Chuck Logan - After the Rain

“The Volvo from central casting,” Broker said.

“Nina again. We found the car and staked it out, then practically mugged this walking liberal cliche near Macalester College in St. Paul. A serious feminist type, you know-got a housekeeper, nanny, personal trainer…But she took a pile of money for the car.” Jane dropped her eyes, looked up, almost catty. “Outfitting Nina at Victoria’s Secret, however, was my idea.”

“Oh Christ,” Broker said.

Jane shrugged. “This great pair of cargo harem pants and this really foxy rib tank. She’s way past being cute, but, hey, she can still look pretty damn raunchy if you put a few shots of booze into her.”

“Thanks for sharing that,” Broker said.

“You’re welcome.”

“So. That’s what’s happening,” Holly said. “We didn’t coordinate any of this with the FBI or Homeland Security. We don’t have time for them to hold a committee meeting and put it tenth on the agenda behind their budget requests. As the old Rum Dum himself is fond of saying, ‘We are leaning way forward.’ ” There was a definite edge of sarcasm in Holly’s voice.

“Shit,” Broker said.

Holly and Jane stared at him. Holly cocked his left wrist in a reflex gesture, checking his watch; but he wasn’t wearing a watch, and to Broker the mannerism had a chilling operational feel that brought back a lot of bad memories. Basically, he felt like a prong they wanted to plug into their socket, use one time, and throw away.

“Shit,” he repeated. Then, “Okay. What exactly do you want me to do?”

Nothing happened the way she expected. She woke after ten straight hours of unmolested sleep to the soft buss of sunlight on her cheek. A bare trace of buttery warmth managed to squeeze between the clouds, leaked through the window and teased across her face. She opened her eyes and saw the brief flicker on a faded poster curled on the wall. Roger Maris, the old Yankee hitter. Then it went back to shadow.

She smelled fresh coffee.

She’d got out of bed and tiptoed to the door, very carefully eased open the knob, and looked into the living room. He was sitting at his desk, his back to her. Already dressed. Then he turned slightly and she saw he was holding a pistol in his hand.

Oh boy.

But he quickly put the pistol in the drawer and shut it. He’d got up, went to the kitchenette, and returned holding two cups of coffee.

“I don’t know how you take it, so I got one of each: black or with half-and-half. You need an Alka-Seltzer?”

“The black’s mine, and I’ll pass on the seltzer,” Nina said.

“No hangover?”

“Just a little tired.”

“You slept in. It’s almost noon. Here, this’ll help.” He handed her the coffee and she took a sip. Her facial expression showed her approval.

“I order it special from a place in Bismarck. Use that plunger-dealie. Seems to work pretty good,” he said.

Some of the strangeness had worn off. They knew each other a little now.

“I’m going to make some breakfast. Bacon and eggs all right or are you a granola person?”

“Over easy,” Nina said.

She took her time in the bathroom. Enjoying the hot water, the shampoo and conditioner, using his razor to shave her legs. She inspected the contents of the cabinet over the sink: maybe a little more aspirin and Alka-Seltzer than usual, but nothing prescription or illegal.

She dried off, finger fluffed her hair, and decided to skip the makeup. She stared at yesterday’s clothes as the smell of frying bacon drifted in the humid air. She decided to put the peekaboo T-shirt back on along with the change of underwear she carried in her purse. Then she inspected herself in the steamy mirror, twirled.

Five more good years, he’d said.

Get serious, you’re working, she reminded herself and went out the door.

Breakfast was eggs, bacon, cottage fries, and toast. He apologized: he was out of orange juice.

They sat at the small table in the kitchen nook. Downstairs they heard the door open, the heavy scuff of shoes.

“Gordy,” Ace said.

“You and him seem pretty different,” Nina said. “You know what he reminds me of? That movie, The Time Machine -those guys who lived underground, the Morlocks.”

Ace smiled at the reference and said, “You know, I seen that movie, they were cannibals.” Then he shrugged. “Gordy’s not exactly a walk in the park, but he ain’t as bad as he’d like to be. He came with the territory. My dad hired him to run the bar. He went to school same class as my brother. Works like hell.”

“So bar manager isn’t your regular business?”

“Big iron.”

“Come again?”

“I drove heavy machinery for Fuller Construction-crawlers, dozers mainly, belly loaders,” he said. “You name it, I ran it. Now Fuller’s gone, like my dad.”

Nina looked around. “I just thought…all these books?”

Ace smiled dryly. “Nina, this might come as a shock, but all the smart people don’t necessarily go to college.”

She frowned and ducked her head in mock fright.

He laughed and cleared away the plates, topped off the coffee, then sat back down and lit a Camel. “So,” he said, “what are we gonna do with you?”

She peered into her coffee cup. “By now Jane’s probably called my old man. Or that cop has, so he’ll be coming to pick up Kit.” She set down the cup and raised her hand, fingers spread as if holding off an invisible oncoming weight. “Once he gets here, I’ll have to talk to him.”

“What’s he like, your husband?”

Nina didn’t have to fake a word. It came out straight and honest and she wasn’t planning to hold Ace’s eyes so directly when she said it but she did: “Hard to read. Sorta like you. Lives mostly below the surface.”

“All things being equal, if he’d a met you like I did yesterday, coming off some bad rebound scene, and you half-tanked, would he have…ah?”

“Taken advantage of me?”

“Yeah.” “Probably not. He told me something once. About barroom attractions. Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but, he said when something comes at you out of nowhere, it’s probably not attraction. Probably it’s more a question of propulsion.”

Ace made a soft reeling motion with his finger, asking for more.

Nina shrugged. “He’s a good dad.”

Ace repeated the reeling motion. Wanting more.

Nina pursed her lips, then bit down hard on the words, not having to fake this one either. “Just that the fucker thinks he can tell me what to do!”

Ace leaned back respectfully. “I get the message. We’ll take it one day at a time.”

Nina stood up. “I’ll do the dishes.”

He cocked his head and studied her. “No you won’t. I can tell. It just ain’t your thing.”

Perceptive, she thought. So she didn’t argue and went for her purse to get her cigarettes. She paced back and forth, smoking while he did the breakfast chores.

This wasn’t the way it was suppose to go, was it?

She was starting to like the guy.

Nina excused herself to use the bathroom, and when she shut the door she heard Ace go down the stairs. As she was finishing up, she became aware that she could overhear voices; Ace and Gordy talking in the office. Stooping and listening carefully, she soon figured out that the water pipes under the sink ran down through a hole in the tile and floor joists. The hole was masked off with a piece of plywood, split to fit around the pipes. She knelt down, removed the plywood, and put her ear to the pipe.

“So, did you get any?” Gordy said.

“Oh yeah, went all night. Whips, chains, she tied me up and slapped peanut butter in the crack of my ass. It was wonderful.”