William Lashner - Fatal Flaw

“What?”

“The word, in the Jumble you’re stuck on. TOZALE is zealot.”

“Do you mind?”

“Not at all. The next one, SORIAL, is sailor. I used to do them Jumbles every day. I was like the Michael Jordan of the Jumble. It’s a talent I got for taking things that are all mixed up and putting it in an order that makes sense. That’s how I got into my new line. But I still got friends in the car biz. Hey, you looking for a new car? I could set something up.”

“All I want is to finish reading the paper in peace.”

“Yeah, I notice a lot of guys come to places like this to be left alone, but I never understood that. I want to be alone, I’ll eat my oatmeal standing by the sink in my skivvies. It’s like in the car business. When I was working the shop, no one wanted to be jammed by a salesman right off. They wanted to be able to browse around la-di-da on theys own. But I figure, why come into a sales center if you don’t want to be sold? You let the bastards browse around on theys own, next thing you know they’ll be browsing their way over to the Toyota place across the street.

“Thanks, sweetheart, and more coffee when you can. Javalicious. Hey, could you pass the sugar? This one is all lumped up. Yeah.

“Funny thing about them lawyers in the salesroom, though. When it came down to negotiating a deal, they was like virgins in a sailors’ bar. They would do theys research, sure. They’d come in loaded with papers, figuring they knew everything they needed to know, when really they knew nothing. Because what was important wasn’t all the crap they brought in, it was how much the dealer was paying in the first place, how desperate was the cash-flow situation, what the boss’s girlfriend was whining for that week, all stuff that ain’t in Consumer Reports . Is the slurping bothering you? Good. The oatmeal is better with the milk, makes it like a soup. Anywise, the lawyers would bypass the salesman and sit down with the assistant manager, which is like bypassing the pilot fish to deal directly with the shark. Frigging lawyers. By the time they got finished with the assistant manager and with the F &I guys, they was getting it up the arse, down the throat and in both ears.”

By now my face was out of the paper and I was staring at the man beside me. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled.

“You know what they should teach you first thing in law school?” he said. “They should teach you that maybe you don’t know everything you think you know. They should teach you that if a deal for some reason seems too good to be true, then maybe you should jump off your arse and grab it afore it disappears. Maybe sometimes you should take the damn deal before something bad happens, before something awful happens that will absolutely ruin your day. What the hell do you think of that?”

“What line did you say you were in now?” I asked.

“Nowadays I solve bigger puzzles than the Jumble. Things what don’t add up, I find the sense of the things and make them add up in a way that everybody wins. Even me. Especially me.” He reached into his jacket pocket for a wallet, took out a five, and slapped it on the counter. Calling to Shelly, he said, “Here you go, sweetie. You keep what’s left.”

“You got a card?” I asked.

“Nah, those what need me know where to find me.”

“Can I ask you a favor?”

“Shoot,” he said.

“Next time you want to send me a message, do it by fax.”

He stared at me for a long moment, the geniality leaking out of his face. “Don’t get too smart on me, I’m liable to change my whole opinion of the profession.” Then he let out a belch that shook the plates on the counter before us. “There’s the problem with the oatmeal, right there.”

“What do you want, Skink?”

“A bowl of oatmeal. A cup of joe. A chance to pass a few friendly words. I’m doing you a favor here by giving you an honest piece of advice. Forget your snooping around about this Juan Gonzalez. He ain’t important. What’s important is that you do the right thing. Take the deal. It’s a good deal. It ends everything and keeps everybody happy.”

“Who sent you?”

“See, here’s the thing, Vic. You think you knew her, but you didn’t know the first thing about her. You think you understood her, but you understood nothing. She was like a fancy gold watch, she was, simple and slim on the outside, but inside was wheels within wheels within wheels. And you never had the frigginest.”

“And you did?”

“Me and her, we understood each other. Me and her, we got along like long-lost pals. We had things in common. She talked to me.”

“About what?”

“You know. About her affairs and such.”

I didn’t say anything, I just stared. He smiled and leaned so close I was glad he had stopped eating his garlic raw, leaned so close his whisper was like a roar.

“I know,” he said.

“Know what?”

“You know.”

“No, I don’t know.”

“Your little no-no.”

“My no-no?”

“Oh, I know,” he said. “Yes I does. I know.”

I stood abruptly, as if the secret itself propelled me off my stool. I stood, but I didn’t say anything and I didn’t leave. I stood and listened.

“She told me so herself,” said Skink. “I assure you, Vic, I’m not here to hurt you, I’m here to help. It’s safe with me, your little secret. I got no wish to spread it around like butter on a stack of flap-jacks. But don’t be like those lawyers in the showroom with their lawyerish ways. Take the deal. It wasn’t no picnic getting Jefferson to go for the plea. Don’t think we can keep it on the table forever. Forget about Juan Gonzalez. Take the deal, put everything right, so no one ends up knowing nothing and we all go home happy.”

He nodded at me, pushed himself off his stool, and headed for the door. He had a strange, waddling walk, like he’d just jumped off his horse after riding for a fortnight. Then he stopped, turned, and waddled back.

“You was in the house alone after she was doffed, wasn’t you?”

I said nothing.

“An item is missing, a small item. No bigger than a key, if you catch the drift. It wasn’t logged in by the police detectives, and it seems no longer to be in the house.”

“How would you know?” I blurted out, my gaze dropping down from his eyes to his hands, which were now hidden in his pockets.

He ignored my question. “You didn’t happen to pilfer the item whilst inside the house, did you? You didn’t happen to palm it for your own invidious purposes?”

I couldn’t answer, too frightened and stunned to even try to deny it. I stood there shaking, mute, my eyes watering involuntarily as they hadn’t done in years. I couldn’t answer, but it wasn’t the type of question that demanded an answer. I got the sense that Phil Skink didn’t need many answers from anyone, especially from me.

“G’day, Vic,” he said with a click and a wink.

I watched him push open the door, head out to the street, and then I wheeled around in terror.

HE KNEW. That bastard, Skink, he knew. I could have brazened it out with denial after denial, but that wouldn’t have altered a thing. The truth was in his ugly puss. He knew. How was it possible? How? Why? Because Hailey… because Hailey had told him, so he said. They had had an understanding, so he said. They had things in common. Hailey Prouix and Phil Skink. What the hell could they have had in common? But Skink knew, no doubt about it, and there was no telling the kind of hurt he could put on me with what he knew.

I stared into my plate, filthy now with the yellow of smeared yolk and the paprika of the potatoes. The greasy slop in my stomach turned and I gagged with a sudden nausea. There is always a faint tinge of nausea after a heavy diner meal, as if the high heat of the griddle renders cheap grease into a mild emetic, but this was something different, something far richer and justly deserved.