Think about it, he had told her. No more debts hanging over her head, no more creditors beating at her door or writing intimidating letters that threatened homelessness if she didn’t pay up.
Think about it.
An apartment with heat and air-conditioning, a real stove instead of a hot plate, a shower and a bathtub, for God’s sake. There’d be money for food, money for clothing, private schooling and music lessons for the kid, and, best of all, no more menial labor for her. Any job or work that she’d take on would be for her own personal growth, for her own personal bank account-money that would be hers and hers alone, funds not needed to fill stomachs or put a roof over heads.
Think about it.
Five and a half years from now, people would be addressing her as doctor. She’d have a time-honored degree and the respect that went along with it. Then there was the income that went with the profession, a surefire guarantee of self-reliance.
Think about it.
Holidays. He remembered what a good cook she’d been. There’d be a Thanksgiving table loaded with food-a big fat stuffed turkey, glazed yams with marshmallows on top, plates of fresh cooked vegetables, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie for dessert. How about new clothes for Easter mass? And what about a real Christmas with a big tree dripping in ornaments, dozens of presents underneath for her and the kid? Because this wasn’t only about her, right? Didn’t Gabe deserve to know his real father, not just some guy who pretended to like the kid when in reality all he wanted to do was get into her pants? He had things to offer Gabe. He knew that their son was gifted musically. From where did she think he had gotten the talent? He had attributes, things he could share with his son. But, of course, he’d never get in her way. She’d be the final decision when it came to Gabe’s upbringing.
Think about it.
For her, he was erasing the past and all the bad feelings that went with it, replacing it with a secure future instead. And all he wanted from her, all he needed from her, was a few days every couple of months. Not too steep a price to pay, considering that there had been a time when she had done it for nothing. It wasn’t too much to ask, was it? Some… flexibility in her attitude toward him? Because, c’mon, be honest, there were still sparks between them. This wasn’t just about sex; this was about a relationship.
She listened intently. She listened without interruption. But she didn’t answer him. No matter. He took her silence for acquiescence.
The next day, he went to work while she was in school and the kid was in day care, making his offer a fait accompli so she couldn’t change her mind. He found a modest but clean two-bedroom furnished apartment complete with pots, pans, dishes, and utensils, and within walking distance to bus stops and the El. He went shopping for her, stocking the cupboards and refrigerator with food, filling the dresser drawers and small closets with needed clothing: winter apparel for her and for the kid-sweaters, pants, coats, boots, and scarves. He found a Gulbransen spinet piano in a thrift shop. It fit perfectly against one of the living-room walls. When he picked them up in the limo that evening and showed her what was possible, he was 99 percent sure it was over. Then when the kid went over to the piano-wondrous awe in those saucer mint-green eyes of his, tiny fingers tapping out the first couple of bars of Mozart’s Piano Concerto in C Major-man, he knew he had her. He gathered up her mail, took it back with him to New York, and began the arduous process of sorting through her numerous bills.
For five and a half years, she would be his property-his chattel and concubine. And in the process, he figured he’d eventually fuck her out of his system.
A serious miscalculation.
Because it wasn’t getting better. If anything, it was getting worse. Every time they parted, it was another knife slicing through his heart, and the knife kept getting bigger and bigger… the voices growing louder and louder. He didn’t just want her; he didn’t just crave her; he needed her. When they were together, she silenced his demons: her face, her voice, and her touch more soothing than any drug he had ever taken, more effective than any therapy he had ever gone through. She was his personally designed opiate, and he was addicted to her as surely as if she coursed through his veins.
Two and a half years left.
The thought of her being financially independent, that one day she might leave him yet again, only this time she’d take from him his own flesh and blood, seized him with heart-thumping anxiety. And now she was talking about marriage-theoretically-to someone else. His anxiety receded, evolving into uncontrollable rage…
What the fuck was on her mind?
His breathing quickened, and he knew what was coming. Slowly, the veil of deep depression would lift, converting its energy into unbridled frenzy. Then the urge would overwhelm him. By now, he didn’t even try to stop it, knowing full well that there was only one way to quell it.
He reached under his mattress and pulled out one of his many firearms-a Walther semiautomatic. Holding the weapon ameliorated some of the feeling, but that was only temporary. Something more permanent had to be done. With sudden force, he shoved the magazine into the chamber.
Fuck the promises-tacit or otherwise.
He had a job to do.
First come, first served.
31
Despite the cold weather and the threatening clouds, there were more than a few joggers in Liberty Park, men and women in sweatpants and jackets, exhaling rapid puffs of mist like fire-breathing dragons. Beyond them lay the steel and glass structure of the Quinton Police Station, all sparkles in the dull sunlight, but as welcoming as a computer chip. Though the van’s motor had been turned off for only a minute, the interior temperature was dropping quickly. Decker wrapped his fingers around the chilled metal door handle. He paused before tugging it backward.
“So you have my cell number, and I have yours.”
“Yes.” Jonathan rubbed a stiff neck. “I don’t feel good about this.”
“Don’t do anything to your relatives that you can’t live with,” Decker told him. “I’ll understand.”
“I’m not worried about myself. I have concerns about you.”
“Me?” Decker furrowed his brow. “Why?”
“You didn’t leave the police chief under ideal circumstances.”
“I’m just going to talk to the man.”
“Akiva, if he’s crooked, he’s not nice. You’re in his territory. That puts you at risk.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you?”
Decker mentally summarized the events of the past few days. It was more than a casual question. “I’ll be careful.” Then he opened the door and was out, waving to his brother as the van pulled away. He fast-walked toward the station, hands in his pockets-he had yet to pick up his gloves from Luisa-dodging the runners and the rollerbladers, wondering if he’d ever own the capacity to kick back and let go. It wasn’t just this case-although this was personal-it was any case he was on. After turning the big five-oh, he kept waiting for the inevitable diminution of drives. Yet, as much as ever, he was still a slave to his twin obsessions, sex and work, both keeping him vital and sharp witted, but no doubt fueling his overheated engine. It was only a matter of time until he hit maximum burnout.
Precipitation had begun to moisten his nose, dotting the hard ground with distinct wet circles. He put some speed on and made it to the station house before the sky decided to open up. It wasn’t warm inside, but the temperature was livable. Better still, it was dry. He went through the usual channels to get to Merrin, but because the town was so small, the red tape didn’t take very long. To his surprise, Merrin was in. To his greater surprise, the chief agreed to see him-a promising start considering that Decker had acted like a fool the last time the two had met up.