Randy White - Black Widow

I hadn’t used the fishbilly in a long time. I was eager to use it now.

My house had been ransacked. Books, drawers, clothes were scattered. Maybe he’d done the same in the lab-I hadn’t looked yet. Just the thought of it made my stomach turn, but I had to check the main house first. It was because of the smell.

Kerosene.

It had spilled somewhere. A lot of it. When you live in a house built of yellow pine-pine so dense with resin you can’t drive a nail-the smell of flammable liquids registers like an alarm. That’s why I’d rushed up the stairs instead of taking it slow, using my night vision to surprise the guy. I’d followed my nose, moving incrementally faster as the smell grew stronger.

The petroleum stink had brought me here, to the kitchen, where the pilot light of my propane stove glittered like a sparkler. Not much risk of an explosion, but dangerous. On the counter was a kerosene can on its side, top off, near a heap of towels. The pine floor was stained black.

I had to shove the reading chair out of the way to get into the kitchen where I stood for a moment, alert. There was a rustling sound, then a metallic clack. The lights came on, compressors started, ceiling fans began to rotate overhead. My telephone answering machine came on, too, its message light blinking rapid-fire. Lots and lots of messages-unusual.

I focused on the utility closet as a man stepped out, holding a gun. Not one of mine-a shiny little derringer, so small that maybe it was a lighter instead.

"you’re him, right? Ford. The one the girls call ’Doc.’ ”

I’d taken off the monocular and was adjusting my glasses, looking at a man, late twenties, short, with bulked-up chest and forearms. He was wearing sweatpants and a crew-neck T, but expensive. A guy who spent time in malls, and in front of the mirror.

It was Corey’s husband. I’d seen photos.

He’d been a firefighter, I remembered, before he was canned for misconduct. Something about making a scene, losing his temper. One steroid drama too many. But I was blanking on his name. Last name was Varigono, but his first name was… Vince? Lance?

I said, “That’s right, Ford. The one who’s going to introduce you to the cops in a few minutes, then testify in court before they put you in jail for ten years.”

“No way. Even if you suspected, you wouldn’t call the cops. Shay told us about you.” He was trying to be cool, but his face was twitching as he crossed the room toward the stove. “You never call the cops, ever, because you can’t. It’s because of what you do. Some kind of illegal shit-Shay never figured it out.”

A strange time for personal revelation, but there it was: My travels created suspicion. The mysterious biologist, Shay often called me, as if kidding. But she’d meant it. I was expert at evasion, so she’d turned to outsiders to discuss it, a natural reaction. So why did I feel surprised- and betrayed?

Whatever she’d told the guy about me, though, had scared him. I could see it in his face, the way he moved. This was the cocktail party brawler? Yell “boo,” he’d make a puddle on the floor. But he was also crazy enough to break into my house, trash the place, then wait with a gun because he couldn’t find the video.

The video-there could be no other reason he was here.

And he was right. I had not called the police.

“What’s the problem… Vance?”

“Drop that fucking club for starters.”

“No, not until we talk.”

“How ’bout I shoot you in the knee? Maybe then you’ll take me serious.” He extended the derringer, aiming.

I held my hand out, stop, and turned sideways-not the brave image I wanted to maintain, but the response is involuntary when someone points a gun near your nuts.

I said, “You don’t want to shoot me, Vance. I don’t want you to shoot me. That’s serious jail time, and you’ve got a wife to think about. So let’s discuss-”

“Don’t mention that bitch! She’s done nothing but lie since she got back from that goddamn island. It’s her fault I have to do this.” He stepped closer. “And you’re helping them, motherfucker! Corey and those whores she calls her friends. You screwed with the wrong dude, man! Shay says you’ve been into some shit? Well, I’ve been into real shit, so you’d better listen!”

Now he was pointing the gun at my chest, leaning toward me, his expression crazed-but crazy as portrayed by TV mobsters: eyes wide, not glazed, screaming his lines not because he’d snapped, but because he was scared.

I knew it then-he wouldn’t shoot. Not if I gave him a way out. The phony berserker is a bullying technique. It’s used to dodge fights, and intimidate those naive enough to fall for the act. Vance had the act down. He was a coward, and he wanted out. But who told him that I’d helped Shay? How much did he know?

“Give me the video, or I’ll splatter you all over the wall. I mean it! I want to see who my wife was fucking.”

I said, “Video? I don’t even own a TV, pal.”

“Don’t play dumb. I know it’s here. Shay-shay didn’t tell you?” He had a nervous, staccato laugh. “The girls got another e-mail tonight. Their island boyfriend kept a copy, and now he wants the rest of his money. If I’ve got to pay the puke, I should at least be able to see if Corey got her money’s worth.”

I stared at Varigono for long seconds, the smell of kerosene strong around me, aware of the stove’s pilot light, concerned about what this jerk had destroyed next door. Finally, I turned my back to him, saying, “The only thing I’ll give you is five minutes to get out. Your wife is Shay’s friend-that’s the only reason.”

As Varigono hollered for me to stop, I tossed the axe handle aside, walking toward the door, hoping I was right about him, but tense, now hearing real craziness in his voice at the mention of Corey, thinking maybe, just maybe, he could do it.

“Why are you covering for them, man? You’re a guy, you can’t understand? She’s my wife! It’s my right! Hey… hey! I’m talking to you, motherfucker!”

I was walking out the screen door, ignoring him until I heard the ignition pop of the propane stove. That made me stop. I turned.

Oh no…

Along with the derringer, Varigono was now holding a torch made from papers he’d twisted into a cone. I watched it blaze when he held it to the burner, the expression on his face changing from crazed to triumphant.

“Yeah… that’s better. So finally, I got your attention. Shay told me that about you, too-how much you like this old shack and your little pet fishes. That you’re a fucking weirdo with your microscopes and books.”

Shay, I was learning, did not always speak in glowing terms about her godfather.

Vance said, “You know the difference between arson and an accident? Don’t worry, ’cause I do.” He used the gun to indicate the mess he’d created. “You and me got into a fight, and this place is a fire trap. That’s what the investigators will decide.”

I said, “Your word against mine? They canned you for a reason. You don’t think they’ll check the files?”

“I’ll risk it.” He extended the torch, threatening to light towels next to the stove. “I’d rather burn the place down than let you and your weirdo buddies sit around and watch Corey naked, fucking some stranger. I know it’s here someplace. So, last chance. Where!”

Enough. I walked toward him, an unconscious reaction. “Vance, the only person your wife fucked was herself when she married you.” The adrenal chill was pumping. Why the hell had I dropped the axe handle?

He held torch flames to the towels. “I’ll do it.”

“Then do it.”

“I’ll shoot you, motherfucker!” He leveled the tiny pistol at my chest.