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He remembered a woman. Or he had dreamed about a woman. Reality and its opposite floated around in his brain like the stuff in a Lava lamp. He groaned and shifted positions, sprawling on his belly. The rustling of the sheets was magnified to the sound of newspaper crumpling right next to his ear. That was when he remembered the booze-lots of it. He needed to pee.
A hand settled low on his back and a warm breath, stale with the smell of cigarettes, caressed his ear.
"Rise and whine, Do
Fourcade.
Do
"Jesus! Fuck! What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded. "How'd you get in my house?"
Nick moved away from the bed, taking in the state of Do
"That's nasty language for a Sunday morning, Tulane," Nick said. "What's the matter with you? You got no respect for the Sabbath?"
Do
He snatched the receiver off the phone on the nightstand. Nick stepped over and pressed the plunger down with his forefinger.
"Don't try my patience, Do
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"I'm talking about you jerking Lindsay Faulkner's chain, telling her you go
"No."
" 'Cause that would have a very poetic irony about it: You kill your wife, collect the insurance, sell her business, use the money to bail out the cop that tried to kill the suspect."
Do
"You're not wasting any time making a buck off her. Why didn't you tell me Friday about this pending deal?"
"Because it's none of your business. I have to take a piss."
He threw back the covers and climbed out on the other side of the bed. He walked like a man who had fallen out of a moving car and rolled to a hard stop in the gutter. Black silk boxers hung low on his hips. He hadn't managed to take his socks off before succumbing to unconsciousness. They drooped around his ankles. The rest of his clothes lay where he'd dropped them as he'd peeled them off on his way to the bed.
Nick rose lazily and still beat him to the door of the master bath.
"You're dragging it low to the ground this morning, Tulane. Long night?"
"I had a few. I'm sure you can relate. Let me in the bathroom."
"When we're through."
"Fuck. Why'd I ever get hooked up with you?"
"That's what I wa
He looked away and blew out a breath. He grimaced at the smell of himself as he inhaled-smoke, sweat, and sex. He wondered vaguely where the woman was. "No one. I bed. It was a bluff. I told that little Cajun gal."
"Uh-huh, and she's going over those phone records we pulled on you, Do
"I thought you were out of this, Fourcade. You're off the case. You're suspended. What do you care who I called or why?"
"I got my reasons."
"You're insane."
"So I hear people say. But, you know, it doesn't matter much to me, true or not. My existence is my perception, my perception is my reality. See how that works, Tulane? So, when I ask are you trying to swing a deal with Duval Marcotte, you need to answer me, because you're right here in my reality right now."
Do
"We're go
"I need cash," he said with resignation. "Lindsay wants to buy out Pam's share of the business. But Lindsay's a ball buster and she'd love nothing more than to screw me out of what she can. I want back the property Pam hid for me and I want every dime I can get out of Lindsay. I made up a little leverage, that's all."
"You think she's stupid?" Nick said. "You think she won't call your bluff?"
"I think she's a bitch and I'm not above doing something just to aggravate her."
"You're just go
"I gotta see if I can withdraw that bail," Do
Nick patted his cheek as he stepped away from the door. "Sorry, cher. That check's been cashed and the cat is outta the bag. Hope you don't live to regret it."
"I already have," Do
A
While she had been with Fourcade last night, forming their uneasy alliance, Renard had been calling her at home, leaving the message that Fourcade had paid him a visit earlier in the day. In calling, Renard had saved her from the job of formulating an excuse to see him.
"I couldn't think who else to turn to, A
The idea, while it might have overjoyed Fourcade, gave A
That son of a bitch. Why hadn't he told her he had come here? She didn't like the idea of him having a hidden agenda in all this.
The driveway broke free of the trees, and a lawn the size of a polo field stretched off to the left. The expanse was nothing fancy, just a close-cropped boundary meant to discourage wildlife from getting too near the house. She passed an old carriage shed that had been painted to match the house. Fifty yards farther into the property stood the home itself, graceful and simple, painted the color of old parchment with white trim and black shutters. She parked behind the Volvo and started toward the front gallery.
"A
Marcus came out, careful not to let the screen door slap shut behind him. More of the swelling had gone out of his face, but there was still no definition to his features. Most people would recoil from the sight of him, despite the fact that he was neatly dressed in crisp khakis and a green polo shirt.
"I'm so glad you've come." He enunciated his words more clearly today, though it took an effort. He held his hands out toward her as if she were a dear distant cousin and might actually take hold of them. "Of course, I was hoping you might have called me back last night. We were all so upset."