When It All Comes Down to Dust (Phoenix Noir Book 3) (7 page)

He opened his eyes and made a heroic effort to form sentences. “No time... Whenever.”

She laughed. “Must be nice.”

He smiled feebly, as his eyes closed again.

“Want me to take off?” she said.

Without opening his eyes, he shook his head and pulled her to him. Then he fell asleep again. She tried to do the same thing, but she couldn’t. She always woke up early, even if she’d been up late. If she was very tired she might need to take a nap in the afternoon, but she still wouldn’t sleep late in the morning.

She got out of bed, without waking David, and looked around. She hadn’t had much of a chance to look at anything last night.  The bedroom had a hardwood floor, and the walls were painted dark blue. There were a couple of framed black-and-white photos of desert highways dating from the 1930s. No other decoration. The only furniture was the bed, a nightstand, a dresser, a desk and chair with a computer on the desk.

Naked, she slipped out of the bedroom, found her way to the kitchen, got a jug of water from the fridge and poured some into a glass she found in the cupboard. As she drank the water she went and checked out the living room. It seemed that David’s thing was minimalism; there was a futon, an armchair, a T.V., D.V.D. player and stereo, and nothing else but bookshelves that held C.D.s and D.V.D.s as well as maybe five hundred books. The walls, painted like those in the bedroom, were bare except for some pieces of Mexican folk art.

She finished drinking the water, got some more, then went back to the bedroom. David was still asleep, but he stirred when she got in bed with him.

“Hey, you,” he mumbled. “I wasn’t sure if you were still here.”

“Yep.”

“Cool.”

“You asked me not to take off.”

“Oh. Yeah. I wake up slow.”

“No kidding. Want some water?”

“Thanks.” He sat up, took the glass, drank from it.

“I took a look around,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

“It’s a nice place. Do you own it?”

“No. I’ve thought about buying. It’d probably be cheaper than rent. But if my bosses knew I had a mortgage, they’d think they had some power over me. As it is now, they know I don’t need the salary. If they canned me, I’d just work construction and go rent a little studio or something.”

“This doesn’t look like a rented place.”

“I know. It was a shit-hole when I moved in. The owner said he’d give me a break on the first few months’ rent if I fixed it up, so I did. I painted the walls, pulled up the carpets, buffed the floors, threw a ton of useless crap out.”

“That must make it feel like your own place.”

“Yeah, kind of. Hey, you hungry?”

“I could definitely eat.”

“I’ll have to look and see what I’ve got...”

“Uh-oh.”

“Nah, it’s not like I’d have any science experiments in the fridge – it’s just that I might not have anything at all. The last couple weeks, I’ve been sleeping in and just stopping for breakfast on the way to work.”

“We can go out to a restaurant.”

“Well, let me see what I’ve got first. I’m not crazy about the restaurants near here. First Watch is full of people who like being white together, and Applebee’s has a sign saying it’s my neighborhood restaurant...”

“Wow. Burgers were invented in this neighborhood? You must be proud.”

“I know, can you believe that? I really fucking hate chains.”

“Me too, but I’m a hypocrite. I’ve been spotted in Denny’s.”

“Get thee behind me, Satan.” They went to the kitchen and he looked in the fridge. “Okay, can you stand bacon and eggs?”

“You bet.” Then she saw the packaging. “Oh, Jesus...”

“What?”

“Organic bacon? Free range eggs? Now I’m scared.”

“Shut up. Just wait till I get a look at whatever you’ve got in your fridge.”

“Oh, you think you’re gonna see my place?”

He smiled and shrugged, but she could see that the smile was forced. As he put a skillet on the stove, she kissed his bare shoulder and put an arm around his waist. “I was just kidding,” she said. “I want you to come over. I want to see you again.”

“I hope so.” He dropped some slices of bacon into the skillet and stepped back to prevent the fat from spraying against his nakedness. “I better get some clothes,” he said.

“Too bad. I was enjoying the view.”

“The feeling’s mutual. You can always stay naked.”

“Sure.”

He went to the bedroom and came back wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Laura sat perched on the counter, still naked, and watched as he added some eggs to the pan, put two bagels in the toaster oven and brewed coffee. When the food was ready and they were about to sit down at the kitchen table, Laura said, “Okay, this isn’t fair. I need to get dressed...”

“Nope. How about this for a plan?” He pulled off the T-shirt, then the shorts, dropped them on the floor and took a seat at the table.

“I like your idea better,” Laura said.

––––––––

I
t was another two hours before she left. It didn’t take them long to eat breakfast, but they went back to bed, as both of them had known they would, and it was as good as it had been before. As Laura drove home, her hair still damp from the shower that she and David had taken together, she thought about what he’d said as they were toweling each other dry.

“Something I feel like I should probably tell you — remember all the stuff I told you about my mom and dad and how I left San Antone?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Well, usually when I do that it’s a technique...”

“What?”

“Don’t get pissed yet. Listen, okay? Usually, when I want information from somebody, I tell them something about me. Just a little bit, a little bit of personal stuff, and it makes them feel like I’m their friend. They think we’re sharing something. And after that, they’ll tell me everything I want to know. Sometimes I won’t even have to ask them, it just spills out because they think we’re intimate.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I tried to do that with you last night, but I didn’t have to, because you told me what I wanted to know anyway. And after you’d done that, I still told you my damn life story. Hell, I never do that. Most of my friends don’t know as much about me as I told you last night.”

“Why did you tell me?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what that was about. I don’t know what it means, except it means I really want to see you again.”

“You will. Since your article’s probably made me unemployable, we’re going to dinner someplace nice, and you’re paying.”

He laughed. “That seems fair.”

Now, as she got on 202 and headed for Tempe, she tried to get her head around everything that had happened since she’d left her apartment the night before. Twelve hours ago, she’d considered herself David Regier’s sworn enemy. Now it looked like she was dating him.
What the hell, maybe I’ll start hanging out with Frank once they spring him...

She was almost shocked to find herself having a sense of humor about Frank’s parole. She couldn’t believe how good a mood she was in, compared with the state of her life.

Tubby Franklin began meowing indignantly before she even put her key in the door. As soon she was inside the apartment, he ran to his food bowl and stood beside it, glaring balefully at her.

“Oh, shut your stripy face. You’re a cat. You can’t tell the time. You don’t actually know your breakfast’s late...” But the guilt trip was working on her. She gave him some wet food along with the dry.

There was a new message on her answering machine.
“Hi, Laura, this is Todd at Keating Accounting. Please give me a call at...”

She knew she had the job. She was still going to make David pick up the tab for as much sushi as she could keep down.

––––––––

F
rank recognized nothing. The weight of the sunlight was the same as it had been, and the dryness of the air, but everything else seemed new. Twenty years ago Phoenix was a town, a town that everybody said had a future, a town that was growing. But it was still a town.

Now it was something else, and Frank couldn’t name what it was. The papers called it a city, and that seemed right, kind of, because it was as big as a city, bigger than most cities. So big, so big, as he rode the bus through it he couldn’t tell where it used to end, and now it seemed like it might not ever have an end. But he didn’t think it could be a city, because he’d seen pictures of cities, and this didn’t look like a city at all. There were streets and streets and streets and streets, but no people on them, just empty sidewalks furious with sunshine, and roads crammed with vehicles, growling, urgent, trying to get past each other, not wanting to wait for anything. No stores or houses or bars, just strip malls and empty sidewalks under the sun and oh it was strange strange strange strange strange and he was here, he was free and oh thank you thank you thank you.

The guy in charge at the halfway house had been in the military. “You know why they call this a halfway house?” he asked Frank.

“Because it’s halfway from being in prison to being free.”

“You’re half-right. It’s called a halfway house because it’s halfway to being a part of the community and halfway back to prison. Whichever way you choose to go is up to you. I hope you’ll make the right choice.”

“I hope so too. I want to.” Frank wondered how many times the guy had delivered this recitation. He knew he should find the guy pompous and obnoxious, but he was so happy to be where he was that the feeling he had for him was stronger than fondness and just short of love.

The guy must have picked up on that feeling, because even though he was revolted by the very idea of Frank, he found himself slapping him on the shoulder and saying, “Well, we’ll do all we can to support you. We want you to do well. I’m on your side – unless and until you mess up.”

“Thank you.”

––––––––

“M
y God... Do you always eat this much?” said David.

“Not if I’m paying for it,” said Laura.

They were in Haiku, a sushi place in North Scottsdale, and Laura had just ordered for the third time.

“I’m sincerely wishing I’d never written that article.”

“That’s the idea.”

“I should have offered to pay your rent instead of take you to dinner. It’d be cheaper.”

Later, when the bill had come and David had paid it, Laura said, “You know that was the least you could have done, considering how hard it is to get a job when an article tells everybody the worst things you’ve ever done.”

“Yeah, I know.” He took her hand, squeezed it. “Sorry.”

“By the way, I got a job. I start on Monday.”

He looked at her. She kept her face straight. Finally he said, “I have gazed upon the face of evil, and its name is Laura Ponto.”

––––––––

D
riving again, my God, driving again, and he remembered how to do it. Not like they say about riding a bike, it didn’t come back that easily, but, my God, it came back, it really did. First turn on the ignition and it comes on, nothing new he needed to do there, this car had been built even before he went to the joint. Just turn on the ignition, yeah, and it comes alive, and now put it in reverse, and is the gas the pedal on the right or the left? Oh, he couldn’t even remember, but yeah, he did remember, it was the one on the right, on the right, and when he pressed on it the car jumped, then pushed backwards, yeah, and then he put it in drive and then it all came back and he didn’t need to think about it as he rolled out of the lot and onto the street, he could still drive, oh my God it was so good.

––––––––

D
avid lay on Laura’s couch, petting Tubby Franklin. “I really want to get a cat,” he said.

“Why don’t you?”

“I’m hardly ever at home, I work so much. It wouldn’t be fair to leave a cat by itself for so long.”

“You could always get two of them. Get a couple kittens from the pound, and they can keep each other company.”

“Yeah, I never thought of that. I think I will.”

“You should. They’re killing millions of them every year. I’ve thought about getting another one, but Tubby Franklin’s so territorial, I don’t think it would work. I’m gone a lot of the time too, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s always been pretty solitary.”

“Did you get him at the pound?”

“Yeah, of course. I wasn’t gonna buy one for hundreds of bucks when I could save one from getting killed for forty.”

“You know I have to ask you about his name, right?”

“Yep.” Laura was sitting on the floor by the couch. “You’re not the first. I got him when I lived in Chattanooga, and everybody in the South has a dumb name...”

“Bigot.”

“Nope, a bigot talks shit about a place and its people out of ignorance. I talk shit about Tennessee from having living there. Most places, no matter what the stereotype is, you spend enough time there and you start to see past the stereotype. But in Tennessee there is nothing but the stereotype.”

“Uh-huh. So, Tubby Franklin...?”

“In Tennessee, a person’s name won’t be, say, William ‘Bill’ Smith, with ‘Bill’ being the nickname, obviously – in Tennessee, the name, the actual name on the birth certificate, will be Bill William Smith.”

“You mean the first name’s Bill and the middle name’s William?”

“I shit you not. And there is a gentleman in the fine city of Chattanooga whose real name is Tubby Franklin Merridew.”

“Dear God.”

“Check him out if you don’t believe me – he’s the editor of the local paper, and, Chattanooga being Good Ol’ Boy Central, he’s also on the Chamber of Commerce. And he writes speeches for local politicians.”

David laughed. “That’s so blatant, you almost have to admire it.”

“I know. That’s how I felt. At first I was disgusted but then I got to be amused. Anyway,” she said, motioning towards Tubby Franklin, “I got his stripy ass from the pound, and, even though he came from kitty Death Row, he had such an entitled, aristocratic attitude, I just had to name him after Mr. Merridew.”

“That is so cool. I’ve actually thought about getting a pet pig just so I can name it Jerry, after my editor.”