James Ellroy - The Best American Noir of the Century

It was his fingers that were wrapped around the thick black handle of the carving knife as much as mine. It was his hand along with mine that plunged that blade into Dottie’s frail and tender body again and again and again until she fell to the floor of the back bedroom, her head slumped to one side, blood oozing out of the deep, severe wounds and staining the thick Persian rug she had bought with the proceeds from my first-and-only Christmas bonus back during that first year of wedded bliss.

I was a forty-four-year-old man, alone and in debt, out of shape and mentally drained, my hair thinner than it had any right to be and my stomach rounder than anyone my age would prefer. I had a past that was filled mostly with dark and gloomy days and empty nights, touched only on rare occasions by the light and tender glare of happiness. I had a future that promised to be even bleaker, doomed to live out what was left of my time alone and in a constant struggle to survive.

So I needed to keep my focus on the present.

In one room, staring up at a chipped and stained white ceiling, an overhead fan on low, circulating warm air in gusts, was the body of a woman who had shared twenty-two years of my life.

And in this room, surrounded by poker chips, two decks of playing cards, near-empty bowls of nuts and salsa, drinks waiting to be finished, sat the man who had forced my hand and directed it toward murder.

“Looks like it’s your deal, Ike,” Adam said. “And your call. What’s it going to be?”

“Let’s make this the final hand,” I said.

“It’s not even ten,” Joe protested. “We usually go to eleven, sometimes an hour or two later. Why make it such an early call?”

“If it’s the last one, can we at least make it interesting?” Steve asked.

“I intend to,” I said. “Midnight baseball, no peak, threes and nines are wild. You draw a four and you can buy yourself an extra card.”

“How about we double the ante, then?” Joe asked. “And let’s put no limits on the raises. That square with everybody?”

“You go that route and the pot can start to get a little steep,” Jerry said. “It’s always been a friendly game. This will take it out of that ballpark, no doubt.”

“What, you afraid of losing something off the heavy pile of dough you got stashed?” Joe asked.

“I’m afraid of sitting here and watching you lose money I know you don’t have,” Jerry said. “Nothing more.”

“You should all be afraid,” I said. “This is the one hand none of you can hide from and not one of you can afford to lose.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Adam asked. “Just deal the cards, and let’s get this over with. These weekly games are starting to wear a bit thin. It might just be time for me to move on.”

I shuffled the deck one final time and pushed it over to my left, waiting for Tony to cut the cards, and turned to Adam. “And if luck singles you out, then you may well get your wish, Doctor,” I said.

I had their attention now, each staring at me not sure whether I was drunk or tired or had totally spun my wheels off the rails. Slowly and with great care, I doled out seven cards to each player, myself included. “This isn’t at all like you, Ike,” Jeffrey said, more than slightly annoyed. “Maybe Adam is on the right track. We may all need to call it for tonight. You look like you could do with a good night’s rest.”

“You might be right on that score, Padre,” I said. “I might just need a few solid hours of shuteye. But before I push back and trot off to bed, I need to bring our little game to a fitting end. I think that’s something we all would want. So how about you sit back and sit tight? This won’t take very long.”

I caught the glances racing across the table from one set of eyes to another, the looks a mixture of confusion, anger, concern, and indifference, and it made me smile. I had them now, these six friends of mine, men I had trusted and confided in, to some had even bared secrets I would never want spoken outside this room. For a long stretch of time in my troubled life, they were the raff that I could wrap my arms around and ward off, however briefly, the arching waves, dark clouds, and approaching storm of an existence that seemed destined to end with my drowning death. But they all carried with them the Judas coin, and the blood of a good woman was now smeared across it.

We all turned our first card over. Steve was high with a jack and casually tossed a one-dollar chip onto the center of the table. I stared at him and waited for him to return my look. “She cared about you,” I told him, “and took good care of you after your minor mishap a while back. It was her idea to put you in bed— our bed —and leave you there until you were well enough to walk out on your own. But even after all that, you seemed to act as if you didn’t even notice when she was around. Or was that a charade meant only for my eyes?”

Embarrassed that his suicidal secret was now open for discussion, Steve looked around at the others before he turned to me. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, Ike,” he said. “You’re a bit out of control and not just tonight, but for a while. We’ve all picked up on it and let it slide figuring you needed to work a few things out, is all. But now it’s reached a tipping point, and maybe we should bring it all to a stop right here and right now.”

“It’s only a game, Ike,” Jeffrey said. “It would be madness to let friendships be cast aside over some silly game.”

“What’s only a game, Padre?” I asked, turning my attention to Jeffrey. “The hand you’ve just been dealt, or the deal between you and Dottie?”

“What are you implying?” Jeffrey asked. “I have never had an improper moment with Dottie. Not one, not ever. And for you to even think something like that borders on madness.”

“If it wasn’t you, Padre,” I asked, “then who did have their moments with Dottie, improper or otherwise? Maybe it was you, Jerry. Dottie always did do a fast spin toward a man with money, and you have more than most. Or maybe you, Joe, Mr. Reebok himself. After all, how many games can one man go to without wanting to play in one of his very own? Of course, there’s always Adam, the good doctor and the one who once rushed in to rescue her in a time of need. What woman wouldn’t want to show how grateful she was for a second chance at an unfinished life? Or maybe it was the one obvious choice in the room. That would be you, Tony, the shrink with the black-book Rolodex. Dottie’s main complaint about me was that she talked but I never listened. And who better to listen and be receptive to her problems than someone like you? A man who has devoted his life to soothing and comforting women in need.”

“Is that what all this is about?” Joe asked. “You think one of us is having an affair with your wife?”

“You’re a fool, Ike!” Tony’s voice was crammed with pure hatred. “And you may live under the same ceilings as Dottie, but you don’t know the first thing about her, or you would know she is willing to do anything to help salvage the shambles you’ve made of your marriage.”

“You’re right about one thing, though,” Steve said. “We haven’t been square with you about our relationship with Dottie. We’ve all been seeing her, everyone sitting at this table. She insisted on it.”

“All of you?” I didn’t bother to mask either the shock or the surprise. “You’ve all been with her?”

“Yes,” Jeffrey said, “but not for the reason that’s currently racing through your mind. Her visits with us were not of a sexual nature.”

“Then what the hell were you seeing her for?” I shouted, pounding a closed right fist onto the table, knocking over Steve’s wineglass, the red liquid flowing over a stack of chips. “Why was she spending time with any of you? And if it all was on the up and up like you’re trying to sell me, then why didn’t she tell me about it?”