Los Angeles Noir - Denise Hamilton [101]
“Keep your voice down, Roger.”
“Fuck that.” He was breathing hard, sweat glazing his brow. Fists balled, he blared, “You’re playing some kind of game with me, aren’t you? Think I’m stupid.”
“Roger, if I had the money, why would I be here waiting for you?”
He grabbed her arm. “You tell me.”
“Let go.” She jerked free. “So let me get this straight, you’re claiming the money is gone all of a sudden? The money from the accounts you set up, the money from the accounts you created passwords for? That money?” She glared at him, nostrils flaring.
“Oh, I see. Very clever. Make it seem like you’re the innocent here. When it’s perfectly clear you’re trying to pull some shit on me.”
“What about this, asshole. What if you planned this all along, come storming in here pretending you can’t find the Benjamins, and be all outraged and get me sucked in. Then send me off to look for the money and you take off with it. Shit,” she said, disgusted. “Without me giving you the backbone, you’d never have stolen that money. You’d keep being a glorified bookkeeper until you got your gold watch and your once-a-week handjob from your wife.”
“Shut the fuck up. I need to think.” He wanted to beat the truth out of her.
“You shut the fuck up.” She shoved him. “And get out of here. Now that I see what a pussy you really are, I wouldn’t go to the corner liquor store with you.”
He was shaking in anger. “Now you hold on.”
“Get out of her before I call the cops on your useless ass. You probably got all nervous and hit the wrong key, sending our money to some South American dictator’s account.” She laughed hollowly. “How the fuck could I have seen a future with you? You’re pathetic, Roger.”
“You’re not getting rid of me. We’re going to find that money together. This is my only chance, Nanette.”
“You’re unstable.” She moved to the door and held it open. “Leave.”
“I’m not going until I get my money.” He stalked toward her. “My fuckin’ money, understand me, bitch?”
“Oh, okay.” She slapped him hard. “Now get to steppin’. I don’t want to ever see you again. We’re through—get it, motherfuckah?” she yelled. “We’re through! Fuck you, your money, and your sorry little dreams.”
He popped her on the point of her jaw and she rocked back, dazed. He grabbed her arms with both of his hands and shook her. “I want my money!” he screamed.
She lunged forward and bit his ear as he reflexively turned his face away. He yowled in pain and let her go. Nanette ran and grabbed a screwdriver out of a kitchen drawer. “Get the fuck out of here or so help me, Roger, I’ll gut you.” Red washed her teeth and mottled her lips. The lips that all day he’d longed to kiss.
“Look, let’s—”
“Hey!” a voice called from below. “I’ve called the police on you two!” An approaching siren punctuated the warning.
“Get out of here,” Nanette repeated.
“What are you going to tell the cops?”
Her eyes were pitiless. “Get going, Roger.”
He ran from the duplex and ripped away in his car. The downstairs neighbor was out on the lawn, watching Roger go. Blood congealed in his eardrum, and some of it had dripped on his jacket and shirt. His cell phone rang, and he recognized his daughter’s number on the screen.
“Daddy?”
“Janice. Where have you been?”
“Waiting for you and Mom at the house. Aren’t we supposed to go out to dinner with your friends?”
“What?”
“Mom called me last Wednesday and said it would be good if I came down this weekend because it was your fiftieth birthday and she was having a party for you at this fancy restaurant.”
“She …” he began, but didn’t finish. “You didn’t have car trouble?”
“No. Mom told me to be home around 8:30. I got in town earlier and went and saw Ruthie and them, you know. I called her and told her that.”
Roger looked at his watch. It was 9:01. “And your mother’s not there?”
“She isn’t. I called her cell and got her answering message. Are you on your way home?”
“Yes, dear.