Arsonist (25 page)
Authors: Victor Methos
CHAPTER
50
Jaime Spencer sat in the dining room booth with her boyfriend Travis and they shared a piece of key lime pie with two cups of coffee. The restaurant was upscale, far more than she was used to, but Travis had a good income through his contracting business and had pledged that she wouldn’t need to scrape by any longer. The restaurant had swirling yellow and black lanterns hanging from the ceiling that matched the lamps on the table. She watched the movement as Travis spoke with the waiter.
“What are you thinking about?” he said when the waiter had left.
“I can’t wait to move. I’ve lived in California all my life.” She looked out the large windows to the beach that was less than twenty feet away from the restaurant’s entrance. “I’ve never even left the state. Did I tell you that?”
He took a sip of his beer. “No, but you’re a woman full of mysteries. That’s why I’m crazy about you.”
She smiled and rubbed his hand. Jaime had been feeling a sense of contentment that she hadn’t felt in decades. It was calming and it began in her belly and moved up in warm waves over her face and down her arms to the tips of her fingers. Her whole life she had been striving for something. Trying to find something. She had never been able to define what it was exactly that she was looking for or why she needed it. Now she felt like the urge wasn’t as powerful. She hadn’t found what it was that she had been looking for, somehow she knew that, but at least it wasn’t consuming her. And Travis was a decent man; an honest man in
a legitimate business. Sure, he was much older than her, but that hadn’t really been an issue so far.
“I have to run to the ladies room.”
She rose and gave Travis a kiss on the forehead as she headed past the booths and down a hallway to the women’s restroom. She glanced under the stalls and saw that she was alone. In her purse was a small vial of cocaine. She took the vial and tipped it against her wrist, pouring a small line, and snorted with one nostril. It felt silky going up. It was pure and nearly uncut.
Jaime wiped her nose and went back to the restaurant. She walked down the hallway and turned toward the booth and saw a man sitting across from Travis speaking with him. She thought it might have been a friend of his and then she saw the prominent nose set against the large boxer’s cheekbones.
Stephen Gunn looked up at her and smiled. “Hi, Jaime. How are ya? I was just talkin’ to Travis here. Seems you never mentioned me? Must’ve slipped your mind, huh?”
She glanced up at the door, thoughts racing through her mind.
“Have a seat,” he said. She didn’t move. “Jaime,” he said forcefully, “have a seat.”
She gripped the edge of the table and sat down next to Travis. Gunn was smiling as he picked up
her coffee cup and sniffed and took a sip.
“I didn’t think I’d see you here,” Jaime said as casually as possible.
“Because you thought I was dead, right?”
She cleared her throat, her face turning red as Travis glared at her.
“Listen,” Travis said, “I don’t know who the hell you are or—”
“You wanna tell him, Jaime? Tell him who the fuck I am. What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue
?”
She placed her hands on the table and noticed that they were trembling. “I don’t know what you think you’ve heard, Stephen, but it’s not true.”
“Really? Travis here was just tellin’ me you got two one-way tickets to Seattle. Ain’t that right, Travis? Now why would you be goin’ to move to Seattle I wonder?”
“What are you going to do?” Jaime said nervously.
“You set me up, you whore.”
“Hey,” Travis said. “You can’t—”
“Shut the fuck up, old man. This doesn’t concern you.”
“He has nothing to do with this,” she said. Travis tried to say something but Jaime stopped him by placing her hand on his shoulder. “What are you going to do with me?” she said to Gunn without looking at him.
“Come outside.”
Gunn rose and Jaime could see the 9 mm in his holster. She stood up and followed him out of the restaurant into the noonday sun
, telling Travis to wait for her. Gunn was limping and had a cane, but other than that he appeared in good health.
“Did you
fuckin’ think those crack heads could take me out?”
“It wasn’t me. I had nothing to do with that.”
Jaime felt the sting of the back of Gunn’s hand across her cheek.
“Don’t
fuckin’ lie to me!” he shouted.
Fear and panic gripped her. Normally, she was smooth and used her sexuality as a weapon. She had never needed to carry a gun for that very reason. But now, as she stared at the fury in his eyes, she knew there was nothing she could say. He was going to kill her.
She turned and ran, Gunn shouting behind her. She glanced back to see him pull his firearm out. As she turned back around, she hit something and her head snapped up. She saw Jon Stanton standing on the beach, his arms on her shoulders as Gunn limped over through the sand.
“This don’t got
nothin’ to do with you, Jon.”
“Put your gun away
, Stephen.”
“That whore set me up.”
Jaime, terror choking her, managed to spit out, “You rape me, you beat me, you take over my house. I can’t even sleep at night because I think my door’s gonna open and you’re going to rape me in my sleep.”
“Rape you? When have I ever
fuckin’ raped you? You’re a damn whore. You fuck people, that’s what you do.”
“Stephen,” Stanton said calmly, “put the gun away.”
Gunn didn’t move, the 9 mm hanging limply at his side. Stanton pulled out his Desert Eagle.
“You
fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Gunn said. “You gonna pop me?”
“I don’t want to do this. But I won’t let you kill her.”
“She tried to fuckin’ have me shot, Jon.”
“I know. And you should’ve told me and had her arrested. This isn’t the way it works.”
“Oh fuck you. I am so sick of your sanctimonious bullshit. You think you’re so fuckin’ high and mighty? You think your Jesus looks down on you happy at what you’ve turned out to be? How many men you killed, Jon? How many widows are out there cause a you? What kinda man kills that many people and thinks he can lecture others about what’s moral?”
“A flawed one. That’s all I am, Stephen. A flawed man trying to be good. I don’t want to do this. Put
your gun away.”
Gunn didn’t move, but his lower lip curled. Then he tucked the gun back into its holster. “We’re through, you and me,” he said.
As Gunn stormed away, Stanton turned to Jaime. She was going to say thank you but something didn’t fit. Something was off and she didn’t feel it would be appropriate. But he didn’t wait for her to say it anyway. He replaced the gun in its holster and turned away from her without saying a word. He walked to the edge of the beach where the water was breaking on the shore and took something out of his pocket. It shined in the sunlight and she guessed it was a badge.
He cocked his arm back and flung it into the ocean as far as it would go. It flew through the air and landed with a small splash. Stanton turned from it, looked once to her, and then walked away, off the beach.
EPILOGUE
Emma sat at a booth by the window of the small café. It was sunny out and the weather appeared calm in a cloudless sky. She sipped coffee and read on her iPad. The waiter came by a couple of times but she told him she was waiting for someone. She looked out at the street and watched the cars as they passed by, looking at the faces of the drivers. When she was young she would play a game where she would try to guess what they did for a living or where they were going. If they had a wife or husband waiting for them somewhere.
When she grew older, she began guessing how they would die. She stopped playing the game after that.
She saw the front entrance open and Jon Stanton walk in. He was wearing shorts and a T-shirt with sandals and appeared far tanner than even a week ago. He came to her table with a smile and sat down across from her, picking up a menu without saying anything.
“How was surfing?” she asked.
“Fine. The waves were good and there wasn’t any wind. I’ll have to take you as soon as you’re ready.”
“I’d like that.”
The waiter came back and Stanton ordered a fish sandwich with fries and a Diet Coke. He reached across the table and held Emma’s hand as he looked out the window at the sky. Emma studied his face. When they had first met, she noticed that he would crinkle his brow in a look of concentration. The look appeared permanent, as he would sometimes have it even when he was relaxing. It was gone now.
She thought he had never looked happier.
“We should go somewhere,” he said. “Just go to the airport and get on the first plane we find. No matter where it’s going.”
She smiled and ran her finger over a scar he had on the back of his hand. “I’d like that
too.”
He leaned over the table, and kissed her.
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BY VICTOR METHOS
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Philosophical Fiction
Existentialism and Death on a Paris Afternoon
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