Harlan Coben - Play Dead

He laughed. His feet shuffled underneath him, allowing him to maintain his balance. ‘Laura, why don’t you stop deceiving yourself? Admit to yourself at least why you hate me.’

‘Okay, Stan, I’ll bite. Why do I hate you?’

‘It’s because you find me attractive,’ he said, spittle flying with his words. ‘Very attractive. You want me, Laura. You want me very badly. And that makes you feel guilty. It makes you feel like you’re being disloyal to David. So how do you compensate for that? You create this ugly illusion, an illusion you’re able to hate.’

‘You’re sick, Stan,’ Laura shot back. ‘When I first saw you with Gloria tonight, I was actually stupid enough to think that maybe you did give a half a damn about her. But I won’t ever forget the truth, Stan. I won’t ever forget you’re a piece of shit.’

His smile did not waver. ‘Yes, but a piece of shit who is going to have his way with you.’

‘Not a chance.’

‘Ah, Laura, you’re using emotion again. Didn’t I warn you about that? Pretend this is a business decision. If you sleep with me tonight, I’m gone forever. I will be nothing but a pleasant memory for Gloria. If you don’t, I’ll destroy her. Think about it, Laura. What is Gloria’s life worth to you? Does she matter so little that you wouldn’t sacrifice your widow-virginity for her?’

Laura said nothing.

Stan’s smirk of satisfaction raked across her heart painfully. ‘I see you’re starting to think about this practically. That’s smart, Laura. Just one quick boff and I’m history. You can even close your eyes if you want. And of course, if your lovely bod decides it can’t just have Stan for one night, that it craves more of what I have, I’ll stay with you for a while. We’ll make it our little secret.’

Laura swallowed away her nausea, not believing what she was about to say. ‘What guarantee do I have you will actually leave?’

Stan smiled. He had her. ‘You don’t trust me?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Well, you’re going to have to, my love,’ he explained. ‘Life is a gamble. You’ll have to make your choice and live with it. But either way, I’m leaving tomorrow. So if you find Gloria in the bathroom with her arteries bursting blood, you know you made the wrong decision.’

Across the room, Laura spotted Gloria. Her sister began to walk toward them.

‘I’ll meet you at your place at midnight,’ Stan whispered.

Laura watched him stagger toward her sister. Gloria looked so beautiful, so happy, so delicate, eyeing Stan worriedly as he stumbled his way toward her. She is concerned for his welfare, Laura thought, concerned about that no-good son of a bitch. And Laura could do nothing about it. She was powerless against him and right now that meant just one thing.

Laura turned away. David was already dead. She had arrived too late to save him from the clutches of the Pacific or a still unknown murderer. But Gloria was still with her, still alive.

And Laura still had the opportunity to save her.

Anger glazed Mark’s eyes as he glared at Laura and Stan. He still could not believe it. Stan. Stan was here in Boston. Why the hell hadn’t T.C. told him? But the answer was obvious. Now that David Baskin was dead, Mark Seidman was to be told nothing.

A familiar voice snapped him out of his semi-trance. ‘Excuse me.’

Mark swiveled his head toward a tall woman with auburn hair. Judy Simmons. He had figured Judy was going to show up for this event, and that made him very afraid. Laura’s aunt was no fool and, more to the point, Mark was sure that she was the only person who had any real chance of discovering what had really happened to David Baskin.

‘Yes, Miss…’ he feigned forgetting her name.

‘Simmons,’ Judy finished for him. ‘Judy Simmons. I’m Laura Baskin’s aunt.’

‘Yes, of course.’

She scrutinized him closely, spending a long time on his face. ‘I just wanted to say, Mr Seidman, that you played a wonderful game tonight.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Where did you learn to play like that?’

Mark shrugged. ‘Nowhere special. Around.’

‘Well you play like no rookie I’ve ever seen.’ She stopped, her eyes narrowing. ‘You look very familiar to me, Mr Seidman. Have we met before?’

‘I don’t believe so.’

‘Funny, I know I’ve seen you somewhere,’ she continued. ‘Were you ever on the campus of Colgate College?’

‘No.’

‘Maybe I knew your mother. Yes, that’s it. Seidman, Seidman. Even the name rings a bell.’

‘My mother died a good number of years ago.’

Once again, Judy studied his face. She had seen his reaction at Laura’s conversing with Stan Baskin, but this time, his expression remained composed. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Will you excuse me, ma’am?’

Judy simply stared at him, saying nothing. Her eyes did not wander off his face as he smiled weakly, nodded, and moved toward the exit.

It can’t be, she told herself. Just calm yourself down. Mark Seidman is just another amazing sports story. That’s all. Stop making something out of nothing.

But she knew it was not true.

Stan stumbled down the empty hallway at the Boston Garden and into the abandoned men’s room on the top floor. He had been drunk plenty of times before, plenty, but man, did he feel out of control and sick tonight. His head spun like a 78 on an old victrola. His mouth felt like someone had poured sand down his throat. And his stomach, his goddamn stomach felt like a training ground for grenade launchers.

He looked at himself in the mirror, fear clutching his neck and throat. There was more than just booze working on his head, his mouth, his stomach. He had never been so terrified in all of his life, and yet an opportunity had sprung forward that exhilarated him. Money. All he wanted. All he needed. It was right in front of him now. He would ask for one hundred grand right off the bat and then cash in on new installments whenever he deemed it necessary. He could have everything he ever wanted if…

… if he would only shake hands with the devil.

Stan staggered away from the mirror. Sometimes he was such an idiot, especially when it came to Laura. When was he going to learn to keep his big mouth under control? Christ, he was drunk. Maybe he should apologize for what he said, but no, that would do no good. Laura would just spit on him. Why did he always do things like that? Why did he always slide backwards into his darkened, vile pit whenever he was one step away from getting out of it for good? He had drunk too much, seen Laura, and wham, his lust for vengeance on David rose up in him. Why? The poor guy was dead now. Why in the face of Laura’s awesome beauty did his old hatred always emerge anew?

He unzipped his fly in front of the urinal. The truth was he did not want to leave quite yet. He could have the money and keep Gloria – though it could get a little messy. After all, the source of his money supply was a member of her family.

Yes, blackmail was on his mind, plain and simple. But this was no ordinary blackmail scheme. He was not planning on blackmailing an ordinary wrongdoer.

He was going to blackmail his father’s murderer.

Stan grabbed onto the sides of the urinal and steadied himself. Sweat made his clothes cling to his skin uncomfortably. After all these years he had finally seen his father’s killer again. Most sons would cry for blood against such a demon. They would demand biblical justice, an eye for an eye, death. But not Stan. Too many years had passed to play vengeful gunslinger and frankly, Stan was gutless in the ways of violence, always had been. He could report it to the police, but who would believe him? Who would trust the word of a man who waited thirty years to let anyone know that he had witnessed his father’s murder? And with his police record? No way. Forget it.