Harlan Coben - The Final Detail

Bad news. “I can still come forward.”

“Yes, of course. And why, Mr. Bolitar, did you not call the police? Why, in fact, did you call your friend before the proper authorities? Are you or are you not suspected of aiding Ms. Esperanza Diaz in the murder of Billy Lee Palms's oldest friend? What exactly were you doing in that bar in the first place? Why would Mr. Palms want to kill you?”

“It can all be explained.”

Win shrugged. “Your call.”

“Just as it was my call to go alone with Pat.”

“Yes.”

“Which I called wrong.”

“Yes. You were too vulnerable going in like that. There were other ways.”

“What other ways?”

“We could have grabbed Pat at another time and made him tell us.”

“Made him?”

“Yes.”

“You mean, rough him up? Or torture him?”

“Yes.”

“I don't do that.”

“Grow up,” Win said. “It is a simple cost-benefit analysis: By causing temporary discomfort to a malfeasant, you greatly lower the risk of being killed. It's a no-brainer.” Win glanced at him. “By the way, you look like hell.”

“You should see the other guy,” he said. Then: “Did you kill Zorra?”

Win smiled. “You know me better than that.”

“No, Win, I don't. Did you kill him?”

Win pulled up to the Biker Wannabee bar. He put the car in park. “Take a look inside.”

“Why are we back here?”

“Two reasons. One, you never left.”

“I didn't?”

“That's what I'll swear to. You were here all night. You just walked Pat out for a moment. Thrill will back me on it.” He smiled “So will Zorra.”

“You didn't kill him?”

“Her. Zorra prefers to be called a her.”

“Her. You didn't kill her?”

“Of course not.”

They got out of the car.

“I'm surprised,” Myron said.

“Why?”

“Usually when you threaten-”

“I never threatened Zorra. I threatened Pat. I said I may kill Zorra. But what would have been the point? Should Zorra suffer because a drugged-out psychotic like Billy Lee Palms hangs up a phone? Methinks not.”

Myron shook his head. “You're a constant surprise.”

Win stopped. “And lately you're a constant screwup. You got lucky. Zorra said she'd be willing to use her life to guarantee your safety. I recognized that she couldn't do it. It's why I told you not to go.”

“I didn't think I had a choice.”

“Now you know better.”

“Maybe.”

Win put a stilling hand on Myron's arm. “You're not over her yet. Esperanza has a point when she tells you that.”

Myron nodded. Win dropped his arm.

“Take this,” Win said, handing him a small bottle. “Please.”

Trial-size mouthwash. Count on Win. They made their way inside the Biker Wannabee. Myron stopped in the bathroom, rinsed out his mouth, splashed water on his face, checked the wound. It hurt. He looked in the mirror. His face was still tan from his three weeks with Terese, but Win was right: He looked like hell.

He met up with Win outside the bathroom door. “You said two reasons before, that there were two reasons you wanted me to come back here.”

“Reason two,” Win said. “Nancy-or Thrill, if you prefer. She was worried about you. I thought it best if you saw her.”

When they reached the corner booth, Zorra and Thrill were busy chatting like, well, two single women at a bar.

Zorra smiled at Myron. “Zorra is sorry, dreamboat.”

“Not your fault,” Myron said.

“Zorra means that they're dead,” Zorra said. “Zorra would have liked a few hours alone with them first.”

“Yeah,” Myron said. “Pity.”

“Zorra already told Win all Zorra knows, which is very little. Zorra is just a beautiful hired gun. She likes to know as little as possible.”

“But you worked for Pat?”

He-she nodded, but the wig did not. “Zorra was a bouncer and bodyguard. Do you believe that? Zorra Avrahaim having to settle for work as a common bouncer?”

“Yeah, times are tough. So what was Pat into?”

“A little of everything. Mostly drugs.”

“And how were Billy Lee and Pat connected?”

“Billy Lee claimed to be his uncle.” Zorra shrugged. “But that could have been a lie.”

“Did you ever meet Clu Haid?”

“No.”

“Do you know why Billy Lee was hiding?”

“He was terrified. He thought someone was trying to kill him.”

“That someone being me?”

“So it seemed.”

Myron couldn't figure that one out. He asked a few more questions, but there was nothing else to leam. Win offered his hand. Zorra took it and stepped out of the booth. She handled the high heels well. Not everyone does.

Zorra kissed Win on the cheek. “Thanks for not killing Zorra, dreamboat,”

Win bowed slightly. “A pleasure, madame.” Win the charmer. “I'll walk you out.”

Myron slid into the booth next to Thrill Without saying a word, she grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him hard. He kissed her back. Win and his mouthwash. What a guy.

When they came up for air, Thrill said, “You do know how to show a girl a good time.”

“Ditto.”

“You also scared the hell out of me.”

“I didn't mean to.”

She searched his face. “Are you okay?”

“I will be.”

“Part of me wants to invite you back to my place.”

He said nothing, lowering his eyes. She kept her eyes on his face.

“This is it, isn't it?” she said. “You won't call, will you?”

Myron said, “You're beautiful, intelligent, fun-”

“And about to get the big kiss-off.”

“It's not you.”

“Oh, that's original. Don't tell me. It's you, right?”

He tried a smile. “You know me so well.”

“I'd like to.”

“I'm damaged goods, Nancy.”

“Who isn't?”

“Tm just over a long-term relationship-”

“Who said anything about a relationship? We could just go out, right?”

“No.”

“What?”

“I don't work that way,” he said. “I can't help it. I go out with someone, I start picturing kids and a backyard barbecue and a rusted hoop in the driveway. I try to size up all that stuff right away.”

She looked at him. “Christ, you're strange.”

Hard to argue.

She started fiddling with a mixing straw. “And you can't imagine me in any of those domestic settings?”

“Just the opposite,” Myron said. “That's the problem.”

“I see. At least I think I see.” She shifted in her seat. “I better go.”

“I'll take you home.”

“No, I'll get a taxi.”

“That's not necessary.”

“I think it is. Good night, Myron.”

She walked away. Myron stood. Win moved up next to him. They watched her disappear out the door.

“You'll make sure she gets home safely?” Myron asked.

Win nodded. “I already called a car service for her.”

“Thanks.”

Silence. Then Win put his hand on Myron's shoulder.

“May I make one observation at this juncture?” Win asked.

“Shoot.”

“You're a total moron.”

They stopped at the doctor's apartment on the Upper West Side. He restitched the wound, making a tsk-tsk noise as he sewed. When they reached Win's apartment at the Dakota building, the two friends settled into the Louis the Someteenth decor with, their favorite beverages. Myron chugged on a Yoo-Hoo; Win sipped an amber liquor.

Win flipped channels with a remote control. He stopped on CNN. Myron looked at the screen and thought of Ter-ese on that island by herself. He checked the time. This was normally Terese's anchor slot. A bad dye job filled in. Myron wondered when or if Terese would be back on the air. And he wondered why he kept thinking about her.