J. Konrath - Rusty Nail

“Thanks so much.” Holly patted my forearm. “I’m thirty-eight.”

Now I really hated her.

The waitress came again, with more wine, and after an elaborate wine presentation she discussed the daily specials. I tuned her out, trying to understand what the hell Holly saw in Harry. He was probably rich because of the series, but all the money in the world didn’t make up for the fact that McGlade was one of the most obnoxious, offensive, and annoying people to ever drag his knuckles, and Holly seemed, well, perfect.

We ordered. Holly regaled the boys with more tales of heroics. I drank. After my fourth glass, I came right out and asked.

“Holly, you have to tell me. What in God’s name are you doing with McGlade?”

“What do you mean?”

I mutely gestured with both hands, finally saying, “Well, look at him.”

Holly placed a hand on Harry’s head and ruffled his curly brown hair.

“He makes me laugh.”

McGlade wedged a fist-sized hunk of bread into his mouth. “Plus I’m hung like a beluga whale. But I have more hair.”

They shared a kiss. I rolled my eyes. I’d fallen for my share of losers too. At least when she divorced him, she’d get a decent settlement.

Dinner arrived, and it was probably excellent, but I had too much of a buzz to notice. I switched from wine to coffee, knowing I’d eventually have to drive, and Holly held Phin’s hand and asked him in a breathy Happy-Birthday-Mister-President voice if he’d do her the honor of standing up on her side at the wedding two days from now.

Phin agreed, of course. If she’d asked him to cut off his own legs he would have been racing for the hacksaw.

“And you, Jack, thank you so much for being there on Harry’s side.”

She said it in such a genuine way that I actually believed her.

“It’s my pleasure.” I wasn’t nearly as genuine.

If Holly noticed, she kept it hidden. “You know, I’ve got some free time during the afternoon tomorrow. It’ll be the first time in days.”

Harry grinned and held her hand. “I don’t like letting her out of my sight for very long.”

Holly grinned back. Love sure was disgusting.

“Anyway, Jack, I haven’t been shooting in forever. Would you like to fire off a few rounds?”

“Sure.” I didn’t know what else to say. “Drop by the station tomorrow, around five. We’ll hit the range.”

I had no idea why she was making an effort, and an even lesser idea of why I was reciprocating. Because I had no friends? Because I still didn’t understand why such an incredible woman was marrying Harry?

Or was it because I’d take an obscene amount of delight in outscoring her ass on the firing range?

We had dessert, more coffee, and then Holly got up to visit the ladies’ room.

“Well?” Harry elbowed me in the arm. “What do you think of her? What a filly, right?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, Harry. She’s a real filly.”

“How about you, Jim?”

“Phin.”

“Phin. Pretty prime piece of real estate I’m developing, huh?”

“She’s lovely.” Phin looked at me, for only the second time of the night, a question in his eyes.

Harry slurped some coffee, spilling it onto his shirt. “I’m the luckiest man who ever lived, that’s for sure. She’s beautiful, smart, funny, and the sex is mind-blowing. She doesn’t wear underwear. Can you believe it? I’m writing a letter to Penthouse .”

Holly returned, McGlade made a big show of picking up the check, and everyone hugged everyone else, some more enthusiastically than others. The valet got Harry’s car first, and he and Holly drove off honking and waving.

“That was surreal,” Phin said as we stood in the lobby.

“How so?”

“McGlade. That guy is an idiot. Actually, calling him an idiot isn’t fair to all the other idiots. What in God’s name is she doing with him?”

“McGlade’s rich. She could be gold-digging.”

“Maybe that’s it. She obviously doesn’t love him.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Come on, Jack. Who could love that guy? If I had to spend ten minutes alone with him I’d eat my gun. Or make him eat it.”

The valet pulled my car up.

“I read somewhere that beautiful women are often lonely because men are afraid to approach them.”

That received a snort. “Get real, Jack. Did you look around the restaurant? Everything with a Y chromosome was ogling her. Holly hasn’t lacked for companionship a single day of her life.”

That made me feel much better.

“You need a ride someplace?”

“No. I’m good. See you Monday, Jack.”

“Thanks for coming, Phin. I owe you one.”

“It was fun. Hey, you don’t like McGlade, right?”

“He’s like the brother I never wanted.”

“If he met with some kind of fatal accident, would that be a problem?”

I couldn’t tell if Phin was joking or not. I tipped the valet, climbed into my beater, and opened my window.

“You can’t kill him until I’m off the TV series.”

“Got it. You looked nice tonight, Jack.”

“I’m glad someone noticed,” I said. But I said it after I’d already pulled away.

SERGEANT HERB BENEDICT gives his sleeping wife a pat on the rump and climbs out of bed. It’s a hair past midnight, and midnight is the perfect time to have a midnight snack.

He creeps to the door – the house is old and the wooden floors creak like the shrieks of the damned. Bernice is a light sleeper. She made a wonderful rib roast for dinner, and there’s very little left. If he wakes her, he’ll have to share.

Herb takes the stairs slowly, as if stepping on eggshells. He doesn’t put on any lights. He doesn’t need to. He’s lived in this house for decades, and can navigate entirely by feel.

The kitchen floor is slippery under his bare feet. Bernice waxes the tile once a week, and Herb’s soles are dry and calloused. More than once he’s almost taken a dive during a late-night refrigerator raid.

He manages to keep his balance this time, pulling the Tupperware bowl of meat and potatoes from the fridge, deciding whether the microwave is necessary, or if straight from the container will suffice.

The kitchen is cold, so he goes with the microwave. He sets it for a minute – just enough to get the chill out of the food – and opens the utensil drawer, feeling for a fork.

A creaking sound comes from the living room.

Herb freezes. Instantly he knows the noise came from a person, and that person can’t be Bernice because he would have heard her coming down the stairs. The lights are off, but there’s illumination coming through the small window of the microwave. Herb squints across the kitchen and into the dining room, where he sees the drapes ruffling.

The window is open, the wind blowing in. That’s why the kitchen is cold. That’s how someone got into his house.

Benedict’s gun is upstairs, next to the bed. He keeps it there on the off chance someone ever tried to break in. He’s aware of the irony. Who knew he should have armed himself to go eat leftovers?

Another squeak. Closer. The person is right around the corner, less than ten feet away. Herb considers his options. Most burglars don’t want to be confronted. They run at the very thought of the house being occupied. A loud shout will scare this type of criminal away.

But this might not be a burglar. It might be someone with a grudge. Someone Herb arrested in the past, looking to settle a score.

Or someone else. Someone planning on making a new videotape to give to Jack.

He chances a quick glance at the microwave. Thirty seconds left. Then there will be a loud beep to signal the food is ready. Herb had planned to open the microwave door a few seconds early, so the sound didn’t wake Bernice. Now he decides to use the beep to his advantage. When the microwave beeps, the light will go off. Maybe the combination will mask Herb’s movement, giving him a chance to strike first.