Straits of Fortune - Anthony Gagliano [19]
“I thought you quit those,” I said.
“I started again this morning.”
“A killing will do that to you.”
Her face lost its tan, and for a second she reminded me of one of those scared, desperate people you see sitting in a holding room at the police station who are at the beginning of a new kind of trouble. Her dark eyes quivered, then stared straight through me.
“It seems like a nightmare,” she said.
“It is a nightmare. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. My father said you were out to see him this morning.”
“He asked me to get rid of your boyfriend’s boat, but I had to turn him down.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I’m not sure. I suppose it’s because you’re my friend.”
“It’s strange you picked today to remember that. I haven’t seen you in more than a year.”
“You didn’t want to see me.”
“Why do you think I want to see you now?”
“Should I leave?”
“So you shot Matson. I guess things didn’t work out between you two.”
Mentioning Matson’s name had summoned up all the bitterness I had felt toward both of them. I watched her impassively, as though her weeping were an accompaniment to the dark, righteous mood I was sealed so tightly into. But it was no fun being in command of a shit situation.
Her cigarette burned down, and the ash tipped backward onto the scarred surface of the table. I picked it up and snubbed it out, flicked the butt over her head and into the sink.
“Do you have a tissue?” she asked.
“No. You should have called ahead.”
“You’re not going to help me, are you?”
“I’ll help you call the police. I’ll even go down there with you, but that’s about all I can do.”
Vivian looked at me as though she were searching for some sign that I was still the same man she had known before. I wasn’t. I felt a great coldness toward her. My mouth was clamped shut to the point that my jaw began to hurt, and I took a sip of Coke to ease the pressure, but it didn’t ease the coldness that held me like a man frozen in an iceberg.
“I know I hurt you,” she said in a soft voice.
“Don’t worry about me. Worry about what you’re going to tell the cops.”
“I’m not sure I’m going to the police.” She hesitated. “What do you think would happen if we just left that boat out there?”
I smiled. “Right in front of your father’s mansion? Very convenient. Well, it would go something like this: They’ll dust for prints, and they’ll find yours because you didn’t wipe the place down, and even if you did, they’ll find something somewhere. You don’t have a record, so the cops will sit on things for a while. Then they’ll ask a few questions. Your name will come up, then your father’s. There will be a few wrong steps here and there, but eventually they’ll get around to you. I give it a week after they board the boat. What’s the matter?”
“I was arrested once. Drunk driving, after a party. I went through a stop sign. I was seventeen.”
“Well,” I said, “that does it. They’ll be able to match your prints. That doesn’t give you much time. Maybe you should leave the country, save yourself all the bullshit. You’ve got money. Go to Switzerland. You used to live there once. I may even visit you from time to time. Personally, I think you should talk to the cops. Just show them that film Matson made. Who knows, you might get off—or maybe they will.”
“I told my father not to show you that.”
“But you knew he would.”
“Why would you say that?” she asked.
“Because I know you and I know him. You’re both first-class manipulators, and even though you know I know it, you can’t help yourself. Besides, he was trying to make a point, but it may have been a tactical error now that I think about it. Maybe he thought I’d get overheated and chew a hole in the boat like a shark. Anyway, whatever you do, you’d better do it fast. I’ll even drive you to the airport—no charge, of course.”
She reared back and threw the can of soda at me. I waited to gauge the trajectory of her arm, then moved only slightly. The can went over my head, and I heard it hit the wall and then the floor. I took my Coke and placed it