Питер Робинсон: No Cure for Love

“Okay. No need to rub it in.”

“What I don’t understand is how an intelligent guy like you could fall for a bimbo like Nyreen. I’m sorry, Arvo, but I mean it.”

Arvo shook his head. “Whatever Nyreen might be, she’s not a bimbo. But how did it happen?” He shrugged. “Hormones, I guess. Lapse of judgement. I don’t know. If we could explain things like that, I suppose life would be a hell of a lot easier.”

Maria laughed and touched him lightly on the arm. “And maybe a lot more boring, too,” she added.

Arvo looked out past the neon Coors sign in the window, where the sun flashed on the windshields of the passing cars. The air-conditioner hummed and the atmosphere in the diner felt cool and clammy. He didn’t want to think or talk about Nyreen any more. Talking about her just made his guts knot up and his chest constrict. Made him feel stupid, too.

“Anyway,” Maria went on, maybe sensing Arvo’s mood shift, “it just goes to show you, doesn’t it?”

“Goes to show what?”

“You never can tell what might happen on a stake-out.”

Her eyes flashed with humor as she spoke, but she held Arvo’s gaze long enough to make him a little hot under the collar. Maybe the three-month hormonal freeze was coming to an end.

Before he could respond, the door opened and a young man in his mid-twenties walked in. Good-looking, in an Iowa farm-boy sort of way, he was about six-two, slim build, with hair the color of wheatfields in August, and he was wearing a navy blue suit that had seen better days. He also looked as if he had been drinking. His face was flushed, his eyes a little wild, and his brow was oily with sweat.

Sandi, in the middle of the floor with a tray full of mixed drinks for the birthday party, looked at Arvo and nodded vigorously. Arvo started to edge his way out of the booth.

Because they hadn’t been able to pinpoint where Chuck lived or worked, the idea was to get him out of the bar with a minimum of fuss and have a good talk, point out the error of his ways. Sometimes it worked with the simple obsessionals. But the best laid plans of mice and men...

Chuck glanced around nervously, saw Sandi and walked right over to her. While Arvo was still stuck between the table and the bench, Chuck pulled a gun from the inside pocket of his suit and pointed it at her head. It looked like a.38 revolver.

Sandi screamed and dropped the tray. Glasses shattered and booze splashed everywhere. The mingled smells of gin and bourbon filled the air. Everything became very quiet for maybe a couple of seconds while everyone in the place took in what was happening. Then the bar staff ducked down behind the counter, and the people in the birthday group screamed and dived under the tables.

Shit, thought Arvo. Whatever the rule book or the training courses said about situations like this didn’t seem to count when they really happened. All you could do was keep talking, keep calm and try not to get yourself killed.

Arvo slid out of the booth and walked very slowly over to Sandi. He knew that Maria was behind him, still sitting, covering him. If anything went wrong, he hoped she was a good shot. He prayed he wouldn’t have to find out.

Chuck flicked his eyes sideways at Arvo and licked his lips. “Stay there,” he said. “You stay right there or I’ll blow her brains out. I mean it.” He had the gun pointing at the side of Sandi’s head.

Sandi whimpered and shook. Arvo stood still and held his hands up. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll stay here. I’m not moving. But we’ve got to talk, Chuck.”

“What about? Who the fuck are you anyway? You her new boyfriend?”

“No, Chuck. I’m not her boyfriend.” Arvo told him who he was. As he spoke, he felt himself shift into what he called no time . He’d been there twice before: once during a hostage-taking in Detroit, and again during a domestic intervention, similar to this one, in Van Nuys. The first time, he had successfully talked the hostage-taker down; the second time, the ex-husband’s gun had jammed. It was no time because you had no time to do anything but talk. It was no time because time seemed suspended. And it was no time because that might be all the time you had left.

“A cop?” Chuck scowled at Sandi. “Bitch. I might have known.”

Arvo had to keep his attention, get his focus away from Sandi and calm him down. “Look, Chuck,” he said, hands spread in the open, “why don’t you put the gun away and we can talk?”

“What about?”

“Your problems. Whatever you want. Just put the gun down.”

Chuck laughed harshly. The gun wavered in his hand but remained pointed in the general direction of Sandi Gaines’s head. “You want to talk about my problems. Man, that’s a laugh. The minute I put this gun away you’ll have me on the floor and be beating the shit out of me like I was Rodney King.”

“That’s not true,” Arvo said softly, “and I think you know it. You’re smarter than that. Put the gun down, Chuck.”

Chuck licked his lips again. Again, his gun hand wavered, but he didn’t put the weapon down. He didn’t want to fire it, Arvo could tell, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.

“Ask her what my problems are,” Chuck said, glaring at Sandi. “Ask her why I’m here in this state, all to pieces. I can’t sleep because of her. I lie awake thinking about her all night. How much I want her. How much I love her. The black bitch. Black witch. She’s put a spell on me. What’s wrong, Sandi? White man’s meat not good enough for you, huh?”

He pushed the gun closer until the barrel was touching Sandi’s temple. She flinched. Sweat prickled on Arvo’s brow.

“Chuck,” he said as calmly as he could, “this isn’t helping matters at all. You don’t want to hurt anyone. I know that. You know that. But accidents happen. Give me the gun and we’ll sit down and talk like rational human beings, okay?” He held out his hand.

Chuck looked at the hand, then ignored it. “Rational?” he echoed. “She didn’t behave like a rational human being, did she? She never even gave me a chance. What is it, Sandi? They really do have bigger cocks, your own kind? That it? This not big enough for you?”

He fumbled at his fly with his free hand.

“There’s no need for this, Chuck,” said Arvo. “Come on, give me the gun. You’re making everyone nervous.”

“Let ’em sweat. I get no sleep because of this bitch. I get headaches. Here. This not good enough for you?” His dick hung limply out the front of his pants. “Why don’t you kiss it, bitch! Why don’t you go on your knees and kiss it.”

“Oh, God. Don’t kill me. Please!” Sandi wailed.

Chuck was crying now, passing his peak like a roller coaster on its way back home. Arvo figured if he could get through the next few seconds there might be a chance that they would all get out of the place alive.

“Come on, Chuck,” he said, holding out his hand. “We can talk about this. I know we can. You’re an intelligent man. You don’t want to hurt anyone. Give me the gun, Chuck.”

Chuck looked directly at Arvo for the first time, his face slick with sweat, tears flowing down his cheeks. Arvo held eye contact for what seemed like hours, aware only of the sound of the streamers fluttering in the draft, but at the end of that time, he knew he had him. The man was a habitual loser, just desperate, trying a little harder than usual to succeed at something, at anything .

“Ah, what the fuck,” he said finally, shoulders slumping. “It’s only a replica anyway.” He handed the gun to Arvo, put his dick away and zipped up his fly.

Arvo felt like smashing his stupid face in. Instead, he gritted his teeth and patted Chuck down. Though he was sure the man would hardly use a replica when he had a real gun in his pocket, it was best to be safe and follow routine procedure. He didn’t bother with cuffs. That could wait until a patrol car arrived. Chuck wasn’t going anywhere right now. He looked like a man who wanted to talk.