Читать книгу What You Don't See - Tracy Clark - Страница 12

Chapter 6

There must be a better way to find some peace, Philip Hewitt thought as he wove his way from the backseat of his Uber ride to his front door, four gin and tonics, a screwdriver, and half a bowl of stale Bavarian pretzels sloshing around in his sour stomach.

“Damned bitch.” He poked his key at the lock, missed his mark, tried again. The weaving didn’t help. “Damn bitch lock.”

Quiet block, quiet neighborhood, especially at half past one in the morning on a Tuesday. His neighbors were probably all tucked in bed, not letting the bedbugs bite, Hewitt thought as he finally matched jagged key to jagged lock cylinder. The courtyard of his building was still, empty, or so he thought, as he twisted the small silver key, longing for the comfort of his own bed. But something wasn’t right. A feeling. Even with the gin buzz, he sensed something, someone, tuck in behind him, too close for him to feel easy about it. He turned to find the last person he ever expected to see on his humble doorstep. He was so surprised, he began to cackle like a loon.

“Are you serious? I can’t get a break.” He tried correcting his weave, tried pulling himself together. “What’re you doing here?”

But it was too late in the game for talk. Hewitt was a problem. His eyes grew wide as saucers, then slowly lowered from familiar eyes to the glint of gunmetal. “Are you crazy? Get the hell out of here.”

He’d misjudged, but didn’t he always?

Hewitt turned his back to the gun, a show of disdain fueled by alcohol, but his heart raced just the same, and his blood ran cold. “You’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life. I’ll own you now.”

But the mistake was Hewitt’s. This was no prank. Not a fake. This was a plan coming together, a mugging gone horribly wrong—or so it would appear later. Just another senseless tragedy, yet another life cut short by random violence. Remember to take his wallet and cheap watch.

Hewitt turned back, jabbed an angry finger in a feeble attempt to intimidate. “You’ve picked the wrong guy.”

He had always been a stupid man, had never been able to read the room. Good to know some people were consistent right to the end. And make no mistake, this was Hewitt’s end.

A playful wave. Really, there was no reason not to say good-bye, was there? Hewitt almost laughed but couldn’t; he simply didn’t have the time. Too quickly, the hand thrust forward to press gun barrel to drunken forehead. There was a look of shock, one muffled pop, a single twitch. One languid slide to oblivion, and that was all. Hewitt lay wasted on cool cement, in a fast-expanding puddle of gore. Some of the human blowback had splattered across his front door.

Hard eyes assessed the carnage. Done. “Such a ridiculous fool he was.”

* * *

Highland Health Club was the place to breeze through a sedate workout, celebrity watch, or close a million-dollar deal over an endive salad and imported water. Allen skimmed the Wall Street Journal from a large elliptical, glancing occasionally at the big-screen televisions mounted to the wall, ignoring me. I watched her from a spot a few feet away, off to the side, where I could see the entire room and Allen, too. The whole place smelled of perfumed sweat, damp towels, and just a whiff of pomposity.

Every machine here was designed to tone, sculpt, and tighten whatever sagged or jiggled, and there were toning classes, nutrition counseling, massage rooms, a sauna, and an assortment of European-inspired body wraps utilizing everything from Swiss mud to emulsified kale. And none of it was bargain basement. The hefty membership fee alone discouraged pretenders.

I’d reluctantly left my bed at five-thirty to get to Allen’s place by the time she set. Ben tried starting some light conversation in the limo on the way here, but Allen wasn’t interested. It was now a little after seven and the room was already packed with stick-figure people, who rushed from apparatus to apparatus, trailing dry towels along behind them. The televisions were tuned to the morning news reports, and one station was running a story on an overnight robbery-homicide, the details of which I could not hear, since the sound was channeled through headphones that plugged into the machines. Everyone moved with a purpose; everyone stared at me and found me interesting. No one tried to hand Allen any flowers or notes. I’d opted out of working out with her. This was business. I didn’t like her well enough to blur the lines.

After a half hour, during which time Allen never broke a discernible sweat, the buzzer on her elliptical machine sounded. When the pedals slowed and stopped, Allen tucked her paper under her arm and headed for her massage. She didn’t say a word to me, which was just as well. I wasn’t lonely. She was a little miffed I hadn’t brought my “workout togs.” I’d nearly snorted when she said, “Workout togs.” As a rule, togs wasn’t a word many black folks used a lot, and I wondered what Allen was trying to prove. I was dressed instead in a black blazer, a silk shirt, black slacks, and shoes I could run in, if I had to, without twisting an ankle—“bodyguard togs.”

Allen kept up the pointed silence all the way to the massage room, where a smiling blond woman with bright blue eyes and a silver nose ring met us at the door, dressed in a formfitting pink tank and spandex pants.

“This is Jade,” Allen said as the woman opened the door and led us inside. Allen padded over to the massage table and sat down to start unlacing her shoes. Jade smiled. I smiled.

I checked the small room, with its neat shelves of fragrant oils and freshly folded towels. There was only the one door, so that was easy. I then checked Jade. Harmless.

I started to leave. “I’m right outside the door.”

Allen acted as though she hadn’t heard me. Rich people tended to do that—act like they didn’t hear or see a person. I was starting to expect it from Allen.

“I’ll take a mineral water.” She didn’t bother looking up. “You’ll find it at the juice bar. Try getting it to me while it’s still cold, will you?”

Allen calmly slipped off her anklets. I assumed she’d been talking to Jade, but when the young woman didn’t move, it dawned on me that it was me Allen was sending out for water. I turned, smiled at the perky masseuse. “Um, Jade? Would you give us a minute, please?”

Jade hesitated, unsure what to do. After all, Allen was paying her. She didn’t know me from Adam’s house cat.

I held up a finger. “Just one minute.” I maintained the smile. “Ms. Allen will be with you toot sweet.”

When Jade stepped out and shut the door behind her, I walked over to the table and stood directly in front of Allen so she couldn’t help but see me. She looked up, a bored expression on her face. I looked down, not bored, deadly serious. We were mere inches from one another, so I didn’t have to raise my voice. Sometimes a whisper could be just as effective as a shout.

“I’m not your maid. I’m not your groupie. I don’t go for water, cabs, energy bars, or escorts for the evening. You want water, you’ll get up off that ridiculously overpriced table and get it yourself. Anybody bursts in here and tries to strangle you, that’s when I do what you’re paying me for. Capisce?”

She didn’t say anything, but it looked like she had loads of things bubbling up inside of her. She flushed, glowered at me, then looked away briefly before turning back to find me still standing there, serious as a heart attack.

“If not, all you have to do is say so,” I said.

A tiny muscle twitched in her neck. She was clenching her teeth too tightly. Maybe she was balancing her desire to fire me with her need for someone to cover the door while she got her backside worked over with jasmine-scented oil and emulsified vegetables. Jade seemed like a nice person, but I didn’t think Allen believed she’d take a bullet for her. At this point, I wasn’t even sure I would.

“I knew you’d be trouble,” she said. If steam could have shot out of her ears, I thought it would have. In contrast, I was perfectly calm, not angry in the least, just insistent that Allen fully grasp the true dynamic of our relationship.

“Five thousand dollars I’m paying, or have you forgotten that?”

I hadn’t, but money didn’t move me. I’d had it, not had it. Money wasn’t integrity or self-respect; it wasn’t love or death. You couldn’t do a thing with it on your deathbed. I could hear activity outside the door, the busy health club going about its business, while I waited on Allen to straighten up and fly right.

Finally, “I’ll get my own water.”

I stepped away from her, our deal done. “Enjoy your massage, Ms. Allen.”

When I pulled the door open to leave, Jade was standing right there. She looked at Allen, as if assessing her for body damage, but she didn’t say anything. In her hand she held a bottle of chilled mineral water.

I smiled. “Oh, looky, looky. Jade brought you your water. How nice.” I stepped aside and let her in, then leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Good luck with that.”