Adrian McKinty - Hidden River

“How soon did he get there after I left?” I whispered.

“About an hour, it was close,” she said.

“Jesus,” I said. “But everything was ok?”

“No, I don’t feel well at all. After you left, I threw up. Revolting,” Amber said.

“Maybe the whisky,” I said, but of course I knew it was the heroin. That was a dumb move on my part, I was lucky I didn’t give her a bloody heart attack.

“Alexander, I don’t know what to think about last night,” she said softly.

“I know, I know,” I said stupidly.

“It’s confusing. I, I think, perhaps, we shouldn’t try to see each other again for a while,” she said.

I looked at her. She was so beautiful and at a loss. I was surprised. I thought she was going to say either “Alexander, I need to talk to you” or “Alexander, this was a terrible mistake” or “Alexander, I can’t see you again.” But not confusion. That was unexpected.

“Do you want to see me again?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“I had a wonderful time,” I said, perplexed.

“Me, too,” she said, and smiled so sweetly that it made my dick skip a beat. Was I falling in love with her?

“And you hid everything? And he has no idea?” I asked.

“No idea, he was talking all about his speech, all about himself,” she said.

“Good,” I said.

She touched my hand. This, I saw, would be one of those moments I would always remember. Robert, Abe, Charles, fifteen feet from me. Charles’s wife touching the back of my hand. Five people in this room. Charles laughing. Amber looking at me with sadness in her eyes. What was betrayed on my face? What emotions was I revealing? Could she read me like I was supposedly reading her?

Aye, the moment.

The room. Denver out the window. The Rocky Mountains. The rest of the great North American continent curving away to the horizon.

Amber.

Amber’s husband. Victoria Patawasti’s killer. With those hands. With that fingertip he squeezed the trigger. With that laughing face. Standing there, grim, in Victoria’s apartment. Standing there. Perhaps admiring his handiwork or perhaps recoiling at the horror of it. Stepping back, remembering to drop the driving license, walking out, closing the door, taking the elevator, holding on to the gun. Amber, the devoted wife saving the day. Drop it in the nearest river. Cherry Creek. Drop it. Get rid of it.

Amber. Her lips parted slightly. Breathing out. Her finger on the back of my hand. If time could freeze then we all survive and the bad things don’t happen and it doesn’t get worse. But time can’t freeze….

Amber lifted her finger from the back of my hand, leaned back. Charles was looking at us.

“What are you two conspiring about over there?” he asked, grinning.

“Maybe it’s going to rain. Make a change. Be nice, be like real Irish weather,” I said, meteorology always a good fallback.

“When we were in Dublin it didn’t rain at all, did it, Robert?”

“It did not,” Robert agreed. “We c-could do with a good downpour here, forty days and forty nights, if we’re lucky. They haven’t let me water m-my lawn since March of last year.”

Amber turned away from the window and walked back to the others.

“I’m very proud of you, darling,” she said to Charles.

“Maybe we’ll all get to go to the next conference, or even the convention in San Diego,” Abe said, getting between Charles and her.

“It’s possible,” she said, examining the tabletop like it was the Risk map of the world and she was in trouble in Central Asia. She couldn’t look at him. I walked over and joined the merry group.

Charles finished his conversation with Abe, put his arms around his wife, and lifted her up in the air.

“I was really something, honey,” he said.

“I’m sure you were,” she said, laughing.

“No, really, they were terribly impressed, not just with the speech but the handouts, the whole package. I do believe we are on a roll,” Charles said.

“That’s wonderful, darling,” Amber said, and kissed him on the lips. He kissed her back and I decided to fade into the background. I had never seen Amber kiss Charles in the office before. Not in front of everyone. Perhaps she was just happy for him, perhaps it was because of me. I wanted to deck the bastard. The girl killer. And his accomplice.

“It’s all thanks to you, darling,” Charles was saying.

“No, darling, it’s you, all your hard work,” Amber said.

“I love you,” Charles said.

“And I love you, darling,” Amber said as I finally made it out the conference room door. I was seething. I wanted to get away from everyone. In the main office, Robert had found a cigar clipper and was offering it to anyone who wanted to use it. Abe and he were smoking provocatively under the No Smoking sign. I went to the bathroom, filled the sink, dunked my head, held it there longer than was strictly necessary.

A long, boring day stuffing envelopes.

That night we drove all the way down to Colorado Springs again. Robert, Abe, and Steve West taking the vans, both Charles and Amber staying home. Amber still not feeling well. Robert bossing us about. Like a lot of weak people, Robert was a bit of a bully.

When I’d got enough memberships, I went to look for Robert. I had a couple of things I wanted to ask him. He was glad to see me, he wasn’t making much headway.

“I’m done, Robert, I did every house twice, got fifteen members, I thought I’d keep someone company, you’re the first one I’ve found,” I said.

“Fifteen members, good job, very good job. Charles w-will be pleased,” Robert said.

I hung out and did some of his doors for him. In between we talked about the woeful state of his garden and how well CAW was doing. Finally, I got him off the environment and onto the topic of crime. Two or three questions in, I asked the lead.

“You know, I worry about some of the girls or someone like Amber out on her own, going door to door, you never know who could answer, once when I knocked someone came to the door with a loaded gun. Or there’s vicious dogs. Shouldn’t she have some protection?”

“Amber? Oh, don’t worry about her, she can look after herself. She’s a b-brown belt in one of those martial arts.”

“Yeah, well, not if the guy has a gun. The guy who hassled me the other night. He thought he was James Bond, he was carrying a Walther PPK.”

“Oh, well, I know Charles gave Amber a p-pistol when she moved to Colorado, the gun laws are very liberal here, not like Boston, both Charles and m-myself own rifles, although neither of us were any good. Papa tried to take us hunting once, dreadful, we both cried. They drummed us out of the ROTC, you know—”

“Yeah, so you said. So Amber carries a pistol?”

“I don’t know if she carries it, she should, a.22-caliber revolver.”

“She owns a.22?”

“Oh, yes. Charles had it handmade in Italy. Gold inlay. Work of art, really. His and her initials. Beretta, I think. Anyway, I d-don’t know much about that; Charles and I both learned how to shoot rifles. Totally different thing. We’re both NRA members, have to be if you’re going to run with the big boys in the GOP. Keep that under your h-hat, by the way, August sixth, Alex. Just a few weeks away, hush hush.”

I smiled, talked about the NRA and hunting, changed the subject back to the weather….

So had Charles killed Victoria with Amber’s.22? Had Amber told him to toss it in the nearest river — Cherry Creek? If so, by now it was nudged halfway down the goddamn Mississippi River for all I bloody knew.

I chatted with Robert about politics and CAW and other things, but he was done with his revelations.

We met the others, stopped for pizza, drove the long ride home.