the police.”

         
“Golly gee, Perry, I didn’t think you cared. About anyone! But yourself!” Tasha looked at Neal and said, “Get up! Get up, Neal!”

         
An arm moved, both feet landed on the floor…and Neal sat up, looking rather sleepy, the couch pattern imprinted on his face.

         
Perry shuddered, both hands on her chest. Her knees buckled and she started sliding down the door but caught herself.

         
Eyes wide, lips quivering: “Neal? Neal, you’re dead?”

         
Neal kept his eyes on Tasha. “You didn’t say anything about letting her play with the gun.”

         
A hand covering her mouth: “Neal, you’re dead!”

         
Neal glanced her way. “Tasha, I’m very uncomfortable with that gun on the table. That wasn’t in the plan.”

         
“You’re dead, Neal! Ain’t you dead?”

         
“Pinch yourself, girlfriend,” Tasha said. “You
ain’t
dreaming and he
ain’t
dead. This one got away.”

         
Perry couldn’t take her eyes off Neal.

         
“Yoo hoo, Perry!” Tasha said, waving at her. “Derrick, my son…Hello?”

         
Perry didn’t look her way, her attention still riveted on Neal.

         
“Derrick thought you might hurt yourself playing with live ammo so he switched the bullets. You might be the first woman ever accused of shooting blanks.”

         
Perry then looked at Tasha, the jist of the situation slowly working on her face. She looked at Neal again…at Tasha…back to Neal…and finally stopped at Tasha. Her nostrils flared, eyes squinted, and Tasha could hear her teeth grinding.

         
“You dirty, filthy, stinking
bitch
!” Perry said.

         
“You don’t get it, do you? You put a drug in Rice Crispy treats, gave it to an eight-year-old child. Put the same crap in my straw, killed three men for insurance money, attempted to kill Neal--and you’re calling me…
me
!…a bitch!”

         
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to step outside for some fresh air.”

         
“I’d mind that very much! Better yet, sit your ass down!”

         
Perry shook her head. “I don’t want to sit down.”

         
“Pernicious, the adjective on your vanity plates? No other word in the dictionary describes you better. I’m thinking Robert Stubbs called you that as he lay dying, watching you haul his valuables out of his house.”

         
Perry’s hands disappeared behind her back, and Tasha heard the doorknob turning. “I need a little fresh air,” she said.

         
Before Tasha could respond, Perry flung the door open and shot out.

         
Tasha jumped to her feet and grabbed the Glock. “Neal, lock this door and call Bob!” she shouted before running outside.

         
Perry was nowhere in sight. Save for an elderly gentleman walking his dog several blocks away, the street was deserted. Dogs barked from around back.
   

         
Tasha ran to the right side of the house, flattened her back against the wall, and then jumped out with the Glock extended with both hands.

         
No sign of Perry.

         
The dogs stopped barking.

         
She ran down a cobbled sidewalk into the backyard.
  
The dogs, behind a high wooden fence next door, started barking again.