Билл Пронзини - In an Evil Time

Pierce ruffled his hair, something he didn’t like adults to do, and asked, “How’s it going, sport?”

“Okay,” Kenny said. Then he said, “Are you really my dad?”

Pierce’s smile sagged; his answer sounded defensive. “Sure I am. You know that.”

“Then why don’t you live with us? Why’d you stay away so long? Why aren’t you going away with us?”

Cassie fielded that, saying, “Kenny, how about showing your father how good you are at Pokémon. Your mom’ll go along, too.”

Angela took the hint and the three of them went out, Pierce rubbing shoulders with her and holding the boy’s hand — as if for him the past eighteen months had been wiped off the slate and they were a family again. Watching them, Hollis wished he’d poured Scotch for himself after all. Mannix didn’t like it, either. He drained his glass and got to his feet.

Cassie said, “You’re not leaving already, Gabe?”

“Things to do. No rest for the wicked.”

“Go in and say good-bye to Angela before you go.”

“I already said my good-byes.”

He pecked Cassie on the cheek, glanced at Hollis as he turned. The look said he wanted to talk. Hollis followed him to the door, out onto the porch.

As soon as they were alone: “What’s that little prick doing here, Jack? When did he come crawling back?”

“A few days ago.”

“You should’ve warned me.”

“I know. Just not tracking like I should.”

“Well, what the hell is he sucking around for?”

Hollis gave a terse explanation.

“Changed?” Gabe said. “Him? Bullshit.”

“Angela seems to be buying it.”

“Yeah, I noticed. Looks to me like he’s trying to worm his way back with her. You don’t think she’s naive enough to let it happen?”

“She isn’t naive. She’s scared.”

“Meaning she might?”

“Meaning I don’t know. Cassie thinks she’s still in love with him.”

“Christ! After all this time?”

“I don’t want to believe it, either.”

“You can’t let her get involved with him again.”

“What do you want me to do, spank it out of her? It’s her life, Gabe. Her choices.”

“Damn poor choices when it comes to men,” Mannix said. “First Pierce, then Rakubian, now Pierce again. Did she tell him where she’s going?”

“She’s not telling anyone the exact location, including Cassie and me.”

“Suppose he follows her?”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“He showed up here, didn’t he.”

“She’ll take precautions. She won’t allow anything to jeopardize the relocation.”

“I hope you’re right. Little pissant. The way he treated her and the boy...”

“Get off Pierce, will you?” Hollis said. “He’s not the main problem here.”

Mannix ran a hand over his face, worked his mouth as if he were tasting something sour. “Yeah, Rakubian. What’re you going to do about him?”

Hollis said carefully, “If I had the answer to that I’d’ve done it long ago.”

“You’ve got the answer. You just won’t face up to it.”

“Get off that, too, all right?”

Mannix looked at him for several seconds, his expression unreadable. Then he shrugged and said, “All right. I’ll be around if you want to talk some more. Right now I need another hair of the dog. Hell, the way I feel I may try to swallow the whole frigging pelt.”

Monday

He kissed his daughter and grandson good-bye a little before seven-thirty. She was anxious to get on the road early, drive as far as Winnemucca today so she could get to Salt Lake City tomorrow night. Dark smudges under her eyes, twitchy movements, her gaze darting to the street the entire time he and Eric were helping load her car as though she half expected Rakubian to come roaring up in his BMW. Eric wasn’t in much better shape today. Withdrawn, mostly silent. Conscience working on him, too, Hollis thought.

The good-byes were brief and awkward. Quick kisses that were little more than pecks, even Kenny’s. Eric’s hand dry in his, and the contact broken in an instant. Thin smiles, hurried promises, halfhearted reassurances. Angela and Eric left together, a two-car procession with her in the lead; he would follow her all the way to Highway 80, to make certain she had no pursuit. It twisted Hollis again to know that there was no need for any of this and yet he was powerless to stop it.

He stood with Cassie in the driveway, her arm tight around his waist, watching both cars pass from sight, and for some time after they were gone. When he felt her looking at him he made eye contact.

She said, “I feel a little lost right now. You know what I mean?”

He knew, all right. He felt that way himself.

All that morning, working at his drafting board, he was on tenterhooks. Had he overlooked anything at the Chesterton site to make Pete Dulac’s crew suspicious? He was unable to conjure up a clear image of the way the excavation looked when he’d finished cleaning up. Saturday had begun to recede in his memory, the details to blur, as if he’d been an observer rather than a participant — like with a movie he’d seen, or one of those queer omniscient dreams in which you stand apart and watch yourself doing things that make little or no sense.

Every time the phone rang he paused to listen to Gloria’s end of the conversation, imaginary dialogue running on a loop inside his head: “Oh, yes, Pete, he’s right here” and “Jack, Jesus, we found a body up here, somebody got in over the weekend and buried a dead guy in Chesterton’s wine cellar.” It didn’t happen. None of the calls were from Dulac or anyone else connected with PAD Construction.

His tension was obvious to Gloria, but she took it to be a reaction to the kids’ departure; she left him alone and took care of most of the callers herself. Mannix wandered in at ten-thirty, looking even more hungover than yesterday. He had little to say, worked less than an hour, and wandered out again before noon.

Hollis insisted on staying in between twelve and one. To give Gloria a chance for a restaurant meal instead of her usual brown-bag lunch, he said, but the real reason was that he could not have choked down a bite of food without gagging. The phone didn’t ring at all during that hour. He should have begun to relax by then; perversely, the waiting and the uncertainty increased the strain. By the time Gloria returned, he’d had as much as he could stand. He went into his cubicle and called Pete Dulac’s cell phone number.

“Jack Hollis, Pete. How’s it going?”

“Same as last Thursday,” Dulac said shortly. “On schedule.”

“Well, I just wanted to tell you Chesterton was pleased. Nothing but good things to say about you and your crew.”

“I’d be damn surprised if he’d had any complaints.”

“He particularly liked the way the wine cellar looked.”

“Yeah, well, rich people and their priorities. Listen, Jack, I’m glad about Chesterton, but I’m busy as hell here. They’re pouring the slab right now.”

“You mean in the wine cellar?”

“That’s what I mean. Anything else you wanted?”

“No,” Hollis said. “No, nothing else.”

He sat slumped in his chair. The release of tension made him feel light-headed, as if he were melting inside. Pouring the slab right now: sealing Rakubian in his grave. The murder weapon, the bloody carpet, the body with its shattered skull... all hidden where no one could ever find them, under two feet of solid concrete. Eric was safe. Angela, Kenny, Eric — all safe.

Not himself, though, not yet. Still wriggling on the hook. He wondered how long it would be before Rakubian was reported missing and the San Francisco police got around to him.