Blue Screen (15 page)

W
E LAY NAKED TOGETHER
getting our breathing under control. The bedclothes had long since been discarded and were somewhere tangled on the floor with my clothes. My head was on Jesse’s shoulder. Both of us felt a little damp. Our breathing slowed. It was as if I had been a long way and was slowly returning.

“Agile,” Jesse said.

“Vigorous,” I said.

We both smiled and lay quietly, taking in air.

“Not since I first married Jenn…” Jesse said.

“Have you had sex like this,” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“Is that something you say to all the girls?”

“It is,” Jesse said. “But this time I mean it.”

“I know,” I said.

The stillness in Jesse’s condo was soothing. The faint smell of the ocean was clean and pleasant. I rubbed my forehead against his jaw.

“You shaved, too,” I said.

“Ever hopeful,” he said.

“And,” I said, “the bed is freshly made.”

“It’s good to be ready,” he said.

The room was bright. We had not bothered to turn out the lights. Jesse’s breathing was easy now. So was mine.

“Did you ever hear of a story called
A Clean, Well-Lighted Place
?” I said.

“No.”

“I read it in college,” I said. “I didn’t get it then. Now I do.”

“Is it about sex?” Jesse said.

“No,” I said. “More about peace, maybe, or refuge.”

Jesse didn’t say anything for a while. Neither did I.

Then Jesse said, “This is pretty peaceful.”

“Yes,” I said.

Jesse’s left arm was under my shoulders. His right hand rested on my stomach. Faintly, in the kitchen, I could hear the refrigerator cycle on. Somewhere outside, a car door closed. I continued to rub my forehead softly against his jaw.

“Everything seems to go back to Los Angeles,” Jesse said.

“Excuse me?”

“The case,” Jesse said. “Misty’s murder. All the connections seem to connect back to LA.”

I laughed to myself. Jesse felt the silent laughter.

“Insufficiently romantic?” Jesse said.

“The downside of sleeping with a cop, I guess.”

“It has its upside,” Jesse said. “So to speak.”

“And thank God for it,” I said.

We both laughed.

“But think about it,” Jesse said. “Erin and Misty are from LA. Buddy’s from LA. They are connected to Moon Monaghan through an LA film financial outfit.”

“Erin’s former pimp is still in LA,” I said.

“Erin and Misty’s former pimp,” Jesse said.

“So he’s connected to them,” I said. “And they’re connected to Buddy and he’s connected to Moon, and Moon’s connected to Delaney and Newton.”

“And…” Jesse said.

“And the chain stops,” I said. “As far as we know.”

“Maybe we should know more,” I said.

“Can’t hurt,” Jesse said.

He moved his hand gently down my stomach.

“You work through…Cronjager,” I said. “I’ll…work…through Erin.”

“See if we meet somewhere,” Jesse said.

His hand continued to move.

“Do we have an…ah…upside…again?” I said.

“I believe so,” Jesse said.

“Good for you,” I said.

We didn’t get to the Chinese food until very late. Jesse reheated it in the oven, and we ate it for breakfast at his dining-room table, and watched the sun come slowly up over Paradise Neck, across the harbor.

R
OSIE AND
I sat in Spike’s restaurant at a table near the door. There were no dogs allowed, but Rosie had a special relationship with the owner. It was the drink-after-work crowd, and the bar was busy. Spike was behind the bar, lending a hand. I ordered a Diet Coke and looked at the menu. If your taste ran to the ordinary, Spike put out a decent meal. Rosie sat in the chair beside me and waited patiently for the dog biscuit that she knew someone would bring her.

A squat man with a shaved head and a big mustache came into the restaurant wearing a gray warm-up jacket with red sleeves. He brushed by the hostess and sat down at my table. The word
Hurricanes
was stitched in red script across the front of the jacket. His hands were thick and he had the look of a bodybuilder. Rosie looked hard at him to see if he had a dog biscuit. He ignored her.

“You’re Sunny Randall,” he said.

“Yes,” I said. “This is Rosie.”

“Fuck Rosie,” he said. “Moon wants to know why you’re nosing around him.”

“We explained that not long ago to Moon himself,” I said.

“You and that cop.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe we can’t do nothing about the cop,” the bald man said, “but we can sure do something about you. Why you asking Moon a bunch of questions?”

“I’m flirtatious,” I said. “And Moon is so cute.”

“Don’t fuck with me,” the bald man said. “I’ll drag you outta here right now and beat the shit out of you.”

“You think?” I said.

He reached across the table and grabbed my face with one hand and squeezed. I knew that from behind the bar, Spike had seen him.

“I’d like it,” he said. “I can make you squeal like a pig. Be fun.”

He gave me a little shake and let go. Spike came around the bar.

“So you can tell me now, nice and calm, or you can tell me squealing and crying and blubbering for me to stop,” the bald man said.

I smiled. I think he felt Spike’s looming appearance before he actually saw Spike. He may have been struck by how big Spike was, but Baldy was a professional tough guy. He stuck to his guns.

“Who the fuck are you?” he said.

“My name’s Spike.”

“Well get lost, Spike. I’m talking to this lady.”

Spike looked at me.

“Get lost, Spike?” he said to me.

I smiled and nodded.

“Is he as annoying as he seems?” Spike said.

“Don’t fuck with me, pal,” Baldy said. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

Spike kept looking at him. The bald man stood suddenly and put his hand on Spike’s chest and shoved. Nothing happened. Spike didn’t move.

“Okay, pal,” Baldy said, “it’s your choice.”

He swung at Spike with a left hook. Spike caught it almost casually on his right forearm. He took hold of the man’s shirt front with his left hand and yanked him off balance. He put his right hand into the bald man’s crotch and picked him up bodily and raised him about chest level and slammed him flat on his back on the floor. It hadn’t seemed that Spike was moving fast. But the whole thing took maybe a second. The bald man lay stunned. Spike put his foot on the bald man’s neck.

“You got a gun?” Spike said.

The man was not out, but his brain was scrambled. He just stared up at Spike.

“If you got a gun,” Spike said, “go for it, so I can break your neck.”

The bald man spread his hands as if to say
no, no.
Spike bent over and patted him down and took a short semiautomatic pistol from under his warm-up jacket. Spike stuck it in his hip pocket, then reached down and dragged Baldy to a semi-sitting position.

“If you bother her again,” Spike said softly, “I will break your back and throw you in the harbor.”

The bald man nodded floppily, as if his coordination wasn’t very good. Spike got him all the way to his feet. The restaurant was completely silent. Spike walked the man to the door and opened it and they both went outside. Spike was out there for maybe two minutes. Then he came back in. Under the table, I put my gun back in my purse.

“Drinks on the house,” Spike said to the bartenders, “next round, everybody.”

Then he came and sat with me at the table.

“I put him in a cab,” Spike said.

Rosie looked at him to see if he had the dog biscuit. He didn’t, but he saw the look and gestured at a waitress. She came with the biscuit and gave it to Rosie.

“So tell me about him,” Spike said.

T
HE WAITRESS
came while I was talking. Spike looked at my empty glass.

“You want another drink?” Spike said.

“Diet Coke,” I said.

Spike raised his eyebrows.

“Jack Daniel’s on the rocks,” Spike said. “And a Diet Coke.”

Then he listened silently while I told him most of the rest of my story.

“So you think there might be some connection between this pimp,” Spike said, “what’s his name…?”

“Gerard,” I said.

“Between Gerard and Moon?”

“When I can,” I said, “I try not to think what is and what isn’t before I know. It’s just a possibility to look into.”

The waitress brought our drinks, and another cookie for Rosie.

“After this one,” I said, “no more cookies for Rosie. I don’t want her to get fat.”

“Nothing wrong with fat,” Spike said.

“You’re not fat,” I said.

Spike smiled.

“I just look fat,” Spike said. “Like Rosie.”

“She does not look fat,” I said. “Neither one of you does.”

“In fact, we’re built pretty much the same.”

“The scale is different,” I said.

Spike grinned. Rosie finished her cookie and lapped a crumb up off the tabletop.

“You think Moon is the one?” Spike said.

“If it were a guessing game,” I said, “he’d be the best guess. But there’s no real evidence against him.”

“So you’re looking for a way in?” Spike said.

“Yes. Moon simply denies everything, and we have no leverage to make him do otherwise.”

I sipped my Diet Coke. Spike watched me.

“
We
would be you and the police chief up there,” Spike said.

“Yes,” I said.

He nodded and looked at my Diet Coke.

“Like that stuff?” he said.

“Not very much,” I said. “But I thought I was drinking too much lately.”

Spike nodded.

“Does that mean you thought I was?” I said.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’ve decided to cut back.”

“Starting now?” Spike said.

“Starting a couple of days ago, I guess.”

“What happened a couple of days ago?” Spike said.

I drank some Diet Coke. “None of your business,” I said.

Spike took a sip of his drink and looked at the glass for a time.

“You get along with that police chief?” he said.

“Don’t be so nosy,” I said.

“I heard he used to have a drinking problem,” Spike said.

“He did, but he’s got it under control now,” I said.

“You too,” Spike said.

Rosie watched him closely. Experience had taught her that Spike was an excellent cookie source.

“I don’t think I really had a problem,” I said. “But things were piling up….”

“And now they aren’t?” Spike said.

“I…”

“Yes?”

“Are you suggesting that Jesse Stone and I have some sort of relationship?”

“Yes.”

“You son of a bitch,” I said.

“I’ll take that as a yes?”

“How did you know.”

“I’m a sensitive gay man,” Spike said.

“You didn’t seem so sensitive a while ago with that bald man.”

“I have my dark side,” Spike said.

“What if he comes back,” I said, “looking for you, for revenge?”

“I’ll kill him,” Spike said.

We were silent for a moment. We both knew that Spike meant it.

“Let me withdraw the question,” I said.

The restaurant was almost full by now. Many regulars recognized Rosie; a couple waved at her. An occasional person saw her sitting there and smiled and nudged a companion. Now and then someone looked askance. But no one complained. There was something about Spike that discouraged askance.

“So,” Spike said, “you and the chief had sex yet?”

“God, you are sensitive,” I said.

“And it worked out well?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re celebrating with a Diet Coke,” Spike said.

I smiled. “It worked out well enough so I don’t feel the need for anodynes.”

“Ano-what?”

“Pain relievers,” I said. “You know what
anodyne
means as well as I do.”

Spike leaned across the table with his hand up, palm facing me. I slapped it.

“I like Richie,” Spike said.

“Me too.”

“But it is in your best interest to move on.”

“Day at a time,” I said.

“Day at a time,” Spike said.