Russell Andrews - Hades

Justin asked if she believed them-was Ellis really in some kind of family situation?-and she frowned and said, "Sure. I mean, I guess so. Why would they lie? And I'm just so relieved he's okay. I was really worried." But Belinda obviously wasn't too worried right now, because she immediately brightened up and said they told her that because she was handling the situation so well the R amp; W powers that be decided to accelerate her bonus for the year. She leaned farther forward-one nipple was almost completely out of her dress now-and told him that they'd given her a check for fifty thousand dollars. Justin told her he was impressed and said that she deserved it. He asked her how Evan's cats were, and was she still feeding them, and she was impressed that he remembered about the cats. He said he loved cats and even remembered their names: Binky and Esther. Belinda's eyes softened, and he saw her melt a little bit at the thought that he'd been paying such close attention to her when they'd first met. She said she guessed the cats were fine but she hardly ever saw them-one of them never came out when she was there-but she was feeding them before and after work. It wasn't too difficult because she lived on Second Avenue and Twenty-third Street and Ellis lived on Gramercy Park, so she could feed them when she went to and from the office.

The evasiveness she showed in their first meeting had completely disappeared, and she was more than willing to gab. Ellis was a strange one, she explained. He was very good-looking but very insecure about his appeal. He was gay but uncomfortable with his sexuality. She thought he was the kind of person who didn't really like sex-he liked to be in love. She made it very clear that she was quite different from her boss-Belinda Lambert liked love and sex. Justin gently probed her relationship with Ellis, and, as he suspected, she was intimately acquainted with a lot of the details of his life. He was very dependent on her. And he trusted her. But there was no one he liked and trusted more than Evan Harmon. Belinda looked like she might cry at the mention of Evan's name and when Justin asked why, she said it was because Mr. Harmon treated Ellis so poorly. What did that mean? Justin wanted to know. "Oh," she said, "he just wasn't nice to him. Evan knew that Ellis worshiped him-he really, really worshiped him. It was almost weird."

"Weird how?" Justin asked.

"Is this getting too boring for you?" she asked, her words coming out slurred. "I mean, here I am going on and on about my boss and you haven't told me anything about you."

Justin shook his head. "Not much to tell," he said modestly. "You're much more interesting."

"Liar," she said. "But such a sweet liar."

"Tell me more about Evan and Ellis. I'm really interested."

"Ellis used to stare at him whenever I saw them together. I mean, just stare at him, like he was some kind of god or something. And Mr. Harmon, he'd just kind of use Ellis. You know, get him to do his errands. And then every sho offern-every… so… often, he'd throw Ellis a bone."

"What kind of bone?"

"A trip somewhere good. Parish or someplace."

"Ellis and Evan went to Paris together?"

"No. God no, sweetie. Never, never, never. He'd just give Ellis a ticket and tell him to have a good time. If you ask me, he probably just gave Ellis what he got with frequent flier miles."

She excused herself to go to the ladies' room. He filled her glass with the last bit of wine from the second bottle and then ordered her a double brandy and himself a very watered-down version of the same. When the waiter stared at him disapprovingly, Justin slipped him a fifty-dollar bill and suddenly the look was a lot more approving. Belinda returned, and as she passed by his chair she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a big kiss. Her tongue quickly forced its way inside his mouth and his eyes met hers. She looked extremely happy.

The kiss didn't last long, just a couple of seconds. It also didn't take her long to sit back down and finish her brandy and tell him she thought they should go back to her place. He agreed instantly.

They made out in the taxi going downtown. She was practically crushing him against the cab door on his side of the backseat. The doorman in her building had obviously seen plenty of this kind of behavior-either from her or other tenants-because he didn't bat an eye. Justin was worried that she'd actually disrobe in the elevator, but she managed to keep her dress on and stay upright until they tumbled into her apartment. It was the perfect apartment for her-all the adornments were too cute or too colorful or too big or too small. There were few books in view, and the ones that were there were either chick lit or self-help. She had a decent number of CDs. He couldn't help but notice that she was a big Beyonce fan. Before he could take in any more of her apartment, she dragged him onto the overstuffed couch, but he fended her off by pulling out a joint. She licked her lips and said she didn't know that cops smoked pot. He told her that cops did just about everything. He lit the joint, let her take a few drags. He took a hit, exhaled most of the smoke, handed the joint back to her. She sucked it in with relish. Within thirty seconds she was reclining on her couch, a tired and dopey grin on her face, and about a minute after that her eyes were closed. He waited until he was certain she was out before he gently lifted himself off the sofa and stood up.

Justin breathed a sight of relief. Jesus Christ, he thought, she'd had enough alcohol and drugs to put down an elephant. The youth of today. They were made of better stuff than he was.

He didn't have to search for her key ring. She'd tossed it on a table as soon as she'd managed to unlock her door. There were too many keys on the ring for him to figure out which one belonged to Ellis St. John's apartment. He figured Ellis's key had to be on the ring. She'd keep it there since she'd been going to feed the cats every day. He stuck the entire ring of keys in his pocket, decided he'd worry later about getting them back to her.

He looked down at the figure on the couch.

All part of the job, he thought. Taking advantage of a lonely, drunk girl.

She'd be hungover and depressed the next day. He knew the feeling, so he tried to think of something he could do that might make her feel a little better. Couldn't really come up with anything. Finally, he searched for and found a piece of paper. On it he wrote, Don't worry. Will feed the cats and give them enough for the morning. Will leave your keys with your doorman. He put the note down on her coffee table, then picked it back up, scribbled: P.S. Thanks for a nice evening.

He didn't think she'd really believe the P.S. On the other hand, she was the kind of girl who could and probably would convince herself of just about anything. At least temporarily.

On his way down the elevator, he decided he was sorry he hadn't seen her remove her shoes. He really was curious to see how long it would've taken.

Seeing Ellis St. John's apartment broke the roll that Justin thought he was on. It was nothing like he suspected it would be.

Justin had expected sleek and modern all the way: lots of shiny glass and black marble, something cold and impersonal and hard-edged. But the Rockworth and Williams employee lived in a prewar twelve-story building overlooking Gramercy Park. The building was elegant and not at all flashy. And St. John's apartment was equally elegant and subdued, filled with a combination of antiques-American painted furniture, mostly of the colonial era and in muted colonial colors-and well-crafted, comfortable, contemporary furniture. The four rooms-living room, master bedroom, a second bedroom that doubled as a den, and a small space off the living room used as a dining area-were furnished sparsely and tastefully. The kitchen was the only thing that broke with the rest of the decor-it was all new, top-of-the-line, stainless-steel appliances, with expensive knives and utilitarian tools displayed on hooks and magnetic holders. St. John was not a man who decorated for show or convenience. The apartment obviously was done to cater to his own taste; his own comfort; and, judging by the well-used chopping blocks on the kitchen counter and the oiled cast iron pans, to his own skill level. As Justin began to poke around, the setting struck a chord: it reminded him of somewhere else, another apartment, another house, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He stopped for a moment, closed his eyes to concentrate and focus. Then he realized what it was: Ellis St. John's apartment looked a lot like Abby and Evan Harmon's home. It was furnished in much the same style, although probably not as expensively. Yes, he thought, surveying the scene, there are definite similarities. Same style of antiques, same kinds of chairs and sofas, same color scheme.