Chapter 33
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
Jack woke later than usual, pulled from sleep by the heat of midday and the sunlight seeping under the curtains.
The still air was stifling. Sweat beaded on his skin, soaked his hair. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, so dry that he struggled to swallow.
“Fuck,” he mumbled, sitting up. The alarm clock’s red numbers mocked him. 12:04.
Jack jumped to his feet.
Boris hadn’t called. Nor had Carla.
Were they alright?
He fumbled for his shirt, decided he didn’t have time for all the buttons, and settled for an undershirt instead.
Once he’d hopped into his pants and crammed his feet into his shoes, he tore down the stairs, taking them two at a time, bolting across the lobby to the front desk, where a confused Boris glanced up from a book.
A book. Not a magazine. Not a ledger. An actual book.
“You OK, there?”
“Yeah,” said Jack, panting. “Hey, what day—”
“Seventeenth,” said Boris smoothly. “I asked some guy.”
“Are you sure he’s right?”
“I don’t know,” Boris scoffed. “Go outside and ask somebody if you’re so worried.”
“Where’d the book come from?”
“Boss keeps it in the back room. He’s been reading it for, like, a month. I finally realized why the magazine wasn’t hitting. Turns out, I can’t look at the same bikini a hundred times and maintain a healthy appreciation.” Boris licked his fingers, flipped another page.
Jack chewed his lip, reminded himself that now wasn’t the time to wonder about Boris’s sexuality, if the things he said meant anything or not. “Yeah, I get that. How are you feeling? Any better?”
The shadows under his eyes were less severe, more purple than black.
“Yeah,” said Boris. “A little bit. Thanks.”
“Anytime,” said Jack, nodding more to himself than to Boris.
“You feeling OK?”
“Yeah,” said Jack. “Why?”
“Uh, mostly ‘cause you’re in half a suit and you’re sweaty as hell.”
“I’m gonna go take care of that,” Jack said.
“Don’t worry about it on my behalf,” said Boris. His gaze lingered just a moment too long, before flicking back to the book.
Right. Jack’s heart leapt at the implication. “Hey, if anyone calls—”
“I’ll patch her through.” Boris waved a hand.
“How come you didn’t call me?”
Blue eyes widened. “Oh. I thought you would want to sleep. I took up your bed half the night, remember?”
“I thought you were dead,” Jack groaned.
Boris raised an eyebrow. “Not yet.”
“Yeah, good,” said Jack, turning for the stairs. “Keep it that way.”
“Bossy,” said Boris, flashing a grin of approval.
Jack rolled his eyes so hard that he missed the first step.
The phone rang while Jack was in the shower. In his rush to answer, he tripped over the bathmat and crashed hard against the floor, knees screaming in agony. It didn’t matter. He scrambled back his feet and darted naked to the phone.
“You got a call,” said Boris, his voice hazy. Jack could imagine him tapping his fingers against the desk, book overturned in his lap.
It was strange to talk to Boris while naked, even over the phone. Jack’s cheeks heated. If Boris knew, would he care? Would his stomach flip? Would his palms sweat like Jack’s?
He shook himself mentally. Now wasn’t the time.
“Thanks,” he said. The phone trembled against his ear. “Patch her through.”
“She’s fine, by the way. I asked.”
“Thanks,” said Jack, firmer this time.
“Just trying to help. Here you go.”
Carla’s voice was tinny through the phone line, rough from crying or shouting. “Come over, Jack.”
“Yeah,” he said, heart racing. “I’ll be there. You alright?”
A sniffle. “Yeah. I’m fine. I’m gonna be OK. It didn’t work.”
“It’s OK,” he said. “It was brave of you to try.”
“It wasn’t brave. It was stupid.”
“No, no,” said Jack, wishing she were right beside him so that he could pull her close and reassure her with something (anything) more adequate than words. “You did good, sweetheart.”
“Just come over,” said Carla, voice breaking on a sob. “I’ll see you soon, right?”
“Right,” he said hurriedly. “I’ll be right there.”
He toweled off and fought his way into his clothes like a man possessed. Ran out the front door and down the street, ignoring Boris’s worried, “Jack?” as the bell rang overhead.
Satchel clutched to his chest, he flew to the edge of town and only narrowly avoided getting hit by two cars in quick succession as he crossed the street. Someone honked, and he gave an apologetic wave, but didn’t dare slow down.
He tried not to speculate as he ran. Forced himself not to imagine Carla staring down the barrel of a gun, ducking fists, fleeing for her life…
By the time he reached the bottom of Hidden Hill, he was out of breath, legs aching, heart thundering. After a brief pause (during which he gasped like a fish), he carried on jogging uphill, sustained only by adrenaline and a burning need to confirm Carla’s safety.
A sedan passed. Maroon, tinted windows.
Jack froze. Debated leaping into the bushes.
The car slowed. He had the uncomfortable sensation that behind those tinted windows were watching eyes.
The sedan sped off in a cloud of dust and exhaust.
Jack watched it go. Dread unfurled in his stomach.
He traveled with more caution afterwards, sticking to the side of the road, ready to dive into the trees at the first whisper of an engine.
The rest of the journey was silent but for the chirping of the birds and the gentle caress of the wind, which blew his hair back from his face and left him feeling exposed, vulnerable.
When he arrived at the house on Castle Drive, he was sweaty again. His hands shook so badly that he could barely knock.
It didn’t matter. The door swung open as soon as he raised his fist. A frantic Carla beckoned him inside. “Go, go,” she hissed, and he complied, slinking inside like a rat through a cracked foundation.
As soon as he crossed the threshold, she shut the door behind them, snatched his hand, and pulled him into the basement, pausing only to grab a bottle of wine from the rack.
Bewildered, Jack followed silently, brimming with a thousand different greetings.
Are you OK? I missed you. I have to tell you about Boris. About Hannah.
But her silence was calculated and fierce, and Jack was afraid to shatter the facade, so he just let her lead him through the winding halls until they arrived at the study.
The door slammed. Carla pressed her back against it like she thought someone might try to break it down after them.
“Hey,” said Jack, the way he might speak to Rainy after the fire alarm scared her into hiding under his bed. He tried hide his worry behind a reassuring smile. “How… did it go?”
Carla clutched the bottle of wine to her chest. Now that they were facing each other, Jack could see her reddened eyes, her wild hair. “Poorly,” she managed. “It went poorly.”
Jack nodded, tried to find words of sympathy or reassurance, and discovered that they all felt inadequate. Finally, he settled on, “Are you alright?”
She shook her head, curls flying. “No. I need a drink.”
“Sure,” said Jack. “I’m sure there’s a corkscrew around here somewhere. Or maybe we could just break into the bourbon again?”
Carla nodded. “You’re right. The bourbon is faster.”
But she stayed by the door, so Jack went to the desk, digging a decanter and two crystal glasses from the drawer. A part of him marveled at the fact that he’d been here often enough to know exactly where they were. “You wanna come sit down?”
Carla bit her lip as she made her way toward him. “The door won’t lock.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Do we need a lock any more than usual?”
“No.” She exhaled. “We don’t.” She sat in the chair that Jack usually took, so he dropped awkwardly behind the desk and wondered if this was what it was like to be a teacher, staring out at blank-faced pupils.
Or perhaps a lawyer was a more apt comparison, he decided, considering that there was only person across from him, and the desk was quite fancy.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“Yeah.” She inhaled sharply, set the bottle of wine down. “Yeah. I shoulda left this fucker years ago.”
Jack’s heart clenched. “What did he do?”
“Nothing I didn’t expect. A whole lotta yelling, shouting, calling me names.
Took my car keys and told me to crawl back to the city like the snake I was.
” She squeezed her eyes shut, shook her head again.
“So, anyway, I was trying to convince him to give me my damn keys back and I tore his suit somehow and he slapped me and then I slapped him. Then the next thing I know I’m pinned up against the wall with his stinking breath in my ear, and he’s telling all things he’s gonna do with me if I don’t get the fuck out, so I shove him off of me and I fucking go, right? ”
“Right,” said Jack, taking a sip of whisky, trying to shove his warring angst and ire down so that she wouldn’t see. “And then what happened?”
“I decided to do a little research.” Carla grimaced, showing too many teeth. “I never trusted him. Decided it was time to find out why.”
Flinching, Jack tore his gaze away.
Why stir the pot? On the other hand, she was right: why waste this opportunity?
“So I went to his club, and I hid in a back room. He took my car keys, but he forgot about the others.” Carla smirked, then lowered her gaze.
“Nobody saw me. And listen, I know it was stupid. Sally and Lana already told me that he spends his weekends with her, but I had to see it for myself, ya know?”
“It’s Tuesday,” said Jack, feeling stupid even as the words left his mouth.
She sighed. “Yeah, I know, Jack, but you gotta take opportunities when they arrive.”
“I-Right, sorry. Tell me more.”
“Anyway, I caught him with Brenda Amato in his lap.” Her nostrils flared as she sneered, “Fucking bitch. Can’t do her makeup for anything. She looks like a blow-up doll. Ronnie’s got terrible taste.”