R is for Ricochet

He set his drink on the table, making a circular pattern with the moisture from the bottom of the glass. "So where is she?"

"Reba? Beats me. We're not joined at the hip."

"Really. You've been with her constantly and now suddenly you have no idea? She must have said something."

"Beck, I think you've gotten the wrong impression. We're not friends. Her father paid me to go get her. That's the kind of pal I am. I took her to the parole office and the DMV. She was lonesome. We had di

"Don't forget Bubbles."

"Big deal. We went to Bubbles. I was feeling sorry for her. She doesn't have any friends, except O

He thought about that briefly and shifted gears. "What's she told you about me?"

I tried to make the big eyes like Reba did when she was feigning i

"Nothing. Maybe I misjudged you."

"Well, I doubt that, but so what? Sounds like you're the one in trouble and projecting it on us." I might have pushed the line too far because I wasn't that crazy about the look he turned on me.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you're laying out all this bullshit and I don't have a clue what you want. You've peppered me with questions from the minute you sat down."

He was dead silent for about fifteen seconds – a long time in the middle of a conversation of this type. Then he said, "I believe she stole money from me when she was in the office that night."

"Ah. Got it. That's a serious accusation."

"Yes, it is."

"Why not turn the matter over to the cops?"

"I can't prove she did it."

I shook my head. "Doesn't sound right to me. I was with her when we toured the office and she never touched a thing. Me neither, for that matter. I hope you don't think I'm involved, because I swear I'm not."

"It's not you I'm worried about. It's her."

"You're worried?"

"I think she's in trouble. I'd hate to see her hurt."

"Why didn't you just say so up front?"

"You're right. I'm sorry. I went about this all wrong and I apologize. Truce?"

"We don't need a truce. I'm worried about her, too. She's back to smoking a pack a day and god knows what else. This morning, she was talking about booze and poker parlors. Scared the crap out of me."

"I didn't realize you'd seen her."

"Oh sure. I thought I mentioned that."

"You didn't, but that's good. I haven't heard a word from her since I got back. She's usually on the phone first thing, tugging at my sleeve. You know Reeb. She tends to cling."

"I'll say. Look, she talked about us having lunch tomorrow. Why don't I tell her to give you a call?"

He smiled tentatively, wanting to believe me. At the same time, I could sense his scrutiny, testing my comments for any false notes. Happily, since I'm a thoroughly accomplished liar, I could pass a polygraph, disavowing murder with blood still dripping from my fingers. He reached out and tapped my hand, something I'd seen him do with her. I wondered what the gesture meant, a sort of tag… you're it. "I hope I wasn't out of line. You're a good egg," he said.

"Thanks. You are, too." I reached out and tapped his hand in return.

He pushed up from the booth. "Better to let you go. I've taken up enough of your time as it is. Sorry if I was rude. I didn't mean to grill you."

"Hey, I understand. Stay and have another drink if you like."

"Nah, I gotta hit the road. Just tell Reba I'm looking for her."

"What's your schedule like tomorrow? Are you at the office all day?"

"You bet. I'll be waiting for her call."

Good luck, I thought. I watched him crossing the room, trying to see him as I had at first. I'd thought he was sexy and good-looking, but those qualities had vanished. Now I saw him for what he was, a guy accustomed to having his own way. The world centered on him and others were simply there to service his whims. I wondered if he were capable of killing. Possible, I thought. Maybe not with his own hands, but he could have it done. Belatedly, a warm drop of sweat trickled down the middle of my back. I allowed myself a deep breath, and by the time Cheney showed up, I was feeling calm again and slightly bemused.

He slid in next to me and pushed a folded slip of paper in my direction. "Don't say I never did you one. Address is a rental. Misty's been in residence the past thirteen months."

"Thanks." I glanced at the address and put the paper into my pocket.

He said, "What's the smile about? You're looking pleased with yourself."

"How long have I known you? A couple of years, right?"

"More or less. You haven't really known me until this past week."

"Know what I realized? I've never lied to you."

"I should hope not."

"I'm serious. I'm a natural-born liar, but so far I haven't lied to you. That puts you in a category all by yourself… well, except for Henry. I can't remember ever lying to him. About anything important."

"Good news. I love the part where you say 'so far.' You're the only person I know who could say something like that and think it was a compliment."

Rosie reappeared and when she caught sight of Cheney, she shot me a quizzical look. She seldom saw me with one man, let alone two on the same night. Cheney ordered a beer. Once she was gone, I rested my chin on my fist so I could look at him. His face was smooth and there was the faintest web of lines at the outer corners of his eyes. Dark suede sport coat the color of coffee grounds. Beige shirt, brown silk tie hanging slightly askew. I reached out and straightened it. He caught my hand and kissed my index finger.

I smiled. "Have you ever dated an older woman?"

"Talking about yourself? I got news for you, kiddo. I'm older than you."

"You are not."

"I'm thirty-nine. April 1948." He took out his wallet, flipped it open, removed his driver's license, and held it up.

"Get serious. You were born in 1948?"

"How old did you think I was?"

"Somebody told me you were thirty-four."

"Lies. All lies. You can't believe a word you hear on the street." He put his license in his wallet, which he flipped shut and returned to his hip pocket.

"In that case, your body's even better than I thought. Tell me the day and month again. I wasn't paying attention."

"April 28. I'm a Taurus, like you. That's why we get along so well."

"Is that true?"

"Sure. Look at us. We're Earth signs, the Bull. We're the Boy Scouts of the Zodiac. Determined, practical, reliable, fair-minded, stable – in other words, boring as hell. On the downside, we're jealous, possessive, opinionated, and self-righteous – so what's not to like? We hate change. We hate interruptions. We hate being rushed."

"You really believe all that stuff?"

"No, but you have to admit there's a certain ring of truth to it."

Rosie returned to the table with Cheney's beer. I could tell she was tempted to loiter, hoping to catch a snippet of conversation. Both of us sank into silence until she left again.

Then I said, "Beck was here."

"You're changing the subject. I'd rather talk about us."

"Premature."

"Then why don't we talk about you?"

"Absolutely not."

"For instance, I like it that you don't wear makeup."

"I've worn it twice. That first day at lunch and then again the other night."

"I know. That's how I figured I could get you between the sheets."

"Cheney, we need to talk about Reba. I leave for Reno first thing tomorrow morning. We have to be operating off the same page."