“I shot it into the air, above the bar area. The bullet hit a chandelier, but I have no idea where it went after that. Now, I’m going for a jog to clear my head.” I turn and walk to the door. “This isn’t something we need to have a long discussion about.”

“Babe, don’t leave if you’re still feeling that way. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Haverty agrees. “I thought that was the case last night, and my offer still stands if you think you need to get some immediate help. Don’t hide out. We’re here for you.”

“I know,” I whisper with my hand on the door handle. “I’m fine. It had to happen. The only way to start a climb up was to hit rock bottom. Everything will be better from here on out, I promise. Haverty, take the guns. I’ll no longer be making any stupid mistakes, and I can protect my family and my business without the use of firearms.”

“Cove?” There’s doubt in my wife’s voice as I shut the door and stand in the hallway. I listen for a moment to their conversation. Hav tells her I’ll be okay, and that I’m just embarrassed. He’s right... he’s exactly right.

***

The cold temperatures that rolled through with last night’s storm have departed and the humidity’s back. The city’s typically muggy when we first wake up, and now that it’s late morning, it’s downright sweltering. I take off my shirt as my feet stride along the concrete Gateway Arch trail. There’re an enormous number of people on the path this morning; on bikes, walking around, and jogging like myself. Tourist season for the Arch is at its peak this time of the year, and it’s one of the biggest attractions in the city. Visitors come down and hang out in the park and admire the Mississippi, which looks muddy and menacing after last night’s heavy rain. It’s a wide river that’s remarkable on calm nights when the city lights reflect off the water in a blossoming dance. Shit, did I just use the word blossoming? I’m either cheerful from the morning head, or a wuss.

I thought it’d be nice to bring Soph here, but a jog in silence will relax me. At this point, if I had taken her along, she’d spend the entire time talking about the guns. Thirty minutes alone, that’s all I ask. And good endorphin stimulation can’t hurt. I’d like to be pleasant around her today, give her a break from my melancholic personality.

The steep climb on the grand staircase to the Arch is my favorite section of the trail. My legs and thighs ache, but I keep pushing, out of breath, sweaty, fuck it feels good. A lot of people take advantage of this workout, and even on such a busy day, you never have to worry about someone getting in your way with the stairs being well over five hundred feet in width.

I bend over and rest my hands on my knees when I reach the top. Fuck yeah, that was good, and I’m not the only one who’s stopped at the top gasping for air. The jog will be easier once the weather cools in the fall and we’re no longer encased in this thick, humid atmosphere. I wipe my face on my shirt, toss it over my shoulder, and begin the descent back to the trail.

Partway down I hear a whistle, a sound that grabs my attention immediately. It’s used as a command, like hey, look over here, and not in a playful way. I hear it again and turn to see a man sitting on the opposite end of the stairs; his legs crossed, one bouncing in the air, and his elbows set on the step behind him.

The figure lounging on the concrete steps reminds me of the statue of Oscar Wilde in Dublin’s Merrion Square. Only as I approach and the face becomes clearer, I see it’s a different Wilde, Marcus Wild. Great, maybe I can give him the check today and he’ll be on his way. What was the fucking point of last night anyway? A scare tactic like he mentioned? Getting under my skin by talking about my wife? The fucker.

He stares at me, waiting, still rocking his foot in the air with a dumbass grin on his face.

“Have a seat,” he says with a pat on the concrete step.

I join in his reclining position, burning my ass on a surface that feels like a pizza pan that was just pulled out of the oven. I adjust my shorts and admire the fact that he can wear jeans and a sport jacket without displaying a bead of perspiration.

“You look good.” His hand grips my leg at the bottom of my shorts and slides slightly underneath. I jerk away and he laughs. “Ahh, I’m just teasing. We’re both married, and I don’t think you’d ever cheat on that wifey of yours, now would you?”

“When do you want the check, Marcus?”

“How is she today, anyway?”

“How’d you know I was here?”

“Didn’t. I was just sightseeing. Heard it was nice down here, one of those places you shouldn’t miss if you’re in the city. I’ve been meaning to come here for years, to St. Louis, just never got the chance. It’s relaxing compared to the rush of Vegas. You know?” he digs in his ear again, a habit I don’t remember him having in the past. “I guess we just got lucky, running into one another. Nothing I planned, but glad it happened,” he turns and smiles. “It’s always nice to see you, Cove.”

He’s composed and his voice is oddly soothing, almost as if he could snap at any moment, knife me in the gut, lick the blood off the blade, and walk away without any change in facial expression. That same type of psychopathic behavior that Paul displayed, and David at times. Calm and cool as they did harm. Still, I told Hav and Soph I wasn’t worried about him and he’s not going to be the one in control here today.

“How did you know David was dead?”

He laughs and redirects the conversation back to my wife. “Does little Sophie Jameson have plans for that fat check? Is she showing any signs of greed and upset that I’m going to take it away from her?”

“She’s not like that.”

“No? David said just the opposite. Thought it was all she cared about.”

“Greed’s a sign of weakness, and my wife’s not weak.”

“Wrong. Greed’s a sign that something in one’s life is lacking, or unavailable. I heard she didn’t have much growing up, was a poor kid living in a dilapidated house with a nutcase of a mother. I wouldn’t be surprised if that check makes her feel powerful and finally in control of her life. You’ve been taking care of her right?”

“You don’t know her, she doesn’t care about the money.”

He looks out at the Mississippi and I observe the image of the river drifting across his eyes. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?” he asks.

“Should I be?”

He rests his hand back on my leg and glides his finger in the shape of a heart over my skin, testing his power. I pay no heed to his actions, but can’t ignore the words that come out of his mouth.

“Should you be afraid? If I were you, I’d be troubled by my presence. I think you’re uneasy around me, perhaps bothered or worried, but maybe that’s because you’ve had your hand on my dick. And I probably feel the same way about you. Did you get my email by the way?”

I nod and watch his finger touching my flesh, unsure if I want to leave and get back to Sophia, or stay and listen to his bullshit.

“Did you know when we first met I had a crush on you? Imagine that, and I’m not even gay. Hell,” he shrugs. “I’m not bisexual either. There was just something about you that turned me on, and I couldn’t believe you were a virgin back then. A nineteen-year-old porn star that never fucked a woman? What kind of crazy shit is that?” he shakes his head. “Damn that got to me. I had my first pussy when I was twelve. I can’t believe Paul made you do everything his insane mind wanted, except fuck. When I heard about that I was even more attracted to you. I was also jealous of your relationship with Paul,” he turns away from the river and looks into my eyes. “Isn’t that funny? I envied how close the two of you were, even though you were raped and beaten by the man. He was such a bastard, wasn’t he? How’s your foot doing by the way?”