Authors: Joy Fielding
“What’s the matter with you? Where are your balls, for Christ’s sake? You let that bitch boss you around like that?”
“That’s enough, Tom.”
“Enough? I’m just getting started where that twat is concerned.”
“No, Tom. Trust me. You’re finished.”
The line went dead in his hands.
“Shit!” Tom yelled, holding on to the word until he ran out of breath. His hands slammed down on the steering wheel, inadvertently triggering the horn. The noise blasted its way into the thick, warm air, like dynamite. “Shit, fuck, fucking shit!” He lowered his head, tears of frustration stinging his eyes. Damn that smug bastard of a brother of his, with his terrific wife and great kids and a job that he loved. Not to mention his fucking health. “Trust me, you don’t have anything if you don’t have your health!” Tom mimicked, his head snapping up, a loud cackle escaping his mouth to bounce off the car’s interior and echo down the street. “Trust me!” he shouted. “Like I’m gonna fucking trust you, you miserable piece of shit!”
Which was when he saw the cop car in his rearview mirror and a uniformed officer walking cautiously toward him, his hand hovering above the gun in his holster as he approached.
“Everything all right here?” the officer asked.
“Everything’s just fine,” Tom said, not looking at him.
“Could I see your license and registration?” A command in the shape of a question.
“What for? I’m not doing anything. I’m not even driving.”
“License and registration,” the officer repeated, signaling to another officer waiting in the police car, as if he expected trouble.
Tom fished into the side pocket of his jeans to retrieve his driver’s license, then reached across the front seat into his glove compartment for his registration. The officer, a young Hispanic with a scar that ran the length of his upper lip, glanced at both before handing them to his older partner. “We’ve had a complaint of a car matching this description loitering in the area,” he explained.
Tom glanced toward his father-in-law’s bungalow. So the bastard had seen him and called the police. Fucking moron. “I haven’t been here all that long.”
“Long enough to smoke half a pack of cigarettes.” The officer glanced at the discarded butts beside his black leather boots.
“What—is it a crime now to smoke in this country?”
“Mind stepping out of the car?” the officer said.
“Yeah, I mind,” Tom told him. “I haven’t done anything.”
“Come on, Tom,” the officer said, having noted the name on his license. “Don’t make me haul your ass off to jail.”
“For what, jerk-off?” Tom snapped, seeing a flash of alarm light up the officer’s dark complexion.
The next thing he saw was the barrel of a gun pointing directly at his face.
SEVENTEEN
“H
EY
,
GOOD-LOOKIN’,” JEFF SAID
, taking a seat at the bar and smiling at Kristin. “Tom been in yet?”
“Haven’t seen him. You heard anything from Will?”
Jeff shook his head. “He’s probably too embarrassed to show his face.”
“Why would he be embarrassed?”
Jeff leaned in, lowered his voice to a whisper. “’Cause nothing happened between him and Suzy Pomegranate, that’s why.” He laughed. “Can you believe that? Strike two!”
“How do you know nothing happened?”
“Because Tom walked in on them.”
“He interrupted them?”
“Apparently there was nothing to interrupt. Can you believe that?” he said again, his eyes sweeping across the lightly populated room. “Not too busy tonight,” he commented.
“It’s Monday,” Kristin said. “Although it was pretty busy earlier.” She touched the business card in the side pocket of her tight black skirt, wondering if she should show it to Jeff.
Dr. Dave Bigelow, Radiologist, Miami General Hospital.
How would Jeff react? she wondered. Would he be indifferent, or would it shake him up a little bit? And was that what she wanted—to shake him up? And if so, how much?
He already knew that other guys found her attractive. He loved hearing her stories about the men who came on to her, the men she turned down on an almost nightly basis, whose hopeful business cards she quickly tossed into the trash.
Except she hadn’t tossed this one.
Why hadn’t she?
Was she actually considering calling him?
How would Jeff react to that?
“What are you drinking?” she asked.
“Gimme a Miller draft.” Jeff laughed. “I can’t believe he struck out again.”
He was still chuckling when Will walked through the door some ten minutes later. “Well, well. The unconquering hero finally resurfaces,” Jeff said, hoisting his glass into the air. “Give the man a drink, Krissie. He looks like he could use hydrating.”
“Miller draft,” Will told Kristin.
“Atta boy. Okay. So, out with it. Details, details.”
“You know what happened,” Will said testily. “I’m sure Tom couldn’t wait to tell you.”
“I know what
didn’t
happen.
Again,
” Jeff said. “What I don’t know is why.”
“We’re not all like you, Jeff,” Will told his brother. “Some of us like to take things slow.”
“Slow is one thing. Stupid is another.”
“You all right?” Kristin asked, handing Will his beer.
“I’m fine. Honestly. It was a lovely afternoon.”
“A lovely afternoon?” Jeff repeated incredulously. “What are you talking about? Who the hell says things like ‘It was a lovely afternoon’?”
“People like me,” Will said. “Call me crazy, but is there anything wrong with getting to know someone first?”
“You’re crazy,” said Jeff.
“I think it’s sweet,” Kristin offered.
“Suzy’s very vulnerable right now,” Will explained. “It wouldn’t be fair to take advantage—”
“Who cares about being fair?” Jeff demanded. “What’s the matter with you? Christ, no wonder Amy dumped you.”
Will raised his glass to his lips, drank half his beer in one gulp.
“Jeff,” Kristin cautioned. “Go easy.”
“It’s okay,” Will said. “It’s nothing I haven’t said to myself a million times.”
“You gotta seize the moment, little brother. How many chances do you think you get at the brass ring?”
“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
“Guess we will,” Jeff agreed, looking toward the front entrance. “You haven’t seen Tom around, have you?”
“Not since this afternoon.” Will thought that if he never saw Tom again, it would be too soon for him. “Did that lunatic tell you he pulled a gun on me?”
“He what?” Kristin gasped. “Jeff, you really have to do something about him.”
“And what is it you’d have me do exactly?” Jeff snapped.
Kristin shrugged, raised her palms into the air in defeat.
“Ellie called.” Will broached the subject cautiously. “She said she spoke to you about going home. . . .”
“Don’t start,” Jeff warned.
“I’m not. I just—”
“Don’t,” Jeff said again.
Will downed the rest of his beer, signaled to Kristin for another. “I’m sorry,” he said to Jeff. “I should mind my own business.”
“I shouldn’t have made that crack about Amy.”
Will nodded, although he was thinking that Jeff had been right about Amy. Maybe if he hadn’t been so sweet with her, so damn respectful, if he’d been more of a man, if he’d seized the moment, been more forceful,
more like Jeff,
she might not have left him for someone else.
“Hey. Go easy with that beer,” Kristin cautioned him.
A muffled “Star-Spangled Banner” began to play. Jeff reached into the back pocket of his jeans, pulled out his cell, checked the caller ID. It was a number he didn’t recognize, so he returned it to his pocket unanswered. A few seconds later, it started up again.
“You better answer it,” Kristin said. “Or we’ll be jumping to attention all night.”
Jeff was chuckling as he flipped open his phone. “Hello? Tom, where the hell are you? I almost didn’t answer, for Christ’s sake. I didn’t recognize the number. What? You gotta be kidding me.”
“What’s going on?” Will asked, curious in spite of himself.
“All right. Hold on. We’ll be there as fast as we can.”
“Where are you going?” Kristin asked.
Jeff downed the rest of his beer. “Drink up, little brother. We’re going to jail.”
“
WHAT THE FUCK
took you so long to get here?” Tom jumped to his feet, almost knocking over the metal folding chair he’d been sitting on, as Jeff marched into the small, windowless room, Will close on his heels. Tom tossed the wildlife magazine he’d been leafing through onto the wooden table in front of him. “Shit, man. What’s he doing here?”
“More to the point, what are
you
doing here?” Jeff asked. He hated police stations. Even walking by one made him feel as if he was guilty of something.
“That cunt’s father called the cops, reported a suspicious-looking automobile lurking in the area. They hauled my ass down here.”
Jeff looked toward the door. “I told you to get the hell out of there, didn’t I?”
“What—I’m not allowed to park my car on a public street anymore? I wasn’t doing anything wrong. This country’s turning into a fucking fascist state, when a man can’t even sit in his goddamn car and smoke a few cigarettes. . . .”
“Maybe you should keep it down,” Will urged, raising his fingers to his lips.
“Maybe you should get it up,” Tom shot back.
“Okay, okay,” Jeff said, trying not to laugh. “Will’s right. You don’t want to end up spending the night in a holding cell.”
“What are they gonna hold me on? I didn’t do anything, for shit’s sake. They can’t arrest me.”
“They already have,” Will said.
“What the fuck do you know? I’m not under arrest, dickhead.”
“Then what are we doing here?”
“I don’t know what
you’re
doing here. I sure as hell didn’t ask you to come. What’d you bring him for anyway?” Tom asked Jeff.
“Be glad I did,” Jeff told him. “The cops are only releasing you on condition someone else drives you home. They think you’re too emotionally precarious—their words, not mine,” Jeff qualified, “to be behind the wheel right now. Frankly, I’m inclined to agree with them.”
“Emotionally pre . . .
what
? What the fuck are they talking about? Fucking fascists,” Tom muttered.
“Listen,” Jeff said. “You’re lucky they’re letting you out of here with just a warning.”
A uniformed officer stuck his head in the door. “How are things going in here? He cooled off any?”
“You got no right to keep me here,” Tom shouted.
“Still hot,” the officer noted wryly.
“He’ll be okay,” Jeff said. “Give us another couple of minutes. What is it with you?” he asked Tom as soon as the policeman was out of sight. “Do you want them to arrest you?”
“For what?”
“For being an obnoxious prick,” Will said, not quite under his breath.
“What’d you say?”
“He said, for stalking,” Jeff improvised.
“Stalking? I wasn’t stalking anybody.”
“You followed Lainey all day; you confronted her at the hairdresser’s; you were parked in front of her parents’ house for more than an hour. . . .”
“I parked down the street.”
“It’s still considered stalking. Just how much ammunition do you want to give Lainey?”
“I’m not giving that bitch a damn thing.”
“Then you’ve got to calm down. Be smart. Be contrite. No more of this shit, Tom, or you’ll lose everything.”
“I’ve already lost everything,” Tom moaned, sinking back down into the metal folding chair and burying his head in his hands.
For an instant, Will thought Tom was about to cry, and he actually felt himself feeling sorry for him.
It was at that moment that Tom lifted up his head and smiled. “Contrite enough for you?” he asked with a wink.
“Much better,” Jeff said, laughing.
“Shit,” said Will.
“Okay. Think you’re ready to get out of here?”
“He’s not driving my car,” Tom said, pointing an accusing finger at Will.
“Fine. I’ll drive your car,” Jeff said. “Will, you can drive mine.”
“Good by me.”
“Okay, so what are you gonna tell the cops?” Jeff asked Tom.
“That I’m sorry, and that I promise to be a good little boy,” he answered.
“You’ll stay away from your wife?” the police officer who’d brought him in was asking moments later.
“I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.”
“Good,” the officer said. “Because it’s my understanding she’ll be filing a restraining order against you first thing in the morning.”
“What the fuck . . .”
“Tom,” Jeff warned.
“Her parents, too. And once they do that, our hands are tied. We’ll have to arrest you if you go anywhere near them.”
“Sons of bitches . . .”
“Look,” the policeman said. “I understand your frustration. I really do. My ex pulled the same shit with me. But there’s nothing you can do except make matters worse. Trust me.”
“‘Trust me,’” Tom repeated. “Why do people always say that?”
“You ready?” Jeff asked.
Tom reached for the magazine he’d been perusing prior to Jeff’s entrance. “Mind if I take this with?” he asked. “There’s this article I was reading. . . .”
“Be my guest.”
“Thanks.”
“Stay out of trouble,” the officer called as they walked past the high counter of the reception desk in the main lobby toward the exit. A woman officer smiled at Jeff as they were leaving.
As soon as they were in the parking lot, Tom tossed the magazine into a nearby garbage bin.
“What’d you do that for?” Will asked.
“It’s a magazine about fucking wildlife,” Tom sneered. “Speaking of which, did you know that armadillos are running amok in the state of Florida?”
Jeff laughed. “Get in the car, bozo, before I turn you in again myself.” He tossed his car keys toward Will. “You know how to get home?”
“No idea,” Will said.
“He’s clueless,” Tom said, sliding into the passenger seat of his car.
“Okay, follow me.” Jeff climbed behind the wheel of Tom’s Impala, turned on the ignition. “Shit. Do you know you’re almost out of gas?”
“It wasn’t my idea to drive all the way down here.” Tom started to laugh, was still laughing as Jeff backed out of the tight parking space and turned onto the dark street.
“You think this is funny, do you?” Jeff asked, almost choking on the stale odor of cigarette smoke. He rolled down the window.
“You’d think it was funny too, man, if you knew what I do.”
“Which is?”
“Stop the car a minute and I’ll show you.”
“What?”
“I’m telling you—stop the car.”
Jeff pulled Tom’s Impala to a halt a block from the station house. Immediately, Will pulled to a halt behind them.
“What’s wrong?” Will asked, approaching quickly on foot.
“Check under the seat, man,” Tom instructed Jeff.
“What?”
“Check under the seat.”
Jeff lowered his arm beneath the driver’s seat and began rummaging around until he felt something hard and cold. When he brought his hand up seconds later, his fingers were curled around the barrel of a gun.
“Shit,” Will exclaimed, feeling as if he was about to be sick.
“What a hoot!” Tom shouted. “Dumb cops drive my car all the way down here. They don’t even do a search. Don’t have a warrant, I guess. Can you beat that? Stupid fascists.”
“I don’t believe you,” Will said, his legs starting to shake with a combination of fear and relief. “You’re going to get us all thrown in jail, you stupid son of a bitch.”
“Get back in the car, Will,” Jeff told him. “We’ll meet you at the apartment.” He dropped the gun to his lap.
“Give me that,” Tom said, reaching for it.
Jeff knocked his hand aside. “Finders, keepers,” he said.
KRISTIN WAS WAITING
for them at the front door of their apartment.
“What are you doing home?” Jeff asked her as the three men walked inside. He checked his watch. It wasn’t even eleven o’clock.
Kristin followed the movement of Jeff’s arm. “It wasn’t busy. Joe said I could go home early. Is that a gun?” she asked, all in one breath.
Jeff handed it to her. “Put it somewhere safe,” he said without explanation.
“Hey,” Tom protested. “That’s mine.”
“Not till you learn a little self-control.”
Tom plopped down into the beige leather chair he’d occupied earlier in the day. “No biggie. You can keep it. I got others.”
Will marched into the kitchen and poured a glass of water, which he drank down in one gulp.
“Is somebody going to tell me what happened?” Kristin asked, her gaze shifting from the gun in her hand to Jeff.
“Allow me,” Tom said, quickly detailing the events of the past twelve hours. “Did you know that there is actually such a thing as a flying squirrel, although they don’t really fly so much as glide, by way of a skin flap that balloons out from their bodies?” He smiled.