Straits of Fortune - Anthony Gagliano [59]
There was nothing fancy about the room. Hardwood floors with a faded-out Persian rug under a lacquered coffee table with a glass top. A black sectional couch, an ottoman next to it, and a tall, healthy-looking ficus standing guard by the window; a fireplace with yellow roses instead of a fire; bookshelves free of all books save for a few lonely volumes crowded in one high corner like orphans huddled on a precipice. There was also a desk with a computer, a printer, and a small lamp, and next to that a treadmill facing the window.
Even after a year, there were still unpacked boxes along the walls. In my time I had seen many rooms like this one. It was the apartment of a young woman who worked long hours and was seldom at home. I went and sat down on the ottoman. There was so little give in the cushion that I may well have been its first customer. There was music playing, but it was turned down so low it sounded like a woman whispering to herself.
Susan returned carrying a bottle of red wine, a corkscrew, and two glasses, which she handed to me before plopping down on the sofa. I poured us each a drink. I suppose I should have been happy that I wasn’t her first problem of the night, but I was a little worried now that it seemed clear she wasn’t angry at my having shown up. You know you’ve been living wrong when even simple hospitality scares you.
“How come you’re glad to see me?” I asked. “I’m not exactly helping your career by being here.”
“Fuck my career, all right?”
“Mine, too.” I raised my glass.
She drained hers, and I poured her another. She took a sip and set the glass down.
“You can’t stay here,” she said.
“I don’t intend to.”
“You’ve grown some since your mother bought you those pants.”
“They were on sale.”
“You lied to me this afternoon. Didn’t you?”
“The part I told you was true.”
“What about the part you didn’t tell me? The part that made you break out of Krome when all you had to do was wait the weekend.”
“I know. I left out a couple of things.”
“This would be the time to put them back in.”
“The less you know, the better off you’ll be,” I told her. “Client-attorney confidentiality goes only so far.”
“Does that mean you’ve committed a felony?”
I hesitated for a moment. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
She started to say something, then stopped and stared at me with a look of puzzlement. “Why do you keep squirming around like that? You got some kind of rash or something?”
The butt of the .45 had been digging into my groin, and no matter which way I sat, I couldn’t get comfortable. Finally I gave up and just put the damned thing on the table.
Susan stared down at the gun, then looked up at me. “Have you lost your mind? Where’d you get that thing from?”
“I borrowed it from a friend. It was the only one he had.”
“You have to leave now,” Susan said definitively. “Really, Jack, this is too much.” She stood up.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll admit I’m in a little trouble. I did a favor for a friend, and it kind of backfired on me. I think they might be in trouble, too. I came here because I just needed to get inside someplace safe for a little while. Then I have to get back to the beach. I need a shave and a change of clothes. Then I’m going to try and set things right.”
“How? With that?” She pointed at the gun.
“I hope not, but I’m dealing with some rough people.”
“Tell me one thing: Is this about drugs?”
“No. Definitely not.”
“What then? You have to tell me something.”
“It’s personal.”
“I’m your lawyer, remember?”
“Maybe I should fire you. I’d be doing you a favor.”
I could see she was angry now. Whatever was bothering her hadn’t added to her limited patience.
“I need a lift back to my place. I’ve got to get some other clothes before I go look for Vivian.”
“Vivian? I thought she ditched you for a guy named Matson.”
“She did.”
“What happened?”
“She got herself into some trouble, and I tried to help her out. Matson ended up being a bit more of an asshole than I thought he was.”
“So did you. He was some kind of movie producer, wasn’t he?”
“That’s right.