P. Parrish - The Little Death

Louis shook his head.

“Think of it this way,” Mel went on. “How would you feel if you were a cop-”

“I was a cop once, Mel.”

“I know, I know. Okay, you’re a cop, and you have to train a rookie. But the rookie disregards the rules, screws up protocol, has no respect for the badge, and is generally an asshole. How would you feel?”

“It’s not the same thing, Mel.”

“It is to Reggie.”

At that moment, Reggie reappeared. His face was red, like he had scrubbed it hard. He had a fresh tumbler of lemonade. He sat down in his chair, spotted his sunglasses on the patio floor, and scooped them up. He put them on and tilted his chin up toward Louis.

“What else do you need to know?” he said calmly.

“The police report said you and Durand got physical outside the restaurant,” Louis said. “What happened exactly? And don’t leave out any details.”

Reggie drew in deep breath. “I told Mark I didn’t care what he did to me, but I was not going to let him get away with trashing my reputation. He told me to go fuck myself and left. I followed him out.”

“And what happened?”

Reggie was silent.

“What did you say to him, Mr. Kent?” Louis asked.

“I wish you’d call me Reggie.”

“What did you say to him?”

Reggie glanced at Mel before he spoke. “I told him that all I had to do was whisper in the right ear, and he’d be dead in this town.”

“Dead?”

“I didn’t mean it literally,” Reggie said. “I meant that he would be a pariah. No more lunches, parties, or pretty watches. I told him that with one word from me, he would be escorted off the island and dropped off at the nearest Greyhound station.”

“Why did the cops come?” Mel asked.

Reggie looked miserable. “We argued, and he pushed me. So I pushed him back. I didn’t mean it, but I was so angry. I wasn’t trying to hurt him, but he was so drunk he just fell. He hit his hand on the sidewalk and broke the watch’s crystal. He lost it, just lost it, screaming at me about the watch and calling me ugly names.”

Louis remembered a detail from the police report. “There were people seated outside who heard you.”

“I suppose,” Reggie muttered. “And then the police came.”

“What did they do?” Louis asked.

Reggie shrugged. “They just told us to behave ourselves, and they left.”

“What happened to Durand?”

“I don’t know,” Reggie said. “The last I saw him, he was walking up Royal Poinciana.”

Louis glanced at Mel, who was spreading caviar on the last toast point. He wondered if Mel was thinking the same thing he was-that when Detective Barberry heard this whole story, he would be even more convinced of Kent’s guilt. If that was possible.

“We’re going to need the names of these women Durand was with,” Louis said.

“I don’t know who they are,” Reggie said. He gave an indignant tip of his chin. “Ironically, I would have been the first to know this sort of thing before. Gossip is currency in this town. But now-”

Before Louis could reply, a delicate ringing drifted from the house. Reggie perked up like an English pointer, then pushed his chair back.

“My phone,” Reggie said. “It hasn’t rung in days. Please excuse me.”

Louis watched Reggie until he disappeared, then leaned over toward Mel. Mel’s face was turned toward the salted breeze, his eyes closed.

“Mel, your friend is in deep shit here.”

“He didn’t do it.”

“The level of rage in this crime points to someone the victim knew,” Louis said. “Give me another theory that jibes with that kind of senseless torture.”

“A hate crime. Maybe Durand was still cruising the bars across the bridge.”

“Good news!”

Louis looked up. Reggie was walking toward them holding a white cordless phone. “That was Margery,” Reggie said, smiling broadly. “She wants me to take her to the ballet tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “Oh, dear, I have to get to the cleaner’s. My best tux is in there.”

Louis stood up. “Look, Mr. Kent, I think it might be better if you laid low for a while.”

“You don’t understand,” Reggie said. “This is Margery Leigh Cooper Laroche. You don’t say no to Margery. She’s one of the core people.”

“Core people?” Mel said.

Reggie’s face was lit with excitement. “I knew they’d rally around. I knew they’d help me. Margery must have put in a word. The dear, dear lady…”

“Reg, I think Louis is right,” Mel said. “I don’t think you should be going out right now.”

Reggie ignored him, gathering up the plates and silverware. “I know this is very rude, and I know we have things to talk about, but you’ll have to excuse me. I have a million things to do.”

He stopped suddenly, turning to Mel.

“Wait, wait!” he said. “I just had the best idea. Do you have a tux?”

“What?” Mel croaked.

“A tux, do you-?” Reggie frowned slightly. “No, no, of course you don’t. What am I thinking.” He set the plates down. “We’ll have to find a rental. Horrifying, I know, but I think there’s a place-”

“Reggie, what the hell are you talking about?” Mel asked.

Reggie stared at them. “Well, you’re coming to the ballet with me, of course.”

Louis laughed.

“And you,” Reggie said. “You have to come, too.”

“Get serious.” Louis was still laughing.

Reggie’s expression had gone slack. “I’m quite serious,” he said. “As you keep telling me, my life is at stake here. If anyone knows the women Mark was sleeping with, Margery does. And if you’re ever going to get any doors to open for you in this town, Margery is the key.” He paused. “Now, do you want to meet her or not?”

Louis looked back at Mel, who had taken out the Zippo and was lighting up one of Reggie’s Gauloises.

“Looks like we’re going to the ballet, Rocky,” he said.

Louis thought it was damned ironic that they had to go to West Palm Beach to rent tuxedos. But as Reggie pointed out, every man who lived on the island owned his own formal wear.

“Renting a tux is like…” Reggie curled his lip. “It’s like wearing bowling shoes. You don’t know who has done what in them before you.”

They were in Reggie’s living room, sharing a quick glass of wine before they left for the ballet. Mel was sitting down, one patent-leather shoe propped on a knee, long arm draped over the back of the sofa. He looked like the rented tux had been custom-made for him.

Louis turned and caught sight of himself in a mirror. He, on the other hand, looked like he was going to a prom.

He felt Reggie staring at him.

“What?” Louis snapped.

“That tie. You can’t go out wearing that tie.”

“Why not?”

“Didn’t they have one that wasn’t a hook kind?”

“What do you mean?”

“One that ties, like the kind Mel has on.”

Louis looked at Mel, who just shrugged.

“You said it had to be black. This was the only black one they had left,” Louis said through gritted teeth.

Reggie sighed. “I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared into a bedroom. Louis looked at Mel. “You start up again, and I will deck you, I swear.”

“I didn’t say a thing,” Mel said. “I think you look swell.”

Reggie returned with a tie. “Here, but make sure I get it back.”

Louis took it but didn’t move. The tie dangled like a dead snake in his hand.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know how to tie a bow tie,” Reggie said.

“No, I don’t know how to tie a fucking bow tie.”

Reggie snatched the tie from Louis. Before Louis could react, Reggie reached up, unhooked the rental tie, and flung it to the sofa. He wrapped the black silk around Louis’s neck and started to fumble with the ends.