The Love You Crave dc-8 Page 8

  Without batting an eye, blue suit says, “Mrs. Peters, do you know Carmine Porrello?”

  Gwen looks me dead in the eyes, but I can’t make anything out of her expression.

  “Answer truthfully,” I say.

  “I know him,” she says. “I used to dance in his clubs. So what?”

  “The four victims were executed.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “I was at the crime scene,” brown suit says.

  “So?”

  “In the twenty-three years I’ve been on the force, this was the most professional hit I’ve ever seen.”

  “Oh. Oh my!” Gwen says. Her face starts to flush. She actually looks at Callie and smiles. She’s proud of her girlfriend’s work.

  “Did you just smile?” blue suit says.

  “I sure did!”

  He looks at me.

  “She’s got a beautiful smile,” I say. “Don’t you agree?”

  “Thanks, Mr. Cohen,” Gwen says, brightly.

  Blue suit looks at Gwen. “Why would that comment make you smile?”

  “Because it sounds like you might have a suspect. Carmine Porrello.”

  “When’s the last time you saw Mr. Porrello?” blue suit says.

  Gwen looks at me. For the first time, she appears nervous. We both know if they’re asking they already know the answer. I wonder if they’ve had a tail on Gwen and Callie. Then realize they’ve probably got surveillance on Carmine’s club.

  “Answer truthfully,” I say. “If you saw him this afternoon, tell them.”

  Both suits look at me, incredulously. But neither speaks.

  Gwen says, “I saw Carmine this afternoon.”

  “Where?” blue suit says.

  “His place. The Top Six.”

  “Why?”

  Gwen locks eyes with me. “I wanted to ask him something.”

  “What?”

  “I asked if he knew who killed my husband.”

  “And he said?”

  “He said he didn’t know.”

  Brown suit says, “What’d you expect him to say?”

  Gwen looks at Brown suit with the most beguiling expression I’ve ever seen on a recently widowed woman and says, “Should I not have asked him?”

  Both suits frown.

  “Anything else boys?” I say.

  After they leave, Callie says to Gwen, “Why did you meet Carmine Porrello today?”

  26.

  “Can we discuss this later?” Gwen says. She pauses a moment, then adds, “In private?”

  Callie and I exchange a look.

  I say, “Callie and I are a team, Gwen. Whatever happens, you’re not going to come between us.”

  “Is that true, Callie?” Gwen says.

  Callie says nothing.

  To me, Gwen says, “She doesn’t need you, and I don’t need you. You know what you are?”

  “Tell me.”

  “A candy ass!”

  I frown.

  “Maybe you should put some oil around your ankles,” she says.

  “Why’s that?”

  “To keep the ants from getting to your candy ass!”

  Gwen looks at Callie for approval.

  Callie says, “Why did you meet Carmine Porrello today?”

  “I wanted to ask him something.”

  “Go on.”

  Gwen looks at me again. “I wanted him to kill someone.”

  “Who?” Callie says.

  Gwen nods at me and says, “Donovan.”

  Callie studies my face.

  “You knew,” she says.

  “I did. What I don’t know is why.”

  We look at Gwen. Callie says, “Why?”

  Gwen sighs. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Try,” I say.

  She frowns at me. Then says, “I couldn’t choose between you.”

  “What do you mean?” Callie says.

  “I like you both. I mean, I like you better, Callie. You’re beautiful, you’re stable, you treat me great…”

  “But?” Callie says.

  “But today when I fucked Donovan, I felt terrible. Not at the time, of course, but…”

  “Back up.” Callie says. “You fucked Creed today?”

  She looks at me.

  “It’s partly my fault,” I say.

  “Partly?”

  “Mostly.”

  “So anyway,” Gwen says, “afterward, I felt terrible. I really like Donovan, but I decided today I love you.”

  “Before or after you fucked him?”

  “After.”

  Callie looks at me. “I would’ve expected better from you.”

  I shrug. “You had to be there.”

  To Gwen, Callie says, “You love me?”

  “I do.”

  “How could I ever expect to trust you?”

  “If Donovan dies, the problem goes away.”

  Callie looks at me and says, “Why is it all your girlfriends want to kill you?”

  I shrug. “Some don’t.”

  “So far as you know.” She looks at Gwen. “We’re not killing Creed. Pack your things.”

  I say, “Callie? She knows everything.”

  Gwen says, “Wait. I would never tell!”

  “The detectives aren’t done with this,” I say. “They might try to work on her.”

  “What about my t-shirt business?” Gwen says.

  “It might raise some eyebrows at the next board meeting if she turns up dead,” I say.

  “They haven’t approved the reorganization yet though, right?” Callie says.

  “True.”

  Gwen starts backing up. “Can’t we just forget what happened today?”

  “Which part?” Callie says.

  “All of it. I want a do-over. No more Donovan. Just you, Callie. For ever and always.”

  Callie says, “You sound sincere. But can I trust you?”

  “Yes. I swear.”

  “If you ever cheat on me again, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay,” Callie says. “Come.” She holds her arms out. Gwen’s face breaks into a broad grin as she moves across the room toward Callie. I see what’s about to happen, and jump between them.

  Callie arches an eyebrow, which is never a good sign. Word of advice: you ever see Callie Carpenter arch an eyebrow at you, run!

  “What the hell’s the matter with you?” Gwen says.

  “Sorry, I slipped.”

  “Bullshit!”

  Gwen tries to get around me to hug Callie. I mirror her movements, keeping my body between them.

  “Do you mind?” she says.

  “Sorry. I seem to be all tangled up.”

  I catch Callie’s eye. She says, “Creed. Relax.”

  I move away, and Gwen embraces her. Callie watches me over Gwen’s shoulder, completely oblivious to Gwen’s affection. I’d come between them just now for a reason. Callie was about to give Gwen a “loving sister,” a move I created years ago to be used on my ex-wife, Janet. It works like this: if Janet shoots me and claims self-defense, Callie will meet her a few days after the funeral, and put her arms out as if to give Janet a sisterly hug. Janet will move toward Callie to return the hug, but at the last second, Callie will sidestep her, spin around, come up behind her, and break her neck.

  Callie says, “I don’t tolerate infidelity. Could it be I didn’t make that clear enough to you when killing Eva in your bedroom?”

  “She’ll be faithful,” I say.

  “I will!” Gwen says. “I swear!”

  “She was willing to have me killed to remove the temptation,” I remind Callie.

  “That idea might still have legs,” Callie says, backing out of Gwen’s embrace.

  “I’m stepping out. You have my word.”

  “I don’t want you involved with Ropic Industries.”

  “Good. Because Tony and I haven’t been getting along.”

  “Tony?”

  “Tony Spu
moni. I think he’s planning to file assault charges against me.”

  Gwen sticks her bottom lip out. “What about my t-shirt company?”

  “I’ll have them buy you out.”

  “How much?”

  “The company’s worth eight million, but they’re short on cash and this would be a fire sale.”

  “How much?”

  “Eight hundred thousand.”

  “Ten percent? That’s a terrible deal!”

  “It’s enough for a t-shirt company.”

  “Take it,” Callie says.

  Without batting an eye, Gwen says, “Okay.”

  I notice she’s looking at Callie with bedroom eyes.

  “Are we good here?” I say to Callie.

  “You and me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “For now.”

  27.

  Maybe Taylor.

  Maybe’s first encounter with this stupid vaginal muscle spasm thing occurred eighteen months ago. She kept it to herself for a long time, hoping it would go away, but it just got worse. One night, while feeling particularly low, she tearfully explained her problems to Daddy, the man she now calls Ralph. Over time, he talked her into seeing an OBGYN, which is how she obtained the diagnosis. She then met with a specialist, but that didn’t work out, so Daddy did an exhaustive search that ended with his paying Dr. Scott a ridiculous amount of money to get Maybe on his patient list.

  Over the past few months of therapy, Dr. Scott explored the possible psychological reasons for Maybe’s condition, including the fear of painful sex, and the belief that sex is wrong, or dirty. He even suggested a traumatic incident may have triggered her condition. Maybe cooperated in general, but never told Dr. Scott about Taylor, the young man whose name she added to her alias.

  Taylor, a wealthy, good-looking kid, had attended J-State. Had a popular girlfriend, Nancy, and dated Maybe on the sly. Taylor’s dad was a famous TV personality in Atlanta, his mom a local celebrity. Since his best friend was Nancy’s brother, his relationship with Maybe remained a secret.

  Taylor and Maybe were on their third date at his parent’s lake house in south Georgia. It was November, and the temperature well past chilly. The plan had been to spend a couple of quiet hours there, as they’d done twice before, only this time Maybe promised to go “all the way.”

  When they arrived that night, the key was missing from its hiding place.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “We can do it in the car.”

  “I want our first time to be special, in a proper bed,” he said. “Wait here.”

  With that, he went behind the house and broke a small windowpane in the door that led to the den, reached his hand in, and unlocked it. Instead of waiting out front, Maybe followed him inside. Within seconds their clothes were in a heap on the floor, and Taylor, nude except for his socks, chased a naked Maybe down the hall toward the kitchen. Moments later they were on the kitchen floor (so much for a proper bed) and both were benefiting from his extensive sexual experience. After a few minutes he asked Maybe to get on top, and she obliged.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  Something inside her-a sort of muscle spasm occurred, causing her vagina to clamp down on Taylor’s penis. He yelped in pain.

  “What are you doing?” he yelled.

  “ Nothing! It hurts me, too!” she yelled back.

  As his erection quickly died, his level of pain increased. Now he was yelling, begging her to call 911.

  “My cell phone’s on the counter!” she said, through clenched teeth.

  “ Do something!” he screamed.

  She tried to stand up, but couldn’t. She reached her hand onto the counter and knocked over what felt like a knife block. She reached up again, and swept the counter. Four objects fell to the floor: his car keys, her cell phone, and two steak knives. Her first thought was Taylor could’ve been seriously hurt, had the knives fallen the wrong way. Her second thought was she had no intention of allowing police or firemen to catch her in this situation, becoming the object of ridicule, looking for all the world like two dogs caught in mid-fuck. How would they separate them? Pour a pail of water on their crotches? What if one of the rescuers secretly videoed them on his cell phone and put it on the internet?

  Taylor kept screaming, “ Call them! Call 911!”

  Maybe suddenly didn’t care for his tone. Or his lack of concern for what would happen when the rescuers arrived. She began to think of Taylor as being weak. After all, she was in pain too. Excruciating pain. But you didn’t see her freaking out about it. Where was his concern for her? She looked down at his face. He was crying. Crying! What a wimp, she thought. Maybe grabbed a steak knife in each hand and began stabbing him wherever she could find an opening.

  It took much longer than you’d think, but eventually he stopped screaming and flailing and-here’s the interesting part-the minute she knew he was dead, her spasm abruptly stopped. She pushed him out of her, used some paper towels, liquid soap, and hot water to wash the blood off her hands and feet. Then she put Taylor’s socks on and padded to the guest bedroom, where she took a long, hot shower and scrubbed herself until she was convinced all the blood was gone. Then she walked back to the kitchen, avoiding the blood spots.

  She gathered her clothes from the den, dressed, and began the process of wiping down all surfaces she may have touched that night and the other times she’d been there.

  Then she got a mop and bucket, some hot water, and cleaned up any traces of her footprints and palm prints. She washed the steak knives carefully, along with Taylor’s car keys and her cell phone. Then she locked the door behind her, got in his car, and drove it to a movie theater in Jacksonville, wiped down all the interior surfaces and the outer door handles, then wedged the car keys under the back tire of an SUV on the other side of the parking lot so they’d be crushed when the vehicle backed out of the parking space. From there she walked a mile to her dorm and climbed into bed. Moments later her roommate, Janice, came in, asked how long she’d been there. Maybe said about an hour. She listened with enthusiasm while Janice shared all the details of her date, then they turned off the lights and Maybe slept until ten o’clock the next morning.

  28.

  Two Days Ago…

  Maybe finds herself distracted by thoughts of Daddy. She likes the idea of calling him Ralph, even though she came up with the name to tease him. But if their current relationship turns romantic, and if she’s able to open up to him, literally, she’s not about to call him Daddy. Maybe Ralph will eventually tell her his real name.

  She has a high profile target this time, a big city mayor. Ralph didn’t say which one, and Maybe didn’t ask. The mayor and his family are vacationing at a beach condo in Charleston, South Carolina, and all she’s been given is the condo address and a key to cubby 17 in the lady’s locker room at Oceanwood Country Club.

  That’s where the gun and silencer will be located, in a large tote bag, suitable for carrying beach items.

  Maybe wonders how Ralph obtains weapons and poisons. Once he has them, how does he hide them in places like women’s locker rooms? She wonders if he has a team working for him, a team that includes a woman among its members.

  Is she jealous?

  Maybe thinks about it. She’d like to be part of a team, part of Ralph’s close circle of friends. Perhaps even…

  What, she thinks. Marry him and run the team together?

  She laughs. Tells herself to get a grip.

  It’s four in the afternoon when she strolls through the country club lobby. She enters the women’s locker room, sees a number of women milling about. Some are primping in the mirrors in the lounge, others are sitting on benches, in front of open lockers. Maybe doesn’t know where cubby 17 is, and doesn’t want to be caught perusing the lockers. She’s a stranger, and would surely be reported.

  “May I help you?” the attendant says, brightly.

  “Hi,” Maybe says. “Just wanted to use the restroom.”

  “Of course
. Are you showering?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “If you’re showering, I’ll lay out a fresh towel for you.”

  “No, I’m fine. Thank you.”

  The attendant leaves and a voice behind her whispers, “You should be proud of yourself.”

  Maybe turns. “Excuse me?”

  The lady behind her is early thirties. Her hair and makeup perfect. She’s smiling, waiting for the attendant to get out of earshot. “I’m Hailey.”

  Maybe isn’t sure what to do or say. “What a coincidence!” she finally says. “That’s my name, too!”

  Hailey smiles. “No it isn’t, but that was a nice recovery. Come.”

  Maybe follows Hailey into the second row of lockers. They sit together on the bench in front of locker 17. “I’m working with you on this one.”

  Maybe glances at the locker. Then looks at Hailey.

  “Excuse me?” she says. “Working with me on what, my golf game?”

  “I’m going to help you kill the mayor,” Hailey whispers.

  She has her own key, and uses it to open the locker. She removes the tote bag, hands it to Maybe and says, “Let’s go out together.”

  Maybe pauses. “Ralph didn’t mention you.”

  “Who?”

  “Daddy.”

  Hailey looks confused. “Who’s Daddy?”

  “The guy. The one who set this up.”

  “Oh. Well, it was last minute.” She looks around. “Let’s not talk here.”

  “Where, then?”

  “Parking lot.”

  “I don’t know if I can trust you.”

  Hailey laughs. “You’re the one with the gun.”

  They walk out together.

  In the parking lot, Maybe says, “Why does he think I’ll need help?”

  “We just learned the mayor is sharing the condo with two aides and three hookers.”

  29.

  “What do you know about me?” Maybe says.

  “I know you’re moving up the ladder quickly,” Hailey says. “Then again, this is pretty new for all of us.”

  “I mean, what’s he said?”

  “About what?”

  “Me. What has he told you about me?”