Deadworld (7 page)

Gamble had a hold of Pernetti now, helping him back to his feet. “You’re a fucking psycho, Rutledge,” Pernetti said.

He was embarrassed more than anything. Sally was already walking up with a mop in her hand, and Jackie fished in her wallet for a twenty. “Sorry, Sal.” She sounded like a broken record. It was time to get out.

Sally snatched the twenty from Jackie’s hand before it had even been offered. “Go home, Jack.”

The crowd cheered her on as she walked by the bar, and Jackie felt embarrassed now. Okay, it had been a stupid thing to do. Likely, she would be hearing something from Belgerman the following day. No way would word of this not spread. Marly just glared at her, and she had no nerve for trying to smooth things over. He would forget about it in a day or two. He always did. Her hope now was that there was a kind and beneficent god who would keep Laurel from driving over to see what the hell was going on.

Jackie stepped out into the setting sun, squinting at Laurel, who had stopped and crossed her arms over her chest. The hard, thin line of her mouth said it all. Man, God could be a prick.

Chapter 10

“I tried calling you.” Laurel’s voice was taut as a guitar string. Her hair was damp with a sprinkling rain.

Jackie winced. When was the last time she had heard that tone of voice? Laurel so seldom got mad at anything she could not even remember. Rummaging through her purse, she pulled out the broken remains of her cell phone. “Pernetti took a dislike to it for some reason.”

“Some reason?” Laurel’s hands came to rest on her hips, balled up into fists. “Do I want to go in and ask Marly what happened?”

“Um, no.” Jackie smiled nervously at her. “I had good reason though. Pernetti—”

“Fuck Pernetti,” she snapped back, leaning in close. “How many drinks have you had, Jackie?” She did not wait for an answer and spun on her heel, marching back to her car.

Jackie hurried after her. Unlike the anger that Pernetti’s comments inspired, Laurel’s reaction had the opposite effect on Jackie. Her stomach instantly knotted up in fear.
Fuck Pernetti? Christ, she really is pissed
. “I only had a couple. He called you a—”

“A couple?” She paused, her hand on the door handle of her blue Beetle. “You had only two drinks?” Jackie’s silence only appeared to inspire her anger. “Don’t even know, do you? Did you hit him, Jack?” The feeble smile was all the reply she needed. “Damnit! You can get suspended for that shit, Jackie.” She got in and slammed the door before Jackie could stumble out any kind of reply.

Jackie got into the passenger’s seat, staring at Laurel in something close to shock. Her partner, best friend in the world, clenched the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white. Where had this all come from?

“Pernetti started it, Laur. He called you a boot-licking, dykey witch.”

Laurel took a deep breath and stared at Jackie for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was trembling. “I don’t give a shit about anything Pernetti says, and you know it.”

“Well,” Jackie replied, trying to sound indignant, “if you had been there, you would’ve been pissed, too.”

“No!” She pounded her hands against the steering wheel. “Pernetti can be a prick for the rest of our lives, for all I care. His behavior is not the problem.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like men, period.”

“What?”

“Men, Jackie. You got a big issue with them, and I understand why, but I’m tired of seeing it drag you down into this . . . this place you’re in.”

“What place is that?” Jackie’s hand absently went to her stomach, which churned away with a fear that bordered on panic. “What are you talking about?”

“Am I stupid, Jack? Do I look blind?”

“No. You’re one of the smartest people I know.”

“I know what happened to you. I know why you’ve got this thing. Why every guy is the biggest asshole in the world. Not all guys are like that, mind you, but it drives you, and that makes you strong in some ways. I admire that drive.” She smiled faintly.

“Thanks.”

“No, shut up. Let me finish while I still have the nerve.”

Jackie leaned away from her, against the door, watching her. “Okay.”

“Okay. First thing, why did you fight Pernetti? No, don’t answer,” Laurel said quickly, holding up a finger to her. “I’ll tell you, because I’ll bet I already know. He made a quip about what or how much you were drinking.” Jackie’s sheepish silence answered the question. “How about the guy this weekend? The lifeguard. What was his name?”

What the hell was his name?
That whole night was a foggy blank. She had not even known when he left her apartment. “Does it matter?”

“Would you have had any interest at all if you weren’t plastered off your ass?”

Jackie looked down at her lap. No. She would not have given him the time of day. “Okay, so I got a little drunk and fucked a stranger. I’m not the first woman to do that, you know.”

“Jackie Rutledge,” Laurel said, pointing a shaking finger at her. “You don’t fuck anyone unless you’re so shit faced you don’t even know your own name.”

“Hey! That’s not . . .” Jackie faded to silence again. It was true.

“See! Not a one. I’ve been with you for eight years, Jackie. You’re my partner, and I care about you more than anyone.” Her hand reached out and pulled Jackie’s hand off her stomach and held it in her own. “Look at me, please.”

For a moment she could not bear it, but Jackie finally forced herself to look into the teary eyes of her friend. Jackie squirmed in her seat. “What?”

“They aren’t all your stepfather. There are a few good ones out there.”

She tried to grin. “That might be debatable.”

“Cut the shit! Quit hating yourself, hon. Forgive your mother for being weak and stop being scared you are just like her. You aren’t. Trust me.”

Anger billowed up inside. “I don’t hate myself! And what’s with all the psychobabble? All I did was smack Pernetti—”

“Because you’re half drunk! Why? To mull over the case? Bullshit! You don’t need six fucking shots of tequila to mull over anything.”

“I didn’t say—”

“Quit talking, Jack!” Laurel released her steel grip on Jackie’s hand and stabbed a finger at her again. “This isn’t about today or punching Pernetti. This is just the final straw, and I’ve got to say something before it drives me insane and makes me hate you.”

Jesus Christ. The ghost shit had really done a number on her. Clearly, she had to get something off her chest, so Jackie stayed silent and waited.

“I don’t want to hate you. I want . . .” She paused, gathering herself, and heaved a sigh. “Damnit, Jackie. You need to figure this out. I don’t want to cover your ass anymore on this stuff.”

Jackie shrugged. “Okay. Then don’t. You don’t need to do that. I’m a big girl, you know.”

Laughter half dissolved into tears. “That’s just the thing. You’re still that little girl inside who is terrified she’ll become her mother, and no amount of alcohol is going to hide that fear, Jackie. It’ll never go away until you face it down.”

“I, um . . .” What could she say to those tears? Everything inside turned to a quivering, gelatinous mess. Part of her wanted to lash out, tell Laurel to fuck off for being so presumptuous, but the problem was, she was right. “I will.”

“When, Jackie? When cirrhosis sets in? When you’re eighty years old and lonely and bitter and realize you’re going to die never having loved a single person in your life because you were too afraid to let them see who you are?”

“I don’t drink that much,” she said defensively.

“Only when you want to be with a guy. Because you’re too afraid they’ll see your mother in you.”

Tears welled up in Jackie’s eyes. “That’s not true.”

Laurel squeezed her hand, tears spilling down her own cheeks. “It is, and it’s ruining you, Jackie. You have to deal with this somehow.”

“I can deal with it fine.” The words did not even sound truthful to herself, and she wiped at the tear that threatened to spill. “I do just fine.”

“You ever want to love? You ever want a real, honest relationship?”

“Of course,” Jackie said with a laugh. They had to stop talking now, or she was going to burst into tears, and with her luck, the guys would all come walking through the parking lot just then.

“Then do me a favor.”

“What?”

“Next time you want to be with a guy, no drinking. Can you do that?”

What a stupid question. But deep down Jackie was not sure. She tried to imagine taking a guy home for the night, completely sober, completely herself. Christ. Jackie took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. “I . . . Yeah, I think so.”

“Good,” Laurel said, seemingly satisfied for the moment. She reached into her purse and pulled out a tissue. “Here. Scary thought, isn’t it?”

“What’s that?”

“Letting someone see who you really are. Inside.”

Jackie swallowed the lump in her throat and just nodded, wiping at the tears that ran down her cheeks now. She felt twelve years old all of a sudden.

“You’re a good person, Jackie. Amazing, really. You’ve got nothing to be afraid of in that regard.”

The tears kept coming, and Jackie nodded dumbly again. Laurel knew what she was afraid of, far more clearly than she had been willing to admit, obviously. Jackie could see the image of her mother now, floating peacefully, smiling. Sad how the only time she could recall her smile was in death. Her body began to shake now, overwhelmed by the dam of emotion that crumbled within.

“I don’t want to end up like her,” she said, stuttering through the sobs that welled up. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

Laurel’s arms came around Jackie then, holding her tightly. “I know, hon. You won’t. Trust me, you won’t.”

“How can you know?”

“I just do, okay.”

For some reason, that was enough. It was the soothing, motherly tone, perhaps. Or maybe she was just being psychic. Whatever it was, Jackie didn’t care. The release felt good, and she held Laurel for a long moment, savoring the brief feeling of security it brought. When the sobs had finally stopped wracking her, Jackie let go. “Thanks, Laur.”

“Welcome,” she said with a little laugh, “and I’m sorry for being a bitch. I had to say something for my own sanity’s sake. I’ve been ready to strangle you for a while now.”

Jackie chuckled at the thought and sagged back in the seat. She felt exhausted all of a sudden, beyond tired. “No. I had it coming, I think. I mean, you’re my only real friend, for fuck’s sake. If you can’t stand me, who else am I going to turn to?”

Laurel looked at her hard for a long moment. “Some things need to change, that’s for sure. For one, you can quit defending me against the dykey-witch insults.”

“Hey, now! I won’t put up with homophobic bullshit from anyone.”

She gave Jackie a hesitant smile. “Even if the accusation is true?”

“What?” Laurel’s words did not sink in right away, dawning on her slowly as Laurel watched her with a steady, expectant gaze. “You’re saying you’re a dykey witch.” Laurel nodded at Jackie, whose eyes suddenly went wide. “But . . . Laur! You aren’t . . . I mean, how can you be? Jesus fucking Christ!” She reached over and slugged Laurel in the arm. “How come you’ve never told me? Oh, my God.”

It was Laurel’s turn to slump back in her seat. “I’m sorry, Jackie. Honestly, I thought you knew.”

“Pernetti knows?” It was quickly becoming apparent that Jackie might be the only person in the bureau who did not know.

She winced at Jackie’s embarrassment. “I think most everyone does. They’re just afraid to make any remarks about it in your presence.”

“Damn straight,” she said, “or rather . . . um . . . Fuck, Laur.” Her mind just could not get around the idea. How could she have not known? “Am I that self-absorbed?”

“Oh, no,” Laurel said, laying a hand on Jackie’s arm, who abruptly pulled it away from her touch. “I didn’t want it to interfere with anything.” She looked down at Jackie’s arm with a resigned sadness. “I’m sorry.”

Wow. A couple shots of tequila sounded really damn good now. “Well, I’m in no position to say a damn thing, am I?” She laughed at the irony. “I don’t even know what to think right now. I can’t. I’m half wasted and tired as hell. But I’m okay with it. Being gay, I mean. I’m more shocked at myself, I think.”

Laurel nodded. “It’s okay. This is good though, us talking about all this. We’ve needed to get some things out in the open. For once, I guess we can thank Pernetti for being an asshole.”

Jackie laughed. “I’m just not sure what to do with it all.”

“Nothing.” Laurel started up the car. “Go take a hot bath. Sleep. Figure out what you’re going to say to Belgerman tomorrow about all this.”

“Shit. That’s not going to be fun.”

“Nope, and I hope it’s not as bad as it could be. Did you at least figure out anything more on the case?”

“No.” Jackie wadded the tissue up in her fist. “We’ll keep looking into Mr. Anderson and his company. There’s something there. We just need to find it.”

“Okay. First thing in the morning then.”

She heaved a sigh, trying to let the rest of the tension dissipate. “I’m glad you finally came out.”

Laurel laughed. “Me, too, and don’t worry, I won’t be trying to stick my tongue down your throat.”

Jackie laughed along with her but didn’t reply. She had not even considered that option, and now the image refused to leave her alone. Great, just what she needed.

Chapter 11

Jackie waved at Laurel as she drove away, having refused to let Jackie drive home herself. Up above, a dark shadow leaped down from the kitchen windowsill and vanished. Bickerstaff was hungry. The rain began to splatter with greater insistence upon Jackie’s face. A proper ending to a dismal day. Fishing the keys from her pocket, Jackie unlocked the street side door and walked up to the hall where four apartments had been carved out of the warehouse space above the shops below. From behind the front right door, the cat’s plaintive meows could be heard.

As any cat worth its weight would do, Bickerstaff tangled himself up in Jackie’s legs when she stepped in, fumbling for the light switch. The cat nimbly dodged around her stumbling feet and continued to rub up against her legs.

“Christ, Bickers. Is my baby hungry?” She picked up the purring, orange mound of fur and then slid the dead bolt in place. After dumping a can of food in his bowl and adding a bit of milk on the side, Jackie kicked off her shoes in the living room and proceeded to start water for a bath. If anything, a good, hot soak would wash away the stress of the past few hours. Dropping in a handful of bath beads, she stripped out of her clothes, making most of them land in the hamper, and went back to fill a glass from a half-empty bottle of chilled merlot.

She gulped down half of it with a note of defiance. “I do not drink that much, do I, Bickers?” The cat peered at her from his bowl, licking his lips, oblivious to her mood. He blinked once and went back to his dinner. “Yeah, well, what the fuck do you know, damn cat.”

Back in the bathroom, Jackie stared at herself in the mirror, imagining how her face might look if it were all sallow and deflated, drained of blood. Better, perhaps, given her current state of self worth. For a brief moment, the reflection of the water in the tub rippled, and the all too familiar face of her mother floated there, white as bone, eyes milky and blank. Wisps of hair undulated around her face, a dark halo of death.

Jackie blinked and turned away. “Goddamnit.”

She hesitated before climbing into the now full and steaming tub, making sure the image was not going to haunt her again. For a second, she contemplated draining it and running a shower, but she forced the unease aside. It had been years since she’d given into the feeling, and damned if she was going to do it now. With a ginger first step, Jackie climbed in and slid down into the soothing heat with a groan. The image of the boy still lingered, however.

The question kept creeping in and around every other thought. Why would someone drain the blood from a body? Why a kid? That was even more disturbing. What kind of pathology produced such a desire? And why place the victim sitting against a tree in a park? Was there a message there? More than likely there was, but it could mean almost anything. The Wisconsin woman had been found sprawled in an alley. Jackie made a mental note to take a deeper look at that case tomorrow.

Then there was Nick Anderson and his crew. Jackie could not get an angle from which to view him clearly. Who was he, really? What kind of rich CEO spent his time being a PI dealing in ghosts? It was so far-fetched it had to be a scam of some kind—a cover, perhaps. What did they know? How involved was he? Could he be the killer or know who the killer was? If he did know the killer, why not say? She would nail him for obstruction, if that was the case. And then there was Laurel’s whole take on them.

God, Laurel. She reached over and grabbed the glass of wine from the tubside table and finished it off. The warmth did little to relax the tightness in her throat. The case evaporated into the steam, burned away by Laurel’s accusations and full-on assault. Jackie could never recall seeing her so upset. She was always the calm, cool, and collected one. But, worse, that anger had been directed at her. She had caused that pain.

The equilibrium of the universe had just been knocked off its axis. Was it really possible for her to live out her entire life and never find love? Love did not come up on the radar much these days, but if the need arose, guys were certainly willing and able. But, really, there was no love involved there at all. They were always willing to take advantage. When was the last time she had slept with someone sober? Surely, there was at least one? Jackie dredged through the muck of her memories and could find nothing.

Laurel was right. She could only fuck drunk. “I’m the biggest fucking loser.”

A couple strands of hair floated in the water before her face, and Jackie had the sudden panicked feeling that her mother was creeping around in the water just below the surface. She swung over the side of the tub in a mad scramble and flopped onto the bathroom rug.

Bickers, wondering what the hell was going on, poked his head through the door to stare, mocking in straight-faced silence.

“Get out!” Jackie kicked the door closed on him and climbed back to her feet. “Son of a bitch.”

After drying off and throwing on her robe, Jackie searched the fridge for something to eat and found a two-day-old carton of fried rice from Ho Mei’s down the street. Giving her defiance a break, Jackie poured a glass of orange juice and carried her sad excuse for dinner out to the living room.

One half of the space had a couch and chair squeezed uncomfortably close to a forty-inch television mounted to the wall. The other half of the room was taken up by a Steinway, its finish dulled over the years from neglect. There were books stacked on one side and a bowl of kibble on the other for Bickerstaff, who promptly joined Jackie when she sat down and set her dinner on the bench next to her. He gave a disappointed look at the crumbs in his bowl and decided that licking himself would be the preferred course of action.

“Are you making me watch that on purpose, you perv?” He paused long enough to give her a look that indicated only real cats licked their balls and went back to work. “Just trying to make me jealous, aren’t you?” She reached up and ruffled his ears, and Bickerstaff moved out of the way with obvious annoyance, settling farther back on the piano top. With a firm stretch and pop of her knuckles, Jackie consumed a large spoonful of the rice and settled in to play some Mozart.

It had become a case-starting tradition several years earlier, recommended by Laurel when she had become particularly stumped on a case. “It’s your meditation, your grounding place, Jackie. Playing clears your mind. Give it a try and see if it helps.” It had taken three hours, but the puzzle pieces had rearranged themselves into a more logical order, and a new path to pursue had opened up, leading to a break in the case.

An hour later, nothing was coming to her. Her mind was still too unsettled, constantly losing its track, disrupted by Laurel’s tirade against her. She would have to come to grips with it soon. Somehow.

Instead she decided to go to her bedroom and see if she could make use of her laptop and find out more information on Nick Anderson. She wanted to find out more details about that case involving his father. Her gut, knotted as it was, knew that its ties were more than coincidental.

Thirty minutes later, drink and exhaustion had Jackie falling asleep to an episode of
Castle
Laurel had e-mailed to her.