Swimmer (31 page)

Washington took off his sunglasses. Without them, he looked very young. ‘I hate to tell you this, sir. It's not supposed to be any kind of reflection on how you taught us or anything. You taught us good. But I don't feel like I'm ready for a new life yet – you know, not
really
ready.'

Jim couldn't help smiling. ‘Nobody is ever really ready, Washington. Just fake it if you think you can't make it. The most important lesson to learn in life is that everybody else is just as scared as you are.'

‘But you ain't scared of
nothing
, man.'

‘You don't think so? I'm leaving LA, I'm leaving my friends. I'm leaving behind me a job that I love and a woman that I almost think I probably love.'

‘I never thought of it that way. But least you ain't taking that cat.'

‘That's true. But TT's got a good home now … better than
I
could ever have given her.'

‘Yes,' said Mervyn. ‘And maybe she'll learn some discipline now.'

‘I'll give you a word of advice, Mervyn,' said Jim. ‘Don't try to be too authoritarian. TT has a way of getting her own back.'

‘She protected
you
, though, you can't deny it. When she thought you were in trouble, she came hurtling into that bathroom like the Cannonball Run.'

Jim stroked TT under the chin, and she closed her eyes and purred like a rattlesnake.

‘I don't know,' he said. ‘Sometimes I don't think she's a cat at all.'

They said their goodbyes – Washington, Laura and Jim. They had only been a year together, but it seemed as if they had known each other all their lives.

‘You don't have to feel obligated to write me on a regular basis, or send me e-mails,' said Jim. ‘But I would like to hear from you just once how you're getting on – what job you've managed to land, and how the world is treating you in general. And if you do ever marry and have children … well, I'm a pretty good godfather. I've had enough practice. My sister's kids, my cousin's kids. Always the god and never the father.'

‘One day,' said Laura, and kissed him on the cheek.

He sat with Karen on the front porch, gently swinging the rocker with his foot. It was one of those weird nights when the sky looks unnaturally orange, and lightning crackles on the Santa Monica Mountains. One of those nights when you can almost convince yourself that it's going to rain within a couple of hours, except that it never does.

Karen said, ‘I don't know what you need, Jim. A trip to Hawaii? A lobotomy? Your old job back at Special Class II?'

‘Maybe you're right,' said Jim. He still hadn't replaced his glasses and his eyes looked unfocused. ‘Maybe I'm falling apart.'

Karen picked up the empty bottle of Sutter Home Chardonnay that had dropped on the deck beside his chair. ‘This has got to stop, Jim. If you and I are ever going to have any kind of meaningful relationship, you have to tell me the truth.'

‘The truth, Karen? You don't want to know the truth. The truth is nothing but ashes on the ocean.'

‘Now you're being really obscure.'

‘And that's the trouble, isn't it? You can't handle anything obscure.'

She leaned across the couch and gave him a long, lingering kiss.

He looked intently into her eyes for a moment, as if he were capable of reading anything that anybody would ask him. Then he stood up, and picked up his bag. ‘Oh, well … just thought you'd like to know how all this turned out. It should help you to sleep easier, knowing that the Swimmer was evaporated … boiled dry, whatever.'

Karen was about to say something, but both of them knew that it was time to let go. He kissed her once on top of her fresh-washed hair and then she walked out of the apartment and closed the door.

He called David DuQuesne. The phone rang for a long time and then his Chinese maid answered. ‘Mr DuQuesne's residence.'

‘It's Jim Rook. I just wanted a word with Mr DuQuesne.'

‘I'm sorry. You haven't heard the news.'

‘The news? What news?'

‘Mr DuQuesne go to Pennsylvania.'

‘I see. Did he say when he was going to be back in LA?'

‘He never back.'

‘Excuse me? He's left LA for good?'

‘He never back. He die.'

‘Mr DuQuesne is
dead
? I can't believe it.'

‘You Mr Rook, yes? He left a message for you. Hold on. No hang up.'

Jim waited for two or three minutes, and eventually she came back. ‘You want I should read?'

‘Of course, yes, sure – if you can.'

‘I good read English. It say, “Dear Jim, if you are reading this then I am dead. I was inspired by your hunt for the Swimmer, and so I am going to do something that I have been promising myself for many years that I would do, but have never summoned up the nerve. I am leaving tomorrow for Pennsylvania to find Mad Frank Butler – or whatever it was that murdered my brother. This time I am going to lay this urban legend once and for all. I want you to wish me luck.”'

‘And?' asked Jim. ‘What happened to him?'

‘Very sorry to say, Pennsylvania police find Mr DuQuesne dead yesterday afternoon in the woods. Bits and pieces all over.'

‘Did they find his feet?'

‘Excuse me?'

‘It doesn't matter. I'm very sorry to hear that. I hope you'll accept my condolences.'

Jim hung up, and sat back in his chair. The sun was going down and the apartment was filled with warm amber light. In his hand he was holding the necklace that he had bought at the psychic fair at De Longpre Park, the Sunday morning that he had first met Susan. It had predicted that he would die tomorrow, on the thirteenth day of the month.

But what was death? Leaving your life behind, and going someplace new? Ending a chapter, or starting something fresh? Was it a blessing, or a torment?

He took the necklace and dropped it into the wastebin. Then he went into the bathroom and furiously brushed his teeth, with tears streaming down his cheeks.