Killer Move - Michael Marshall [82]
He was absolutely still, and silent, and did not say “dude” or fluster or try to deny anything. It could be a lot of prior hanging out and just talking had happened, it could be not. Either way he evidently realized that the next thing he said had to be right, and phrased carefully, and that was enough for me. I got my face up really close to his. I suspected this guy was too stupid and scared to tell me anything that was worth me knowing, but I didn’t have time to prove that to myself. Maybe he was my wife’s lover, maybe not. I could determine that from her. Right now I had a bigger problem.
“I’ll be back for you,” I said. Then I hit him in the stomach, as hard as I could, and left him sagging down toward the floor as I got back in the elevator. “Go home, get the bottle out of the trash, bring it here, and give it to the doctors,” I told him, as he crashed down onto the floor. “Do it right now, or I’ll come find you. Do you believe me?”
I saw him nod as the elevator doors closed. I stood, hands shaking, as the elevator shot back up.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The doctor didn’t want me to go in. He made that clear. I made it equally clear that this wasn’t an answer that worked for me, and in the end he said fine, but stay back from the bed and you’ve got five minutes max. He wanted to come in with me, but I dissuaded him. I could tell I was one step from having security called, but I didn’t care. In the end the doctor stepped back, hands up, and reminded me about not getting too close.
I went and stood near the bed. I looked down. I didn’t have a clue what to say, or whether she’d even be able to hear. After a minute, something dropped off my cheek and landed on the floor. I reached up and discovered that my cheeks were wet. I was feeling too many things to keep track of, and they were coming in the wrong order and out of sync. Maybe the asshole in the basement was something I should be angry or screwed up about. But for the moment there was just Steph, and she looked very sick.
“Honey,” I said gently. “Babe, can you hear me?”
Something was making a dead, electronic noise near the top of her bed. It didn’t sound like it was going fast enough, or sufficiently regular. I wasn’t sure what was off about it. It just didn’t sound right. It wasn’t a noise you wanted to have marking your time.
“Steph? It’s me.”
One of her fingers moved, and I took half a step closer. I wanted to reach down and hold her hand, but I’d heard what the doctor said. “I’m here, honey.”
Her eyes flickered, then opened. They only made it halfway, and didn’t do it at the same time or at the same pace. One started to drift back down, but she held herself together and it flipped slowly back up. She looked like a toy whose battery had run down.
“Lo, you,” she said.
Her voice was barely audible. She said something else, but I didn’t hear it.
I bent closer. “Honey—I didn’t hear you.”
“Sorry,” she said. It was a mumble, still, but her voice sounded a little stronger and wetter than it had.
“For what?”
“Fucked up.”
“No you didn’t,” I said, though I didn’t know if this was true or not.
“Did.”
“It’s . . . not a big deal.”
She nodded, or tried to, and now her gaze looked stronger. “Is.”
“What actually happened?”
The corners of her mouth turned down, and she glanced away. She looked miserable, and my heart suddenly felt very heavy.
“Steph, it’s all right. Whatever it is, it’s okay.”
“Drank with Sukey. Celebrating, and I was still pissed at you, and . . . I just drank way too much.”
“And?”
“Didn’t sleep with him.”
Somehow this denial made me feel worse. “So what have you done?”
Her shoulders moved up a little, then back down. I guess it had been a shrug. I nodded. She watched me nod.
“It’s okay,” I said. “We’ll talk about it. We’ll . . . we’ll get it worked out. Everything’s always fixable, right? But you’re not well enough right now. And there’s something I have to do.”
She looked worried, and I realized what she thought I had meant, and it hurt that she looked alarmed at the prospect. “Not to do with him,” I said dully.