Ridley Pearson - The Art of Deception

So far, so good.

Prair turned off his route, down the hill toward the city, and pulled over in front of the Egyptian’s marquee, engine running.

He looked over at LaMoia, who could see the tension behind the man’s eyes belying his attempt at a cool demeanor. LaMoia found himself eyeing the passenger door handle. Prair said, “She and me … we got into it a little.”

LaMoia felt restless all of a sudden. Who was the one cornered, and who was the one planning to surprise? Prair was a burly fuck. LaMoia didn’t want to find himself tangling with him.

Prair continued, “She and me … well … let’s just say we’d had a cup of coffee together … and she was a pretty messed-up kid.”

“Are you telling me you were jumping Mary-Ann Walker?”

LaMoia asked, still trying to make it sound like a locker-room shower discussion.

“No, no,” Prair said, his confidence allowing a smarmy grin to occupy his face. “A fucking cup of joe is all.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Prair answered. “But I was interested, okay? And she was interested, I’m telling you. You, of all people, know what I’m talking about.”

“Sure I do.” LaMoia felt a little sick of himself.

“It happens to all of us on the job.”

“It does,” LaMoia said, trying to force a fraternal grin onto a face that felt slightly frozen.

“And all I’m saying … maybe I got a little carried away with this one. So sue me! She was a looker, sexy as all hell, and as vulnerable as they come, all this sobbing over this wife-beating bastard she was shacking up with. And me, I’m thinking I’ll come swinging on the vine through the window and catch her Dangerous Dan backhanding her, and I’m good for getting laid anytime I want it-am I right?”

“Right as rain,” LaMoia said, feeling the acid in his stomach.

“Exactly,” Prair said, finding a rhythm in the patter. “So what was I supposed to tell you guys-that I was using my lost time to loiter outside that turdball’s apartment that night, debating how to rescue a damsel in distress? How fucking sick does that make me look? But you see what I was thinking?”

“Sure I do.”

“My line of thought.”

“Clear as a bell.”

“She’s having problems with the guy; I take care of the guy.”

“Simple as pie,” LaMoia said. “Might have thought of it myself.”

“You pull these peaches over, and they spill their guts to you. I’m telling you. I mean, the honey pot is yours. One look in their eyes and you know the ones that are so high-strung they’re about to rip, the ones that like the uniform regardless who’s inside, the ones that are going to blow you off. You can tell, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“It’s like a fucking dating service.”

“So you were there that night,” LaMoia pressed, wondering how far he could push this. The thought occurred to him to escape from the car while he still had both legs, both arms. Then he saw that bloated body floating facedown in the black water, and he stayed put.

“I hung around out back, yeah. Fifteen, twenty minutes.”

“This is gospel?”

“Okay … truth told, I’d been there a couple nights before looking for an opening. I got a little hung up on this one.” Prair gripped the wheel tightly. The power steering mechanism under the hood cried out loudly if he moved the wheel even an inch.

Prair didn’t seem to hear this.

“If we’re gonna sort this out,” LaMoia said, “we gotta have all the cards.”

Prair nodded. He’d started the process-he knew there was a logical conclusion to it. “Okay, so that particular night, that Saturday night, I’m doing a drive-by as they’re coming back to his place.”

“What time is this?”

“Little after ten. I’m thinking, I’ll let her see the cruiser, catch up alongside them at a light. Surprised the shit out of her, I want to tell you. But at least she knew I was there now. She knew there was help available if she needed it. I hang out in the cruiser, the back of his place. Ten forty-five, maybe eleven o’clock, she climbs out onto the fire escape and lights up a cancer stick. I’m thinking she’s signaling me, right? So I get out of the car. I got my juices going-I’m thinking it’s show time.

But as I’m coming around the cruiser, all of a sudden she turns around up there, and I see she’s on the phone, the fucking phone! Then, like seconds later, I see this guy climbing the fire escape toward her, and now I got my piece out. Who the fuck is this? He’s got to have been hanging around just like I have.

Fuck if the creep doesn’t wave to her on his way up, and she waves back. He sits down a couple steps below her-like at crotch level, right? — and the two of them start chatting it up, and I’m out of there.”

“You saw this guy?”

“Saw how? Not like that. No fucking way. He’s a phantom is all. But me, I’m gone. The rendezvous she’s having ain’t with me, so I’m the fuck out of there. Just wanna make sure they don’t make the cruiser on the way out. And they don’t, so I’m good.” He paused. “Good until she’s found fucking bobbing for apples Tuesday night, and me, I’m right in the middle of it.” He faced LaMoia. “Can I pick ’em or what?”

LaMoia let some skepticism show. “That’s the way you want to call this?”

“That’s the way it went down, LaMoia. Swear to God. But think about it. What was I supposed to do? There was no way …

I mean, no way, I was going to detail any of this to you guys up there on that bridge. You fucking kidding me?” He mimicked himself. “ ‘Hey, by the way, LaMoia, I was scouting this peach the other night. Watching her smoke a cancer in her fucking panties on the fire escape.’ What the fuck is that about? Then, later, what was I supposed to say, ‘By the way, I may have forgotten to mention …’?”

“Wouldn’t have been too cool.”

“No shit. And these girls. I’m already down in the books on that. You know that. Something like this gets out …” He looked over at LaMoia, the pall of realization taking hold. “You understand, John,” use of the first name did not come easy for Prair, “this cannot get out.”

As the extent of his confession began to sink in, for Prair, LaMoia calculated the time needed to escape the front seat-the doors were power locked, necessitating several steps.

“I mean … in terms of helping you out … that’s been bugging me, sure it has. I’ve got a duty to help out, and I know my duty.” Prair was talking to himself now, and that bothered LaMoia all the more. “I should have said something early on, okay? I’m good with that. But you can see my side of it.”

“Of course I can.” It didn’t sound convincing, even to him.

“Something like this, and I’m done. I’m running a cash booth in a mall parking garage. Give me a fucking break.”

“There’s definitely room to work this right,” LaMoia said.

“You give anyone your source on this, and I’m fucked. You can see that, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” LaMoia said, “we’re good on that.”

“How good?”

“Let me get something straight,” LaMoia said. “You saw this other guy, the one on the fire escape, but not any kind of good look.”

“I got the hell out of there. I told you.” Prair paused, considering this. “You’re thinking it was the brother, this creep bothering Daphne.”

LaMoia said nothing. He didn’t like hearing Prair calling Matthews by her first name. He felt incredibly protective at that moment.

Prair said, “I’m good with saying I saw him, if that’s what you need, if that would help your present situation. If maybe you and I could do a little business here. Maybe you see clear to get around directly involving me in this.”