Jeff Lindsay - Dexter's Final Cut

And once again, as I had with Jackie, I found that I got a strange sense of enjoyment out of being an Insider, one of the Few, at the center of attention for all mere mortals who saw us. I began to wonder whether I had slipped a gear somewhere; surely there was some mistake. This was not appropriate for Our Dark Scout: gloating at the attention, smirking at the mob from inside the coveted Inner Circle, and soaking up reflected glow as if it were some kind of tonic. To be constantly gazed upon, to have every eye follow my every move, and worse, to like it-this was an impossible fantasy for the Thing that was Me. It was a lifestyle that would utterly shatter everything I was, everything I stood for. It was unthinkable. But apparently I liked it. I really liked it.

I thought about this as I watched Renny; he certainly enjoyed the attention-and yet I had seen what I had seen. Hadn’t I? If so, he had clearly found a way to live in the spotlight and still feed the beast. Could I do that, too? I thought about following Jackie around the world, every now and then slipping away for some quiet relaxation. And I had to wonder: Did they have duct tape in Cannes?

A trio of beaming, giggling fans interrupted; Renny insulted them while Robert signed autographs, and then Renny signed, too, and the three fans went away with their feet hardly touching the floor. I had just managed to contain my hurt feelings that they had barely looked at me, when I became aware that Robert was arguing that Renny’s Character on the Show, Crait, should have an ambivalent sexuality.

“Why you want me gay, mofo?” Renny said. “You looking for a date?”

“Not gay,” Robert insisted. “Ambivalent.”

“Ambi, shit,” Renny said. “So you want me to swing both ways? What the fuck for?”

“No, no, ambi, just-it’s like, we never really know -is he straight? Is he gay?” Robert said. “I mean, maybe we see him with some really hot chick.”

“More like it,” Renny said, nodding.

“And then there’s a party, and he shows up dressed as Carmen Miranda.” He glanced at me, frowned, then looked back at Renny. “Or, you know,” he added. “Diana Ross.”

“The fuck you say.”

“It’s so authentic , it’s- Don’t you see how powerful that could be?”

With the word “authentic,” coming on top of the Carmen Miranda reference, I suddenly realized what Robert was doing. When he’d said that he and Renny were just like me and Vince Masuoka, he hadn’t simply been making conversation. He had been stating a basic aesthetic principle. Just like he had learned to copy all my unconscious mannerisms, he wanted Renny to become Vince for the TV show. So that Art, if that’s what it was, literally did imitate Life.

I shook my head and tuned them out; so much for the Act of Creation.

After lunch we went back to the lab and I gave Renny his quickie forensics course, while Robert hopped around behind me and interrupted constantly to show how much he already knew. In all fairness, Renny seemed much brighter than Robert; he concentrated, asked very intelligent questions, and quickly picked up enough of the basics to fool the finest TV camera. Even so, I couldn’t quite shake the feeling of unease I got from wondering if I really had seen That Something behind Renny’s eyes, and if so, what he might do with it.

By quitting time, I was more than ready to escape into luxurious vigilance once more, and it was with a ludicrous sense of anticipation that I skipped away to Deborah’s lair to collect Jackie. I heard their voices before I saw them, but when I popped in with a cheery hello, they both fell abruptly silent and looked at me very seriously.

“I didn’t mean to be quite such a buzz-kill,” I said.

“No buzz here,” Deborah said, and Jackie shook her head.

“Well, then, what,” I said. “Did you give Anderson Patrick Bergmann’s name and photo?”

“Nope!” Jackie said happily.

“What? Why not?”

“Captain Matthews’s orders,” Debs said solemnly.

I blinked, and I admit that was the only thing I could think of, except to say “but,” so I did that, too. “But,” I said.

“I know, right?” Jackie said, still with what seemed to be far too much lighthearted levity.

“Um, okay,” I said. “Any particular reason?”

“Anderson totally blew off Detective Echeverria,” Debs said. “So his captain called Matthews and demanded an explanation, and now I am in the shit house.”

“You?” I said. “For what?”

“For interfering with Anderson’s investigation,” Debs said. “Which he doesn’t actually have.”

“And for luring Echeverria down here from New York,” Jackie said. “Apparently, it breaks the unwritten code.”

“Somebody should write that down,” I said.

“And so now,” Deborah said, with an ironic wave of her hands, “we have a free hand and we will catch this sick cocksucker and fuck ’em all.” She shrugged. “While I am being punished.”

“Bread and water in the stockade?” I said.

“Worse,” she said. “I have been officially notified to stay away from Anderson’s investigation-”

“Which includes,” Jackie butted in, very bubbly, “ not giving him any more leads, tips, or conjectures that might interfere with his casework.”

“Well, then,” I said. “That’s a perfect punishment.”

“And,” Deborah said, making a face, “I have to stay on as technical adviser to Jackie’s show during the whole shoot.” She gave me an ironic smile. “So do you.”

“Oh,” I said, wondering how I could possibly survive being around Robert for so long. I guess my face showed what I was thinking, because Jackie made a snorting noise.

“Guys,” Jackie said. “It’s not that bad. I mean, there’s really great food on the set, and it’s all free.”

“Great,” Deborah said. “I can eat doughnuts while the bodies pile up around Anderson.”

“Well, if there’s doughnuts,” I said.

Deborah shook her head. “And that’s all it takes to make you happy?”

“That-and the party going on down in the lab. It’s really very festive.”

“A festive forensics lab?” Jackie said, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. “That’s quite a trick.”

“One of the other actors arrived,” I said. “Renny Boudreaux?”

“Oh, God, he’s a scream,” Jackie said, shaking her head. She looked at Debs, who raised one eyebrow. “A terrific comedian. I mean, he’s a total dick, but a really funny one.”

Deborah snorted. “A funny dick,” she said. “Great concept,” and the two of them snickered like sorority sisters.

The Town Car was waiting for us at the front door. It was the same driver again, and I waved Jackie into the backseat, sliding in next to her on the other side. We rode in silence most of the way. Jackie looked out the window at the traffic, every now and then glancing at me. I glanced back, wondering what she was thinking, but she gave me no clue, except for an occasional small and weary smile. She was clearly far too busy thinking deep thoughts to make light conversation, so I let her think, and I drifted away into a mellow reverie of my own.

Just before we went up the on-ramp onto the expressway, a loud bang! sounded behind our car, and we both jumped several inches off the seat. I looked out the back window; a motorcycle had backfired as it wove its way along the white line between the far more ponderous cars. I gave Jackie a reassuring smile, and she sank back into her thoughtful silence.

At the intersection with the Dolphin Expressway traffic slowed to a crawl as everyone paused to look at an ivory-colored Jaguar pulled halfway onto the shoulder. A thick stream of smoke came out one window, and a very large man stood beside it, yelling at a thin, elegantly dressed woman. She puffed on a huge cigar and looked bored as the man shouted at her, the veins in his neck visibly bulging.