Whittaker 01 The Enemy We Know (27 page)

As I crossed the lot, I could see something the color of mottled blood on my windshield. I stopped, heart thudding. Screwing up my courage and uncapping my very own, handy-dandy “Slap My Ass And Call Me Sally” pepper spray, I moved forward.

A dead rose. Several petals littered the hood, leaving the flower nearly denuded, canting listlessly to the side. The stem had been thrust behind the wiper, thorns glinting sickly yellow in the lot’s sodium lighting. I shivered.

He’d been here.

I waited until the next night to go to a meeting. The bad news was the first person I saw at the club was Sandra. I’d either have to face her or forgo a cup of badly needed coffee. She stood at the coffee bar—a fruit bowl in a sleeveless top that looked and clung to her fat chest like an orange peel. She’d had her highlights touched up, too, adding a lemony glow.

The good news was that I was in the mood for a fight.

“
Wow, Letty, no offense, but you look like something the cat puked up. You weren’t out drinking again, were you?”

Having been up all night brooding on the subject of dead flora, I probably did look like a hacked-up hairball. But the reference to my relapse was a low blow. Knowing she was all dolled up for Robert, I plastered a fake smile on my face and said, “Of course not. I had a lovely dinner at Chandlers. I just
love
their prime rib.”

“
Chandlers?” Sandra’s eyes narrowed at the mention of Robert’s favorite restaurant.

Ignoring her, I grabbed my mug from its peg, pouring myself some surprisingly fresh coffee.

“
What time were you there?” she persisted.

The people around the counter quieted, the better to enjoy the unfolding drama.

“
I’m sorry. Did you say something?” I smiled sleepily as though the cause of my late night was a certain blond real estate agent rather than a Shakespearian psychopath with a flower fetish.

“
What
time
were you at Chandlers?” At least I think that’s what she said. Her teeth were gritted hard enough to splinter into tiny shards.

“
About 7:30 or so. Why?” I asked, all Shirley Temple-innocent.

“
Oh, no reason,” she lied. Then unable to stop herself, she blurted, “I guess you must have seen Robert there, too.”

I let my eyebrows rise as if surprised at her naivete. “Well, sure,” I said with a laugh. “It would have been hard not to. He was sitting across from me.”

Several sucked-in “Ooh’s!” whistled through the air, heightening both my pleasure and Sandra’s rage.

And then Robert, proving he’d been born under a particularly
un
lucky star, chose that moment to walk in to the club. He looked nice and relaxed for approximately 1.5 nanoseconds, which is how long it took his brain to process the information that his ex was standing next to his slut, and they were both pissed. Pure guy hell.

For a brief, satisfying moment, it looked like he was going to turn and run. Paul, one of the spectators, laughed out loud. Sandra got to Robert first, crossing the room like an orange puma with the scent of meat teasing her nostrils. I smiled at Robert’s startled face and waggled my fingers “hi!”

“
Did you enjoy your dinner
last night, Robert?” Sandra snarled. “Huh? While I sat at home waiting for you? Did you have a good time?” She punctuated every fifth or sixth word by poking him in the chest with long, tangerine-tipped claws. Looked painful.

Robert looked over at me desperately. I shrugged, hands wide as though “
Gosh, was I not supposed to have mentioned that to Sandra?
”

Sandra stabbed again. This time, his forehead, leaving a red, half-moon dent. “Look at me when I’m talking to you! What? I’m not good enough to take out to dinner, but you’ll take Miss Priss? She must not be putting out yet, ‘cause you sure were panting for it when you finally showed up at my door. Was she sitting right there when I called? Is that
all
I am to you?”

So that’s who’d called during dinner. I shook my head in disgust. Strangely, my anger at Sandra faded away.

Just then, she looked over at me and must have decided I looked too complacent. Or, worse, maybe she saw pity. “Oh, and by the way? Where do you think he’s been every Wednesday and Sunday night while you sat at home with your legs crossed like an ice princess? Don’t fall off that high horse or you’ll ram the stick up your ass.”

With that wild flurry of mixed metaphors, she slammed out of the club.

Robert’s face took on an alarming, red-and-white toile pattern. Again, he looked my way. But not for help.

I squinted “bring it on,” pointing outside, having just enough class to not want an Act II screaming match in the lobby. I regretted beating him through the door, though, because that meant he got to slam it. Normally I’d be freaking out over a confrontation of this nature, but all the fear and frustrated anger of the last few weeks had finally found a target. He’d been cheating on me the
whole
time?

Unfortunately, we never got farther than the sidewalk leading to the parking lot. Before we could get into it, the sound of a racing engine made us turn around. Sandra’s Accord jounced wildly over the three speed bumps. Her hands clenched the wheel and her eyes, glittering weirdly, met mine. For a moment, I thought she might add a couple of human speed bumps to the lot, but she settled for whipping us the bird before squealing out of the lot.

“
Are you happy now?” Robert spit the words at me.

“
Yes. Yes, I am. See?” I laughed, just to prove it. Sounded more than a little maniacal, but he was too pissed to notice.

“
Listen, you little bitch, I’ve got half a mind—”

“
Somehow I always knew you only had half a mind.”

“—
to smack the crap out of you.
What
did you say?”

I rolled my eyes. This was too easy. “Robert, you are a narcissistic asshole and definitely not worth my time.” I flicked a hand as if waving away our past. “If you were only half the man I thought you were I might feel bad about breaking up, but now? I’m just glad I only wasted a few months on you.”

He grabbed my upper arm, and I forced myself not to show fear.

“
Hey!”

Paul had followed us. His face showed the fear I’d schooled mine to hide. “Let go of her!” His voice trembled, but he pushed at Robert’s hand, trying to peel his fingers off my bicep. Robert released me, slapping Paul’s hand away.

“
Get off me, you little asswipe! This is none of your business.”

But Paul was caught up in an emotion stronger than his fear. “You are such a j-jerk. I can’t believe you treat her this way. You should be treating her like a princess, but instead you cheat on her with that skank!
I would worship her.
”

Robert grabbed Paul by the front of the shirt, lifting the slight man off his feet.

“
Robert! Stop it!” I pushed between them. “
Stop it!
”

Robert threw Paul down to the ground, flinging him into the grass, not the concrete sidewalk. Paul’s face scrunched up, as tears, snot, and a trickle of blood where Robert’s hand had clipped his bottom lip, trickled down his face. Robert looked stunned, wiping his hand across his own face as though to scrub it clean.

“
Ah, shit,” he said, running his hand through his blond mop. He reached a hand down to Paul, offering to pull him up. Paul kicked at it.

“
Get away!”

“
Shit,” Robert said again. “I’m sorry, Letty.” Then he turned and walked away, heading for his car.

I stood on the sidewalk feeling like a tsunami had just washed over me, leaving debris and dead bodies in its wake. Paul pulled his knees up to his chest, burying his face in the crook of his arm.

I knelt, touching his hand. It was cold and shaking. “Paul?”

A muffled “go away” warned me off.

“
Okay, I’ll leave, but I want to say thank you. Paul, I—”

“
Go away!” he howled.

“
Okay. Okay, Paul. I’m leaving.” I walked backward, not wanting to leave him, knowing that staying would only make his humiliation worse. I got in my car and sat, trying to think. Then I pulled my cell phone out, scrolled through my contact list, found Chad’s number and called. I could only hope that he’d get here before Paul took off for the nearest bar to deaden his shame.

As I sat slouched in my car, watching the sobbing, huddled mess from afar, a horrible suspicion rose and bloomed.

Worship me?

Chad showed up a few minutes later, his calm demeanor a welcome presence. He walked over to the side of my car and leaned in the window, keeping a steady eye on Paul.

“
Thanks, Chad. I didn’t know who else to call.”

“
No thanks needed, Letty. You did right.” He glanced at me with a worried frown. “You said Robert and Paul got into it?”

Raising his head, Paul noticed us staring. He slowly got to his feet, wiping his face with his t-shirt.

“
Actually, Sandra and I got into it, and then Sandra and Robert. Then me and Robert, and
then
Robert and Paul.”

“
Busy day at the club, huh?”

“
You could say that.”

Chad pointed at the red welts left on my arm. “Robert?”

Robert’s actions still stunned me. I’d never seen that side of him, didn’t ever imagine him capable of violence. Maybe I’d been blind, ignoring the signs. Inexplicably embarrassed and unable to speak, I just nodded.

Eyes red and swollen, a smear of snot trailing across his cheek, Paul walked up. He kept his eyes averted, refusing to look at me. Chad reached out, cuffing him on the shoulder in that strange man-code that translated to “I’m here for you, brother.”

“
I’m not…” I cleared my throat, started again. “I don’t know what would have happened if Paul hadn’t come out. I can’t believe Robert would have…” My voice deserted me again.

“
Listen, I don’t know what’s going on with Robert,” Chad said. “I know he’s freaked out about Randy’s murder and the police questioning him. But that doesn’t excuse this.”

“
Wayne,” I said automatically. “But what’s the big deal? They can’t seriously believe he killed Wayne, can they?”

Paul listened avidly, Robert’s woes perking him up.

“
I guess he didn’t mention the wrangle he and Wayne got into at the restaurant, huh?”

“
They fought?”

“
Wayne showed up drunk—not the best move for a meeting with your sponsor. Robert refused to talk to him, which is natural”—I nodded agreement—“and Wayne got pissy. Sounds like there was some pushing and shoving, and a whole lot more cussing. The restaurant manager threatened to call the police, and Wayne took off.

“
Anyway, he was killed later that night, so it looks bad. Plus, I know breaking up with you is weighing heavy. Not that it wasn’t the right thing for him to do.”

“
He didn’t break up with
me
. I broke up with
him
.” It shouldn’t matter who broke up with whom. Even if it did.

Chad smiled. “Even worse. For him, I mean.” Turning to Paul, he said, “Anyway, I guess we can thank you for stepping in. How about we go get some coffee?”

I pulled out, heading for home. Chad could handle the rest.

I woke up to one of those rare Wisconsin freebies—a warm, spring morning. The air smelled fresh and green, the kind of scent laundry detergent manufacturers try to conjure up out of a bunch of chemicals. I cracked some windows and watched Siggy poke his nose at the screen. I wished I could enjoy it as much as he obviously did.

For me, the morning alternated between anger at Robert and worry for Paul, worry for Robert and suspicion of Paul, and, finally, a generalized disgust and suspicion toward the male species altogether. That about covered everything.

I got the time line out. The flowers could have come from Paul. He’d have had to find out where I worked, but he’d proved capable of that. Maybe he sent them to make me feel better, after learning about Wayne’s attack. The enclosed card “
Thou hast all the all of me
”
certainly fit with the idolization Paul revealed last night. Or was I overreacting? Was it just a crush?

Paul’s social skills rated just higher than a house plant’s. He was a nerd’s nerd, a born victim. He had to realize how the guys avoided him, how he was the butt of so many jokes when they couldn’t. Most of the jerks didn’t even wait until his back was turned to treat him like crap. How long could a man take that kind of treatment without retaliating?

He was so hungry for acceptance that he licked up the crumbs of civility dropped by chance from those around him. The only thing I’d ever done for him was to not be overly mean, and he’d been attached to me like a wood tick ever since. I didn’t know anything about him, other than how long he’d been sober, and I even dated
that
in terms of how long he’d been around to annoy me.

Could
he have sent the sonnets? I could imagine him reading Shakespeare. Burying himself in the dusty pages of old books, shutting out the present day where he was picked on, maybe feeling pride at understanding and appreciating a literary icon, while those around him watched
Jon and Kate
reruns. Too much pride? Did it morph into superiority, contempt?

I didn’t know.

There were times I’d felt uncomfortable with Paul, but mainly that involved the type of social embarrassment that came from geek-adoration. Although, there
had
been that time in the AA parking lot when I’d been so frightened, but the fear had emanated from Wayne’s presence, not Paul’s. Hadn’t it?