Rubbed Out (17 page)

“How come I never noticed?”

Paul shrugged. “People see what they want to.”

“You'll gamble this money away too.”

“Always the optimist,” Paul said.

Finally, after a minute or so, Janet Wilcox managed to pull herself up using the cabinets. Her stockings were ripped from where she had fallen and her skirt was twisted around, but every hair on her head was still in place.

“What the hell are you using on your hair, shellac?” Paul asked her. “You should sell that stuff to the Air Force.”

Janet wiped her chin off with the back of her hand. “I told Walter he shouldn't have gotten involved with you.”

“He shouldn't have gotten involved with Alima,” Paul replied.

He moved toward her, his weight casually balanced on both feet.

“You should be reported to the authorities,” she said.

Now that she had her breath back, she was doing a passable turn as an indignant middle-class suburban matron. I couldn't decide if she was stupid or brave. I don't think Paul knew either.

He shook his head slowly from side to side. Incredulous.

“You really don't get it, do you? No one gives a shit about you. Especially me. Especially now.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose with the thumb of his left hand. “In fact, I'm betting that if old Walter was here, he'd be paying me to do this.”

Janet studied the sink and didn't say anything.

“You killed him.”

“That's not true,” she said.

“Oh, it most certainly is. If you hadn't taken that money, your darling husband would be alive today.”

“I didn't know that would happen.”

Paul snorted. “In your heart you did. And even if you didn't, which I don't for one second believe, so what? According to the law, ignorance is not a defense. You're at least guilty of manslaughter. What do you say, Robin?”

“I say you should quit playing at being judge and jury and leave her alone.”

“And I say she deserves some payback.” Paul turned and faced Janet again. “I bet you liked that they roasted him. I bet you thought he deserved it.”

“No. No,” Janet cried, shaking her head back and forth. “I didn't. I just wanted him to be sorry for the way he treated me.”

“Well, he certainly was that. Actually,” Paul said, his face a study in boredom, “the truth is, I don't really give a shit why you did what you did.” He balled his left hand into a fist and lifted it up so it was almost level with Janet's chin. “Now, are you going to tell me what I want to know or do I have to break your friggin' jaw for you?”

She turned to me.

“Will he?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” I said.

Her mouth quivered. Her shoulders sagged. She'd reached the threshold of her endurance.

“All right,” she told him. “I'll tell you where the money is.”

Paul smiled and flexed his fingers.

“Believe me, I never thought you wouldn't.”

After she told him, he hit her anyway just for the hell of it.

P
aul had his gun hidden under his jacket and pointed toward us as he marched Janet and me down the stairs.

“At least let me put on my jacket,” I complained. “It's twenty degrees out there.”

“You're a tough girl. You'll survive,” he said, pushing me toward the door.

“You're an asshole, you know that.”

“So you've said,” Paul told me as he opened the door to the street. It was empty. “Don't even think about yelling,” he warned as he hustled Janet and me to his car, which was parked right in front of the house. “Because I
will
shoot you.”

I didn't say anything.

Paul nodded in the direction of the sidewalk. “Try and run if you don't believe me,” he said to me. “See what happens.”

“That's all right. I'll take your word.”

Paul smirked. “That's what I thought,” he said. “No guts.”

“Is that an expression for being stupid?”

Paul's face clouded over. “Don't push it,” he said as he loaded us into his car. “You first,” he said, indicating me, “and her second.”

Then he slammed the passenger door shut, walked around to the other side, and got in. If we were going to run, now would have been the time to do it, but it was clear to me from the dazed expression on Janet's face that she wasn't capable of putting one foot in front of the other, let alone running, and I think Paul knew that too.

“Why don't you let us go?” I said to Paul. “You don't need us now.”

“I'll tell you when I don't need you.”

I held up my hands. “At least loosen the cuffs a little. They're cutting off my circulation.”

Paul cocked his head to one side and widened his eyes.

“And the magic word is?”

“You should only eat shit and die?”

Paul slapped me across the face. It wasn't that hard, but it was hard enough. My eyes began to water.

“And don't even think about kicking me,” he warned. “Because I'll beat the living crap out of you.”

“Would that make you feel good?”

“You have some mouth on you, you know that?” Paul said as he turned on the car.

“Comes from being a native New Yorker.”

“Another reason they should take this place and sink it in the ocean.”

Janet coughed. We were sitting so close, her shoulder was rubbing up against mine. I could smell the mix of vomit, old perfume, and fear coming off her. Her turquoise boots, the emblem of her new life, were stained with yellowish drips.

“Are you going to kill us?” she whispered.

Paul laughed. “Why the hell should I do that? You two aren't worth the trouble.”

“Nice to know we're important,” I said to him. I lifted both hands and pulled on the neckband of my turtleneck. “Could you at least open the windows a crack?” The lack of air circulation was getting to me.

Paul glared at me, but he did as I'd asked. I guess the smell was getting to him too.

I took a deep breath as the cold air poured in. Then I stretched my legs out to get the kink out of my calf. I watched but didn't say anything as Paul took a left instead of a right at the corner. Unlike Manhattan, the Bronx is an easy place to get lost in, and I could tell that the deeper we got into the borough, the more nervous Paul was becoming, a fact that gave me a certain amount of pleasure. If I got really lucky, someone would come along and shoot him.

Soon we were in the middle of Fordham Road. The street had been a shopping center when my aunt and uncle had lived up here. It still was. Only now the complexions of the people doing the shopping were different. The Jews and Italians had given way to Dominicans and African-Americans.

“Did you know that the Bronx is the only borough of New York City that's attached to the mainland?” I said. I forget where I'd read that.

Always inform when possible, that's my motto.

“So now you're a friggin' tour guide,” Paul said as he tried to read a street sign. A good quarter of them were gone.

“At least I'm not a kidnapper.”

“I'll pull over and make those bracelets tighter if you don't shut up,” he warned, his eyes still on the road. “Fuckin' city,” he muttered. “I wouldn't live here on a bet. What the hell is University Heights Bridge? I don't remember that being there when I came up.”

“You could always ask someone,” I said. “Or maybe you'd like me to drive.”

“I told you to shut the fuck up,” Paul snarled. “The next time I hit you, it'll be a lot harder.”

Obviously city driving wasn't bringing out the best in him.

“Charming as always,” I said as I clenched and unclenched my hands trying to keep the circulation in them going.

Janet didn't say anything at all. She sat with her hands folded in her lap and her eyes facing front. She could have been in church. Every once in a while she'd lightly touch the places Paul had hit her, as if reminding herself of what had happened. Her lower lip was bleeding, and the bruises on her face had turned red and puffy. By tomorrow they'd be purple, green, and yellow. Not Janet's colors. Not anyone's for that matter. Unless you were an M&M.

As I watched Paul blunder around the streets, I wondered how in God's name I could have gone to bed with this man. What had I seen in him? How had I been so wrong about him? There must have been signs. Manuel had seen them. So had Calli. They'd tried to warn me. And of course I hadn't listened. People had tried to warn me about Murphy too. I hadn't listened to them either. Out of Murphy, George, and Paul, I was down two to one. Not a good score.

The traffic had gotten heavier and the skies had grown darker. Except for an occasional muttered, “Fuck,” Paul was quiet as he tried to find his way down to Manhattan. We drove around for twenty minutes or so before he finally managed to get us on the Henry Hudson Parkway.

“Congratulations,” I told him. “I always love taking the scenic route.”

“Shut up,” Paul growled.

And here was another thing. How had I managed to go with someone with such a limited vocabulary? In all ways.

“You never could take a compliment,” I told him while I watched the stream of cars, haloed in their own headlights, crossing the George Washington Bridge.

When I was younger I'd loved crossing the bridge on the top level and seeing the lights of the Palisades spread out before me as we drove to New Jersey to visit my cousins.

Farther on, even though it was dark and cold, scattered handfuls of kids were throwing footballs to each other around Riverside Drive. Around 90th Street I felt a pang as I spied a man walking a blond cocker spaniel. I hoped Zsa Zsa was doing all right with Bethany and Manuel.

“If we get off here, we can stop at the Museum of Natural History,” I said to Paul as we came up on the 79th Street Boat Basin. “Don't you want to see the dinosaurs? I bet Janet would.”

“The only thing I want to see is the back of this place,” Paul commented as he changed lanes again.

I moved my hands up and down. The tips of my fingers were starting to go numb. “Me, I'm kinda glad to be back.”

“You would be.” Then he kept his left hand on the wheel and pointed at Janet with his right one. “Why'd you do it?”

She gave no indication of having heard him.

“Answer me when I talk to you,” he barked.

“I thought you weren't interested.”

“Well, I am now.”

“You want to know why I took the money?” Janet's words came out slowly, each one enunciated.

“No. I want to know why you bought a boat.”

She kept staring straight ahead.

“I'm waiting,” Paul said.

Janet took a deep breath and let it out.

“Don't get me angry,” he warned.

She dabbed the blood off her lip. Finally she spoke. “I took the money because it wasn't fair.”

“What wasn't fair?”

“I made Walter a nice home. I gave him a daughter. I cooked his meals and washed his dirty underwear. I listened to his complaining. I deserve something for that.”

Paul snorted. “You sound like my friggin' ex-wives. Always whining. Did you ever think that maybe Walter wanted something else?” Paul asked, swerving to avoid a car that was cutting us off.

“He never said he was unhappy.” Janet's lower lip was trembling. She clasped and unclasped her hands. “He should have told me.”

Paul threw a quick glance in her direction. “Maybe he did. Maybe you weren't listening.”

“He didn't.” Janet's voice rose. “He threw me away for that . . . that . . . thing. Like an old sweater.”

“Old sweater? Give me a fuckin' break. You can do better than that.”

But now that Janet was started, she wanted to keep going. “He told me I bored him. I bored
him?
What about him boring me? Do you know how old that . . . that person is? She isn't even eighteen. She's younger than his daughter. It's disgusting.”

“So it would have been okay if he'd picked someone older?”

Janet's nostrils flared. “I deserve a little happiness too.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Paul said. “Which is why I'm doing what I am. Glad to see we agree on something.”

Janet bristled. “We have nothing in common.”

“I think we do,” Paul said. “After all, we're both willing to do anything to get what we want.”

“That's a lie.”

“Is it?”

I could feel Janet's body growing rigid as she went back to looking straight ahead of her.

We got off the West Side Highway and turned left onto 42nd Street. The street was jammed. Cars were double-parked on either side, narrowing the available lanes. Everyone was sitting on their horns. Just in case people didn't realize they weren't moving. I checked my watch. We'd been in the car for a little over forty-five minutes, and the way we were going it would probably take us another half an hour—at least—to reach our destination.

Paul was cursing again. “I hate this fuckin' shit,” he said as he honked at the taxi in front of us.

“That's going to do a lot of good,” I told him.

He hit the horn again. Just to show that he didn't have to listen to me.

“Why the hell did you have to pick the Port Authority?” Paul said to Janet.

I could feel her leg shaking through her coat, but her face was expressionless.

“It was convenient,” she told him.

“How was it convenient? You didn't come here by bus. You drove.”

“I took a taxi down here.”

“You did?”

“Yes.”

But there was a catch in Janet's voice. She should have nodded instead.

I could see awareness dawning in Paul's eyes.

“You're lying to me, aren't you?” he said.

“Why would I do that?” she said.

“You stupid fuckin' bitch,” he said, his eyes still on the street.

“I didn't,” she protested.

“Don't bother denying it.” Paul's face was taut with rage. “All this time you've been jerking me around. Making me ride around like some sort of friggin' loser. God, you're going to regret this.”

Janet watched a bicyclist in a bright orange down jacket weave in and out of the traffic.

“No, you are,” she finally said.

“We'll see about that.”

“Yes, we will.” She touched her lip and laughed. The effect was disconcerting.

“Did you know?” Paul said to me.

I turned toward him.

“How would I know? You're the hotshot detective here.”

“You think this is funny, don't you? Let me tell you, you're not going to think it's funny when I get through with you,” Paul warned.

“Don't take out your stupidity on me,” I protested.

And that was the point at which Janet opened the door and stepped out. I'm almost positive I heard her say, “Go to hell.” But I can't be sure.