The Love You Crave dc-8 Read online

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is trust. You could’ve burned me.”

  “I trusted you to be prepared. Was I wrong?”

  Daddy says nothing.

  Maybe says, “Look. I killed him because he deserved to die. I didn’t tell you because I wanted to see how good you were. Why would I want to deal with someone who can’t protect himself?”

  “And now you know I can.”

  “So far.”

  “You’re as much as telling me I can’t trust you.”

  “What do you expect from me? I’m a homicidal maniac!”

  “You’re a precious young lady.”

  “Seriously? You’re the one who’s turning me into a cold-blooded killer. How do you hope to trust me?”

  “By having a special relationship with you.”

  “You know what I think, Daddy?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I think you want to fuck me.”

  He pauses a long time. Then says, “I do. Is that so wrong?”

  “It is if you make me call you Daddy.”

  “There’s a reason for that.”

  “I know. It’s called manipulation.”

  “Yes.”

  “When are you going to show yourself.”

  “In time.”

  “What are you, disfigured or something? Twice my age? You don’t sound twice my age.”

  “I’m fifteen years and six days older than you.”

  Maybe pauses. That’s the most personal information he’s ever given her. She says, “If you’re thirty-five, I’m going to call you Ralph.”

  “Ralph?”

  “You sound like a Ralph.”

  He sighs. “You think you’re ready?”

  “For what?”

  “The big time?”

  “Lay it on me, Ralph.”

  15.

  Present Day… Donovan Creed.

  “Hello, Father.”

  “Kimberly! Hi!”

  First time in what seems like forever my daughter Kimberly has actually taken my phone call. I wonder why now, and not the last dozen times over the past three months.

  I start with what I hope is a safe topic. “How’s college life?”

  “My biology teacher’s a dick.”

  “That should make for an interesting year-book picture.”

  “Tip-tip, pshhh!” she says, making a sound like a drummer hitting two rim shots and a cymbal.

  “You must be dating again,” I say. “I haven’t heard from you in awhile.”

  “That’s a nice way of saying I haven’t answered or returned your calls.”

  “I try not to take it personally.”

  “Good. Yes, I’m dating. But you wouldn’t approve.”

  “Why not?”

  “Fathers never approve of the men in their daughters’ lives.”

  “I can try.”

  “Right. Where are you this time?”

  “Las Vegas.”

  “Winning much?”

  “It’s not that type of trip. What’s his name?”

  “My boyfriend? You can’t possibly think I’d tell you that!”

  “Why not?”

  “Every time I tell you a boyfriend’s name, he turns up dead.”

  “That happened one time! And you know very well the police said a woman did the shooting. A woman your boyfriend picked up at a bar and tried to rape!”

  “He’s an atheist.”

  “What? Who?”

  “The guy I’m dating.”

  “An atheist?”

  “Are you going to be judgmental about it?” she says. “Because if you are, I can hang up.”

  “Relax.” I sigh. “Is that what defines him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, is that how he introduces himself? ‘Hi, Kimberly, I’m Chuck, the atheist!’”

  She laughs. “Chuck?”

  “Well, you won’t tell me his name.”

  “You can call him Chuck. I like that. He’s quite successful, by the way.”

  “Then, Chuck it is. Where’d you meet him?”

  “At church.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She laughs. “It’s his job. He sells only to religious people.”

  I remove the phone from my ear and look at it. Sometimes a deliberate action like this proves I’m not dreaming. I put the phone back to my ear and say, “Please tell me why religious people buy products from an atheist.”

  “He’s a pre-Rapture pet salesman.”

  I say nothing.

  “Father? Hello-o? Are you still there?”

  “Sorry. I thought you said he was a pre-Rapture pet salesman.”

  “You don’t approve. I knew it!”

  “I don’t even know what it means.”

  She sighs. “You’ve heard of the Rapture, yes?”

  “I have.”

  “Pets can’t go.”

  “Where?”

  “To heaven.”

  “They can’t?”

  “According to these people, they cannot.”

  “So?”

  “So Chuck tells the church people he’s not qualified to be part of the Rapture because he’s an atheist, but he’ll take care of their pets when they get called to heaven. For a fee.”

  “And they trust him?”

  “He’s a good salesman. Plus, he’s the only game in town.”

  “And you’re dating this guy?”

  “We’re not getting married, or anything. It’s just sex right now.”

  “Thanks for sharing that.”

  “I figured you’d get around to asking, eventually.”

  “Have I ever asked about your sex life?”

  “Not in so many words.”

  We’re both quiet a moment. Then I say, “But school is good?”

  Kimberly laughs.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Your ability to communicate with me leaves a lot to be desired!”

  “Why is that, do you suppose?”

  “I think you’re afraid you’ll say the wrong thing and I’ll hang up. As usual.”

  “It doesn’t mean I don’t love you,” I say, “because I do, and always have.”

  “I believe you. Even if you hate my boyfriend.”

  “ Hate him? I don’t even know him!”

  “That’s the point. But if we’re being honest, what’s your first impression?”

  I pause. Then say, “He sounds like a flake.”

  “They’re all flakes to you,” she says. “And that’s why I don’t take your calls sometimes.”

  She hangs up, and I stare at my phone again before clicking it off.

  Then I call Lou Kelly.

  16.

  “How’d the board meeting go?” Lou says.

  “You did a good job with the information. They’re probably scrambling to figure out a way to block Gwen.”

  “You don’t really expect them to put her on the board, though, right?”

  “No. But I expect they’ll approach me to buy her out at a discount.”

  “Will she go for that?”

  “She needs to. The company’s about to go under. Anything she gets now is a plus. I’ll work it all out.”

  “I’m sure you will. What’s up?”

  “My daughter, Kimberly.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “Do you know how to find the guy we used to have following her?”

  “That was more than a year ago.”

  “Right. But he did a good job for us.”

  “Want me to track him down? Pay him whatever he wants?”

  “Yeah. What’s his name?”

  “Jimmy T.”

  “Right. Good, solid guy. Let’s get him back on the job. And also, I’ve got a funny feeling about her school.”

  “What about it?”

  “Can you send me a copy of her grades for the past few semesters?”

  “You think she quit?”

  “I
hope not, but it wouldn’t shock me. She’s quite a bullshitter, my daughter.”

  “Wonder where she inherited that skill?”

  “Right. Problem is, I never know if she’s making fun of me or being sincere. But she’s dating another flake, and I’d feel better knowing Jimmy’s keeping an eye on her. From a distance, of course.”

  “Last time we did that-”

  “Yeah, I know. But still.”

  “In my experience with daughters-”

  “I know. But I just spoke to her. Something’s not right.”

  “You think she’s in danger? We could kill the kid like last time.”

  “I just want our guy to keep an eye on her, maybe track this guy down, check him out.”

  We go quiet a few seconds. Then Lou says, “She still at Mabry Community College? Jacksonville?”

  “That’s what she claims.”

  “You don’t believe her?”

  “I’m not sure what to believe. She’s got this attitude lately. I don’t respond to it very well.”

  “She’s found your buttons. Starting to push them.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Okay, I’m on it.”

  “Thanks, Lou.”

  I hang up, think about something, call him back.

  “Forget something?” Lou says.

  “Quick question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “You know anything about the Rapture?”

  “The rap group? The book? The movie? The Bible?”

  “The Bible.”

  “Like what?”

  “You know if pets can go?”

  “Where?”

  “Heaven.”

  He pauses. “I’ll check it out.”

  “Wait. You’re not going to ask why I want to know?”

  Lou laughs. “Nothing you could say would help me understand.”

  “Good point.”

  “Plus, I want to figure it out for myself.”

  “Are you that bored?”

  “Last time you called me was a week ago. I could’ve been in the Bahamas all this time.”

  “You’re breaking my heart.”

  “What heart?”

  “Good point. Again.”

  17.

  “We’re friends, right?”

  Carmine “The Chin” Porrello, west coast mob boss, is on the phone. Wants to know if we’re friends.

  “That’s a tough one,” I say.

  He chuckles. “Well, I were you, I’d say yes.”

  “Then, yes.”

  “’Cause this is a friendship call.”

  “Good to know,” I say.

  “I don’t approve of you bustin’ in my house.”

  “I know.”

  “On the other hand, you could’ve killed me, and you didn’t.”

  “And I paid you fifty grand.”

  “True,” he says. “Plus, I hear our friend survived the shooting.”

  He’s talking about Gwen.

  “She did,” I say.

  “You datin’ her?”

  “It’s up in the air.”

  “Women, right?”

  “Tell me why you’re calling.”

  “You young people,” he says.

  “What about us?”

  “You’re too impatient. You don’t understand the art of chit-chat.”

  “There’s an art to chit-chat?”

  “See? You don’t know.”

  I feel like reaching through the phone and pulling the purpose of his call from his throat. He’s right. I don’t like idle chit-chat. I’d rather have a root canal. I’m sitting on a cot in the windowless room I built in the center of PhySpa, talking on the phone to a guy who’s so old, last time I saw him his nuts were hanging out of his underwear and he didn’t even know it. Until the phone buzzed, I’d been holding the ceramic device we recovered from Gwen’s boob a few hours ago. Working it around in my hand the same way I used to work the silver dollar my grandfather gave me all those years ago. I wonder why I keep playing with this device instead of smashing it with a sledge hammer like any intelligent person would do. For some reason I’m content to hold this weapon of death in my hand. This device that can kill me instantly, should it fall into the wrong hands.

  I wonder what that says about me.

  Finally, after what seems like months, Carmine gets to the point.

  “Someone wants to take out a hit on you.”

  “Thank goodness!”

  “This news makes you happy?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Why?”

  “It’ll add excitement to my life.”

  “I didn’t accept the hit.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we’re friends.”

  “Oh.”

  We’re quiet a minute. Then Carmine says, “Don’t you wanna know?”

  “What?”

  “The person who wants you dead.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “That’d make it too easy.”

  “I think you’ll be surprised.”

  “I’m just messing with you,” I say. “I already know who it is.”

  “Really?”

  “Tony Spumoni. You know him?”

  “Sure. He comes to the club.”

  “I embarrassed him today.”

  “How?”

  “Ripped one of his ears off.”

  “No shit?” Carmine chuckles. “You’re somethin’ else, you are. That must’ve hurt.”

  “You’d think so. But you’re right, I am surprised.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “There’s a lot of uncertainty in his company. I’d expect him to wait till the dust clears.”

  We go silent again. Then Carmine says something that surprises me even more.

  “It wasn’t Tony.”

  “What?”

  “It was your other business partner.”

  My other business partner? I frown. “Who, Wadsworth?”

  “Nope.”

  I think a minute.

  Of course!

  Who stands to lose the most in the new business arrangement? The vice president of research and development.

  “George Best,” I say.

  “I don’t know Mr. Best,” Carmine says.

  “Okay, I give up. Who is it that wants me dead?”

  “Our friend, Gwen Peters.”

  18.

  What? Gwen wants to put out a hit on me? Why?

  That’s what I want to say to Carmine. Instead I say, “You spoke to Gwen personally? ”

  “I knew you’d be surprised.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Yes, I spoke to her personally.”

  “No possibility you might be mistaken?”

  “I’ve known her forever.”

  “Sometimes phones can be tricky,” I say. “And face it, you’re hard of hearing.”

  “Creed.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I spoke to her in person.”

  “What?”

  “She came to see me.”

  “When?”

  “Ten minutes ago. She just left.”

  “Did you ask why?”

  “Of course! Like I say, she and me, we go way back, you know?”

  “What reason did she give?”

  “She wouldn’t. Said if she had to give me a reason, she’d take her business elsewhere.”

  I shake my head, move the device around in my hand some more. I’m careful not to press the single button. There wasn’t supposed to be a button, but there it is, right in the center. I was told the device attaches to a hand-held unit and can be reprogrammed with a new four-digit code. It can work that way, but as the others filed out of the board meeting today, George and William told me the board wants the device back. When I asked why, they explained it can be used on its own. In other words, if I press the button four times within ten seconds, it’ll fry my brain. I told them they couldn’t have it. I could keep it or turn
it over to the police. They weren’t happy about either possibility.

  “You still there?” Carmine says.

  I know why I’m feeling a little blue. My abandonment issues are kicking in. The device reminds me of my silver dollar, and the silver dollar reminds me of my original family, all of whom are dead, which reminds me how alone I am in the world. I know what you’re thinking. I’m supposed to look on the bright side, right? Well, maybe you can help me find it. My ex-wife Janet hates me. My daughter Kimberly won’t return my calls except to punish me. The woman I loved, Kathleen, is married to another guy. My girlfriend, Rachel, is a homicidal maniac. When we were together I had to drug her every night to keep her from killing me in my sleep! My close friend and facilitator, Lou Kelly, tried to kill me recently, which has severely impacted our working relationship. My boss at Homeland Security, Darwin, ordered a chip to be planted in my brain so he can kill me whenever it suits him. Callie, my best friend in the world, doesn’t trust me. She used those exact words to describe our relationship recently, and gave me her death stare an hour ago.

  And now Gwen wants to pay someone to kill me.

  “What did you tell her?” I ask Carmine.

  “I said I’d think about it.”

  “Doesn’t sound like something a friend would say.”

  “If I gave her a quick no, she’d call someone else. This way you can nip it in the bud.”

  He’s right.

  “Thanks, Carmine.”

  “You’re surprised, aren’t you!”

  I am.

  “I owe you,” I say.

  “That’s what I like to hear!”

  The PhySpa phone rings, so I tell my friend, the mob boss, I’ve got to run.

  “Come see me tonight,” he says. “At the club.”

  “Which one?”

  “ Top Six.”

  “When?”

  “Ten.”

  I click off the cell phone and pick up the PhySpa phone.

  “Who’s this?” I say.

  “Tony Spumoni.”

  “I was just talking about you,” I say. “Your ears must’ve been burning.”

  “You think that’s funny?”

  I think it’s hilarious. But what I say is, “What do you want?”

  “I want to settle this thing between us.”

  “How?”

  “I did some checking. I know who you are, what you do.”

  “So?”

  “Can we meet tonight?”

  “Why?”

  “I got a proposition for you.”