John Lescroart - The Vig

Hardy was now carefully watching them both. Ray just shook his head. Warren passed him the joint, continuing, "Everybody knew she didn't need the brace anymore. Putting it on her…" He spoke now to Hardy, explaining. "The whole thing started with the other guy, Rusty, because of the insurance, the accident, you know?" Then back to Weir. "It's too obvious, Ray. You need to be more subtle."

Hardy wondered if Warren thought Maxine's death was some kind of joke, some rehearsal for a scene. He'd seen her, dead and naked, neck brace and all, and there hadn't been anything sexy or funny about it. But he kept quiet.

"He didn't do it," Courtenay insisted. "Leave him alone, Warren."

"I was here all night," Ray said.

"You were not. I know because I was here all night. Sitting on the steps drinking a six-pack, waiting for you to come home."

Even in the dimness, Hardy could almost feel Weir's eyes shift. "Maybe I was asleep. I don't remember."

"How many people, you think, don't remember what they were doing the night their wife died?"

"Leave him alone, Warren."

"Well, I'm one of them," Ray said. "I just know I was here. I didn't go out. I told the police that."

"The police have got somebody else," Courtenay told Warren.

"They're dreaming, then," Warren said.

All this, almost friendly, casual in tone. Low-key, the joint going back and forth, Hardy listening, watching the three of them toss it around as though it were hypothetical. What got to Hardy, though, was the fact that Ray's wife, whom he supposedly loved even unto death, was hardly cold, was being cremated the next day, and Ray wasn't sad. Not at all.

He finally spoke up. "I know the guy they got, and they're not exactly dreaming."

Warren exhaled, into his theory now. "Yeah, well, Maxine dies, Ray isn't where he says he is, he puts a neck brace on her to tell his friends-"

"That's just bullshit, Warren." Warren waved it right off.

"-to tell his friends what he's done, what a mensch he is, for God's sake, so the message is out you don't fuck around with Ray Weir. Especially if you're his property."

Ray stood up, a little wobbly. "Everybody's going home," he said. The casual tone was gone.

Warren ignored him. "And to top things off, Ray now gets eighty-five grand insurance money all to himself to start financing his next film, which he already talked to me about."

"What are you trying to do, Warren? Get Ray arrested?"

"What?" Genuinely startled. "Who's going to arrest him?" Hardy, on his feet, found himself suddenly the center of attention. "Not me, gang. I'm a private citizen. Scout's honor."

"Shit," Ray said, "I've had enough of this. I'm tired."

"But you're getting eighty-five thousand dollars?" Hardy asked.

Ray shrugged. "It's no secret. Maxine's insurance." Warren and Courtenay were also up now. Hardy backed up a step and took in the trio. "If you're so sure," he said to Warren, "why don't you turn him in?"

Warren crossed over to Ray and draped an arm over his shoulders. He smiled. "One doesn't turn in one's friends. And Ray and I are friends. Now we're doing business too. You just like to have your partners be straight with you, that's all."

"I am being straight." It came out like a whine. Warren looked at Ray. "I love you, man, but you are not being straight with me."

Ray cast a pleading glance at Courtenay, who put her hands deep into her pockets and tossed her head. "Come on, Warren," she said. "Whatever it is, it's not Maxine. He's allowed to have some secrets."

"Yes, can't I have a little private life? A little love life?"

"Sure. If that's it. Why don't you just tell me?"

He looked at his shoes. "I'm not exactly proud of this, Warren, but okay, maybe you ought to know. We are partners… I heard you knocking out there. I, uh, I had someone with me. A woman."

Warren backed up a step. "So what's the problem? You couldn't tell me about having a woman over here? I know her?"

Ray shook his head. "She was like-" he stopped. "I paid for it."

Courtenay stepped in. "Ray felt guilty about it, Warren. Can't you understand that?"

"But he told you?"

"He got it off his chest."

Warren draped an arm over Ray. "What's to feel guilty about, man? We're friends. You can tell me."

Ray shrugged. "You know, with Maxine and all…"

Warren was matter of fact. "Hey, she left you, remember? You didn't know she was going to get killed that night."

"I know. But I'd been such a pain in the ass with you and Court about my broken heart and all. I just needed somebody."

"Hey, we all do, right? It's better than me thinking you killed somebody. I couldn't believe the police hadn't already picked you up."

"Well, I told the police. And Court. I just didn't want it spread around. Now I've really got to get some sleep, okay. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

Hardy still couldn't detect any warm air coming from the car's heater, and he only had another five blocks until he got to Frannie's. He wondered if luxury cars had heaters that came on hot. Then he supposed most people who bought convertible canvas-roofed four-wheel-drive vehicles, as he had done, didn't have heat on the top of their priority list. Ray Weir was lying. He hadn't told the police he had an alibi. To the contrary, in fact. So much so that if Louis Baker should somehow get himself clear, Ray Weir would pop up next on the Who Killed Rusty Ingraham hit parade. Especially with this new money angle. He had jealousy going for him as well as some significant monetary gain, to say nothing of his gun being the murder weapon. Warren had been right about his friend. Absent the alibi, Ray was a good call for the trigger.

And every bone in Hardy's body felt that the alibi was bogus. So Courtenay seemed to believe him. People tended to believe things that were confided to them, especially when, on the surface, at least, those things didn't speak too well for the confider. But for just that reason clever people -and Ray Weir was starting to look solid for that category -had been known to confide intimate lies.

An effective technique-and in this case it had gotten Courtenay to back up Ray. She was also predisposed, which helped. Hardy wondered if she'd pressed Ray at all about who he'd been with, where they had gone. He figured not. The fact that he had 'opened up' to her about it would have been enough for her. The details wouldn't have been important. Ray was feeling guilty about sleeping with someone else, betraying the object of his adoration, and on the very night of Maxine's death, as it turned out. He just had to bare his soul to someone, to his close friend Courtenay. It was haunting him, tearing him up. Oh yes.

Hardy parked across the street from Frannie's door and turned his front wheels into the hill to prevent runaway. He sat shivering, hands tucked under his armpits, wondering if Glitsky might start to care again if he found out about the $85,000 insurance money. It sure couldn't hurt to bring it to his attention…

But why? Why not be happy about Louis Baker being off the streets again? Wasn't that the goal? Shouldn't he just move back home and go back to bartending at the Shamrock on Tuesday and pick up his life where he'd left off and be grateful he'd survived?

Except what was he going to pick up? Frannie might have called this a "window in time," and maybe for her things could go back to being the same-he didn't really believe that. Frannie was in his life now in a far different way than she'd been before. And, of course, that had changed the space where Jane had been so carefully placed.

And what about old Diz himself? He'd always thought of himself as a pretty good citizen, a man of some principle, if not part of the solution then at least not part of the problem either.

But now, a little shake of the cart, and Diz the white knight is ready to give up Louis 'cause he's done some bad shit sometime? Maybe not what they're getting him for, but something. He wondered, not for the first time, how he'd feel if Baker hadn't been black.