“That sounds good.” I felt pain when I breathed. The bandage around my ribs had been wrapped tightly.
When Jennifer was out of the room, I took a moment to remember the attack. If they wanted me dead, they would’ve done it. This was nothing but a warning.
“Leave it be.”
For the next two days, I stayed in bed recuperating. I gathered something was up with Jennifer, but I didn’t know if she suspected me of cheating or felt guilty for cheating herself.
It was almost noon, and she had just left to go back to work. It occurred to me that if she wasn’t innocent, then maybe she was letting me have this indiscretion and calling it even. What a way to go into a marriage.
My bruised ribs didn’t hurt as much when I walked now. With the help of a few Tylenols, it was barely a nuisance. The stitches above my left eye looked cool, too.
But I was going stir-crazy in my house. The networks had nothing new to say about the Absinthe Killer, except that Gene Lotz was still at large and the FBI was following leads. And of course, with Jennifer at work, I didn’t have anyone to tell me to take it easy.
It was about time I visited Ron. I was a little offended he hadn’t tried to contact me, but I figured he needed a cooling-off period. Then again, maybe we really hadn’t been as close as I had believed.
Before I walked out the door, my home phone rang. The caller ID displayed a number I didn’t recognize.
“Hello?” I couldn’t hear anything on the other end. “Hello?” I said again, expecting a recording of some sort.
“Decland?” a soft, male voice asked. His breathing was labored.
“Yes. Who’s this?”
The breathing continued; then he spoke again. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He began to whimper.
“Spider? Is that you?”
“I didn’t mean to hurt those girls. I couldn’t help it. I love you, Decland. I’m sorry I hurt those girls.” He was now utterly sobbing, and I didn’t believe it was an act.
I went in and out of each room in the house while pacing, angry he wasn’t directly in front of me. “Spider . . . Gene, you have to turn yourself in and get help. I’ll be there for you. I swear it. Where are you?”
He cried a few seconds more, then hung up. I immediately hit star 69 and dialed back the number. It rang three times before a lady answered.
“Who’s this?” I said frantically.
“You must have the wrong number, mister. You’re calling a pay phone.” She had a New York accent and sounded drunk.
“I’m sorry. Did you just see a man leave that pay phone? It’s very important.”
“Sorry. No one was here. I was walking by and thought I’d pick it up.”
“Can you please tell me the location of that phone?”
“It’s on Conti Street in the French Quarter. I see a police station across the street. I gotta go, honey. My girlfriends are leaving me.” She hung up.
Maybe I didn’t have to continue investigating. Spider was going to end up finding me. My neck hair stood on end.
I grappled with the idea of staying put in case he called again, but why would he this soon? His next contact would most likely come on another day. Then I wondered why the Feds didn’t tap my phone just in case this happened. An oversight? Or was it already tapped? I stared at my phone as if it had just lied to me. Agent Tucker’s comment about the mechanical fly came to mind.
Despite the freaky occurrence, I still left, waving at the two men sitting in the car across the street. The Feds were making it obvious they were watching my house in case Lotz showed, so I wasn’t too concerned about a break-in. I thought about calling Greenwood to tell him that the killer was within fifty yards of the station just to hear his reaction.
“I’m going to do some errands,” I told the agent sitting behind the wheel. I got in my car and blasted the air and the radio as I headed down St. Charles Avenue toward Lee Circle. Ron’s house was four blocks down Napoleon, toward Claiborne. It was a beautiful, old home that his father had left him, and he took great pride in refurbishing it.
I had to expel the voice of Spider from my head before getting out of my vehicle. I was curious to have found a huge Ryder truck backed in Ron’s driveway with four men moving furniture onto it. I took my sweet time climbing the steps to his door, avoiding a fifth man with a box.
“Ron, you around here?”
“In the kitchen,” he said.
“What’s going on? Why are you moving?”
“What happened to your face? Did you get beat up?”
“I got jumped off duty, but don’t worry about that. What the hell’s going on?”
Ron gave me a look of concern. “I can’t stay here. I can’t stay in this city anymore. I’ve had it. I can’t take the corruption, the shady deals. In the old days, I used to have pride in my job, and as silly as it sounds, I used to feel this city loved me, too. But over the years, especially since Katrina, I’ve seen it getting worse and worse. Kathy and I decided to move to Eden Isles, near where her sister lives. It’s clean and new and right on the lake. I was thinking about being a volunteer fireman out there.”
“You just finished fixing the house from Katrina, and now you’re giving it up?” I looked around at its glory. The history was evident in its vaulted ceiling, hardwood floors, and marble fireplace.
“Yeah, I won’t get what it’s worth after this housing collapse, but it’s time for a change. To shake things up. You understand that, don’t you?”
I nodded. I was sorry to see him go, but his mind was made up.
“I’ve been watching the news,” Ron said. “Nothing new with our Absinthe Killer, huh?”
“No.”
“Rumor has it you’re off the case.”
“I’m on leave. Greenwood says there’s a chance I could be back on, but you know him.”
“He’s twisting the knife. I told you so. You should get out, too. At least go on the Metairie force and be JP. Maybe you can be the next Harry Lee.”
“Sheriff Dupree?” I laughed halfheartedly, not wanting to talk about it anymore. I looked out the window at the side of the big yellow truck in the driveway. “What you got, five guys moving you?”
“Yep. It’s going to take two days to move everything. You’re pretty muscular. Wanna help?”
“Sorry. I’m still sore.”
“What happened?”
“Jumped. I told you.”
“Feds?”
“Why’d you say that?”
Ron stared at me, silent. Then his gaze dropped to his shoes.
“Possible, I guess,” I confirmed.
“Be careful. Look, I gotta finish up around here. Let me give you my new address, and you can come visit me.” He took out a piece of paper and jotted down the address, then folded it and gave it to me.
I shook his hand, feeling unwelcome. “I’ll see you around. Good luck with the move.”
“Thanks. Hey, you know that absinthe sales have increased 50 percent since this shit started?”
“No, but it doesn’t surprise me.”
I gave him a thumbs-up, something I had never done, but he had caught me by surprise. All this time I’d wanted to pop the question yet delayed it. Then I’m granted the gift of time off the job and I cheat. Were there other forces at work here?
I should wait a while longer before getting on bended knee. Things needed to be straight in both of our lives before throwing ice on a fire. That line of thought brought me to Dr. Melon Head and the night I had met him.
I’d seen his car that night, too. And right then I remembered there was an Audi dealership down the street from Children’s Hospital. So I decided to drive by. If Jennifer had really pissed in the asshole’s car, he’d have it cleaned. And a big shot doctor wouldn’t just take it to any Joe Blow. He’d want the dealership he bought it from to handle it.
I drove onto the property and found a spot in
the customer lot. I walked over to parts and repairs and stood near the counter. There were seven lifts, and all of them had different models raised at various levels, but I saw only two cars being worked on.
After a few moments, a man in grungy blue overalls swaggered by. He was dirty, unshaven, around forty, and about five two. “Can I help ya?”
“Is the manager around? Or someone who’s been here at least four or five years?” I showed the man my badge.
“I been here eleven years. I suppose you can ax me.” He pulled a socket wrench out of his cargo pocket and wiped it with a dirty rag.
Great, this guy probably couldn’t recall what he had for breakfast. “Think back at least four years. Do you remember cleaning urine out of the interior of a silver Audi? It was probably the same year model.”
“Piss, eh? Oh yeah. Doctor fella. He told us his dog pissed on his front seat. Piss everywhere.” He spoke as if he were examining the car right in front of him. “Ah ‘member ‘cause he gave each of us a fifty to do a good job. Oh, the smell. It been sittin’ in that hot car for most of a day.”
Suddenly, I felt ill. I was a bastard.
The man stared at me as if I were the one who had pissed in the car.
I nodded and began to walk away. “Thank you, sir. That’s all I need to know.”
I left the building and steadied myself. I had messed up big-time.
I was now starting the second week of my leave. Jennifer was working, and I stayed home and tried to keep busy. Spider hadn’t reached out to me again, making me glad and disappointed at the same time.
I saw Greta Lotz’s house on four news reports and Eleanor’s house on two other channels. Nothing was mentioned about the president or Dorrick, so I assumed the big secret was still safe. Hordes of reporters were camped out, hoping for a word from either of the relatives. I hated watching, but like the O.J. chase, I couldn’t help myself.
Over the past two days, I had decided to break out the ring. The time was right to propose to the love of my life. I had wondered if Jennifer would say yes, but if she hadn’t grilled me about Sarah yet, then I had to be in the clear. The guilt was still with me, but I began to think that if I kept my mouth shut, I wouldn’t have to explain anything. I promised myself I would never cheat again.
I then asked myself if I was just proposing to appease the monogamy gods, but I had been planning it all along, so I knew it wasn’t the guilt factor. Tonight it would happen, and tonight the wait would be over. My frazzled nerves couldn’t handle the anticipation anymore.
The traditional proposal would be best. Some men incorporated how the two met by taking them back to that magic place. I couldn’t very well do that considering I had met Jennifer because of her sister’s disappearance. And if I tried something outrageous, I could end up embarrassing one or both of us. I felt like a moron for using the process of elimination, but I was a detective—it was second nature.
I prepared a new dish for the occasion: broiled salmon with garlic mashed potatoes and sautéed spinach. When I was in high school, I had learned to cook gumbo and jambalaya to impress girls early in a relationship but had never ventured to add new dishes to my culinary skills.
I set the table with our good plates and lit two plain purple candles on opposite ends of the centerpiece. My grandmother’s crystal wineglasses sat elegantly next to the dinnerware with another glass for water.
Jennifer arrived home at 7:30, still wearing her blue scrubs. She threw her purse on the chair by the couch, and I stopped her before she walked into the kitchen.
“That smells good. Are you cooking?” She tried to peek behind me to see. She still wasn’t her normal self, and it worried me. Normally if I attempted a simple, home-cooked meal, she’d have at least ten good jokes.
“Go clean up, and meet me in the dining room. I thought I’d make a nice dinner since I have all this extra time on my hands.” I pushed her toward the hall, then returned to the kitchen for the final touches.
By the time I had the food on the table, Jennifer was changed and watching in silence from the dining room entrance. “This is nice. Did I forget an anniversary or something?”
“Just sit down and let me take care of everything. How was your day?”
“Same as always. Nothing exciting. You know, your cuts are healing up nicely. You should put a little lotion on them so they don’t dry out.”
The table was a hand-me-down from Jennifer’s mother. It was cherry pine and big enough to fit six people without the leaf. We sat opposite each other on the same corner like we always did. Everything had been served, and I picked up my wineglass for a toast. She clinked my glass with hers, and we took a drink at the same time. I waited for her to try the salmon before I took a bite of mine.
“Oh, this is really good. It’s about time you learned more than gumbo.”
“Yeah, I know.”
I had planned to shoot from the hip, without any rehearsed words. Jennifer knew I wasn’t a poet, but I couldn’t simply hand her the ring and say, would ya? I wanted to do my proposal spontaneously, but now as I sat and gazed at her angelic face, I thought it was a bad idea.
We ate slowly because we rarely enjoyed a home-cooked meal. When we were close to finishing, I warmly mingled my fingers with hers and looked into her eyes.
“What?” She knew I was up to something.
“I got some champagne. You were right; we are celebrating something.” I went into the kitchen, taking most of the dishes with me.
“Oh, shit. What did I forget? I’m usually good about those things.”
I came back in with the champagne glasses full and handed one to her. Jennifer didn’t notice what was at the bottom of her glass. Yet.
I held mine up. “I love you,” I said simply.
“I love you,” she returned, then took a sip. “Deck, this is the good stuff. What’s going on?”
The object at the bottom of her glass finally caught her eye, and she stared in amazement.
I took my cue to get down on one knee. “Jennifer,” I said as she placed her hands over her mouth, tears beginning to form, “over the years I’ve come to love you like no one else. Not only have you been my girlfriend, but you’ve been my best friend, and I couldn’t imagine my life without you. My love for you is heart and soul to me. I know you’re not knocked up, but will you marry me anyway?”
Jennifer began crying before I got an answer, and I started to well up myself. She bent forward and hugged me, stooping to my level. “Yes, yes,” she said with what little breath she had left. “You can knock me up later.”
I grabbed her glass and drank until the ring fell into my mouth, and then I put it on her finger, holding tightly, knowing this was right.
In some moments, the world seemed to be crashing down hard on Spider. At other times, New Orleans was his oyster. The agony of always wanting to be alone yet forever needing another was enough to make him want to scream. Sometimes what he thought was good for him was actually bad and vice versa. He hated who he had become, but he always had to please himself, no matter the evil. He would cry, he would pray, and still he would kill as if someone were winding him up like a walking murder toy. To be in Decland’s arms one night, he thought, would certainly deliver him from his cancer.
The owner of the house where Spider lounged was not home at the moment. He sat naked on the sofa and looked around. It was nice. There was new furniture, beautiful art on the walls, and a clean carpet, not like the places he had stayed in the past.
The corroded shack that Decland and the FBI had raided was a shit hole, but it was his shit hole. The squalor he had become accustomed to behind his grandmother’s house resembled the lower-class surroundings in which he had been raised when his dad was still alive. But now he had nowhere to go. He was as recognizable as Tom Cruise and, in his mind, a bigger star. Although the goal wasn’t to become a media juggernaut. It was icing on his fruitcake. But the owner of this dwelling wa
s his means to an end. This man took him in, no questions asked, no judgments passed.
Spider briefly considered his next move. He had looked up Marcy Latner’s address a long time ago. If conditions were favorable, she would be his next victim. He especially wanted this woman because of her status in Decland’s life—the girl who took his virginity. That was what Decland had told Spider one night at work; that was what he remembered all this time. The anticipation of taking what was once Decland’s and making it his own filled him with a joy that made him giggle.
He revisited a memory of his own first time with a girl. Even at the age of eleven, he had been well on his way to a mental thirty-car pileup.
His dad had mentioned to him that Pamela, the cute ten-year-old two blocks away, was the type of girl he should be trying to screw (his exact words).
That particular day had been overcast as Spider and Pamela had wandered two blocks deep into the trees. She had a crush on him, and he needed to prove to his father that he wasn’t a faggot. If he was to put his penis inside her, the reason for doing this he didn’t know, then he could brag about his glorious conquest and possibly the beatings would stop.
At first, kissing freckle-faced Pamela had been nice for him but not arousing. He had kissed harder with his tongue, holding her tight, but still nothing. She tried to push him away, but he persisted until they both fell into the dry leaves. Seconds later, she screamed, and he became frightened. Why wasn’t she cooperating? he wondered. Why wasn’t his dick cooperating?
Gene put his hand over her mouth to stop the screaming, but she bit his finger. No cunt was going to do that to him, and he wasn’t no cock-suckin’ faggot. He punched her face as hard as an eleven-year-old could, drawing blood. She cried when he hit her over and over. And before he knew it, his penis was erect, and he was able to fulfill his father’s wishes. Her blood, her cries, the pain—that was the arousal.
The body was found three months later when some stray dogs dug up her remains. Gene acted as shocked as every other kid in school. His father, never knowing his personal project had even approached the little girl, consoled him by saying that he should have taken his opportunity when he still had the chance.