The Last Precinct

"What do you feel?"

I close my eyes for a moment, firelight moving across my lids. "Sick. I can't think about those deaths without feeling sick. What I did wasn't wrong. I had no choice. But I wouldn't call it right, either, if you understand the difference. When Temple Gault was hemorrhaging to death in front of me and begging me to help, there are really no words for how that felt and how it feels now to remember it."

"This was in the subway tu

"I have no idea. I have never looked at it like that." I am jolted by the thought. It has never occurred to me and seems so obvious now.

"Did Gault deserve to die, in your opinion?" A

"Some people would say he forfeited his right to be in this world and we're all better off now that he's gone. But my God, I wouldn't have chosen to be the one who carried out the sentence, A

"And Jean-Baptiste Chando

"I don't want to hurt anybody anymore." I stare at the dying fire.

"At least he is alive?"

"I take no comfort in that. How can I? People like him don't stop hurting others, even after they're locked up. The evil lives on. That is my conundrum. I don't want them killed, but I know the damage they do while they're alive. Lose-lose, any way you look at it," I tell A

A

"You could not save Benton's life." A

My helplessness, my outrage boil over. "He didn't save himself, goddamn it. Benton wandered into his murder like a dog or cat wandering off to die, because it was time. Jesus!" I am out with it. "Jesus. Benton was always complaining about wrinkles and sagging and aches and pains, even during the early years of our relationship. As you know, he was older than I. Maybe aging threatened him more for that reason. I don't know. But when he reached his mid-forties, he couldn't look in the mirror without shaking his head and griping. 'I don't want to get old, Kay.' That's what he would say.

"I remember late one afternoon we were taking a bath together and he was complaining about his body. 'Nobody wants to get old,' I finally said to him. 'But Ireally don't_ don't to the point that I don't think I can survive it,' was his reply. 'We have to survive it. It's selfish not to, Benton,' I said. 'And besides, we survived being young, didn't we?' Ha! He thought I was being ironic. I wasn't. I asked him how many days of your youth were spent waiting for tomorrow? Because somehow tomorrow is going to be better? He thought about mis for a moment as he pulled me closer in the tub, touching and fondling me beneath the steamy cover of hot water scented with lavender. He knew exactly how to play me back in those days when our cells came alive instantly on contact. Back then, when it was good. 'Yeah,' he considered, 'it's true. I've always waited for tomorrow, thinking tomorrow's going to be better. That's survival, Kay. If you don't think tomorrow or next year or the year after that will be better, why bother?' "

I stop for a moment, rocking. I tell A

"Is that why you had sex with Jay Talley?" A

"If so, it wasn't conscious."

"What do you feel?"

I try to feel. "Dead. After Benton was murdered…?" I consider this. "Dead," I decide. "I felt dead. I couldn't feel anything. I think I had sex with Jay…"

"Not what you think. What you feel," she gently reminds me.

"Yes. That was the whole thing. Wanting to feel, desperate to feel something, anything," I tell her.

"Did making love with Jay help you feel something, anything?"

"I think it made me feel cheap," I reply.

"Not what you think," she reminds me again.

"I felt hunger, lust, anger, ego, freedom. Oh yes, freedom."

"Freedom from Benton's death, or perhaps from Benton? He was somewhat repressed, wasn't he? He was safe. He had a very powerful superego. Benton Wesley was a man who did things properly. What was sex like with him? Was it proper?" A

"Thoughtful," I say. "Gentle and sensitive."

"Ah. Thoughtful. Well, there is something to be said for that," A

"It was never hungry enough, never purely erotic." I am more open about it. "I have to admit that many times I was thinking while we were having sex. It's bad enough to think while talking to you, A

"Do you like sex?"

I laugh in surprise. No one has ever asked me such a thing. "Oh yes, but it varies. I've had very good sex, good sex, okay sex, boring sex, bad sex. Sex is a strange creature. I'm not even sure what I think of sex. But I hope I've not had the premier grand cm of sex." I allude to superior Bordeaux. Sex is very much like wine, and if the truth be told, my encounters with lovers usually end up in the village section of the vineyard: low on the slope, fairly common and modestly priced_ nothing special, really. "I don't believe I've had my best sex yet, my deepest, most erotic sexual harmony with another person. I haven't, not yet, not at all." I am rambling, speaking in stops and starts as I try to figure it out and argue with myself about whether I even want to figure it out. "I don't know. Well, I guess I wonder how important it should be, how important it is."

"Considering what you do for a living, Kay, you should know how important sex is. It is power. It is life and death," A

"Of course."

"Power sexually excites him. It does most people," A

"The greatest aphrodisiac," I agree. "If people are honest about it."

"Diane Bray is another example. A beautiful, provocative woman who used her sex appeal to overpower, to control others. At least this is the impression I have," A