Burn (6 page)

He turned back to Lane.

“Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but Margot seemed angrier overall, ” he said. “I guess she considers dictation to be her turf, huh?”

Lane stood and tucked in his shirttails with violent thrusts. “That's very funny.”

“Lane, I'm afraid I might end up beating you to death one of these days.”

Lane faltered, took one look at Andrew, then wrestled open his middle desk drawer. He retrieved a letter opener and took a step back. “I've got a year and a half of Kenpo, pal. Green belt with a stripe. Don't think I won't defend myself.”

Andrew rolled his eyes and walked toward the desk. Lane bent at the knees and tracked him with the blunted point of the letter opener. When Andrew sat down in one of the chairs, Lane relaxed his posture and exhaled.

“Margot's right, ” Andrew said. “You really are one sorry son of a bitch.”

“Your opinion means so much to me I could just shit my pants.” Lane tossed the letter opener back into the drawer and pushed the drawer shut with his thigh. “Take your foot off my desk.”

Andrew left his foot where it was. “We need to talk, Lane.”

“We do?” Lane folded his arms and leaned forward. “What could you and I possibly have to talk about? I said everything I needed to say this morning. When the police came here asking about you.”

“The cops came
here
?”Andrew put a hand to his heart. “Asking about
me
? Gosh. I hope you said nice things.”

“Oh, Detective Munoz and I had quite a conversation. She had all sorts of questions. I had Margot clear my nine o'clock so we could talk without interruption.”

“Civic of you, ” Andrew said.

On the way over, he'd mentally outlined a basic interrogation plan based on the handful of possible responses he'd expected from Lane. But Lane had already wandered from the script.

When the police came here asking about you.
Munoz, he'd said. Who would have been here talking with Lane right about the time Andrew had been talking with Timms at the beach house. Which meant the cops must have gotten Andrew's name somewhere else and split their leads. Assuming Lane was telling the truth.

“So, ” Andrew said. “What did you and Detective Munoz talk about?”

“You mean when she asked me what I could tell her about a person named Andrew Kindler, did I mention that I just so happened to have a dirtbag criminal by that name living in my house? Oh, never.”

“That's a relief.”

“Let me tell you something, ” Lane said. He put his knuckles on the desk and leaned over them. “I don't know what this is about. I don't know what you're involved in.”

Andrew thought:
Join the club, you little nerd.

“And do you know what? I don't give a runny crap. I've been telling Caroline something like this was bound to happen ever since you showed up here. Just a matter of when. Once a dirtbag, always a dirtbag.”

“Can't argue with an authority, ” Andrew said.

“Keep laughing, tough guy.” Lane finally sat down in the chair and pressed his lips into a smug, bloodless crease. “Maybe you were the big swinging dick around the neighborhood when we were kids, but you're on my turf now. And your little credit line at Bank of Borland just ran out. I already called your cousin and told her I want you out of the beach house by morning. You're history, Jack.”

“You called Caroline? That must have been before your afternoon hum job.”

Lane's face reddened in a descending flush, starting at the hairline and deepening all the way to his collar.

“That, ” he said, “is none of your goddamned business.”

“Listen, I'm heading over to see Caroline myself after this. Want me to tell her anything for you?”

“You can tell her anything you want, ” Lane said. He still looked smug, but his voice had lost a bit of its pomp. “It won't change anything.”

“Gee, Lane. You sound so sure.”

Lane said nothing to this. But after a long, silent moment, he took his feet off the desk and sat up.

“You want to know what I'm sure about?”

“Do share.”

Lane squared his shoulders and looked at Andrew as though he were finally getting the chance he'd been waiting for to get this one thing off his chest.

“Caroline may be your cousin. But she's my wife. And you being here puts her in danger. It's that simple.” He raised his empty hands to indicate how simple it was. “She can choose to ignore that if she wants to. I'll just keep looking out for both of us.”

Watching him, Andrew suddenly realized that for all his petty, self-obsessed ooze, Lane genuinely believed what he'd just said. Worse: He was right.

Even worse: He knew it.

“Having you in the same family tree is bad enough, ” Lane said. “But that doesn't mean you hug the goddamned trunk in an electrical storm.”

“Good one.”

“And if she thinks I'm putting that house on the market with these property values, she's got another think coming. I'll tell you that right now.”

“Say, ” Andrew said. “What's your homeowner's policy on that place, anyway?”

Lane looked at him. “What kind of question is that?”

“Just curious, Lane, that's all.”

“None of your business, ” he said. But he narrowed his eyes. “Why did you ask me that?”

“I'm just concerned. I mean, this weather. Plus that salty air you get out there at the beach. Dries everything out, corrodes that older wiring. And that exterior electrical panel under the deck? The insurance inspector really
should have made you reroute that inside. Their mistake, I guess.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I'm not talking about anything, ” Andrew said. “I'm just thinking out loud. I mean, market being what it is, I don't blame you for not wanting to sell the place.”

“You might as well stop right there, ” Lane said. “Because I'm not listening to another word.”

“You're the one who keeps bringing up what I used to do for a living, Lane. I'm only trying to be helpful.”

“I'm not having this conversation.”

“Yeah, I suppose you're right, ” Andrew said. “With Caroline's name on the title and insurance, she'd end up getting half the payout. In a settlement situation—God forbid you two should ever come to that—that'd mean you'd be out… what… half a mil or so? That hardly seems fair.”

Lane looked at him for a long time, expressionless. By now, his color had drained; his suntan had taken on an ashy cast. “Are you threatening me?”

“Whoa, ” Andrew said. He held up his palms. “Who's making threats?”

“You wouldn't.” Lane straightened in his chair. He seemed to be working out a math problem in his head. “Hell, you
couldn't.”

“Wouldn't, couldn't, let's not get into theoreticals. I just came to see what you and the police talked about. Relax, Lane. We're just a couple of dirtbags here.”

“I want you to leave, ” Lane said quietly.

Andrew shrugged. “It's your turf.”

Just before Andrew reached the doors, Lane spoke one last time. It was more a mumble than an assertion.

“I think I deserve to know what you plan to say to Caroline about this.”

Andrew paused. Behind the enormous desk, Lane sat with a sag in his shoulders. He looked like a child with adult furniture.

“Tell you what, ” Andrew said. “You lay off my new buddy Kyle out there, I'll spend some time thinking about it.”

“ALL
I'm sayin’, ” said Denny Hoyle, “is you'd be a lot happier if you weren't so negative about everything.”

“Be a lot happier, ” Luther Vines told him, “if you quit tellin’ me how happy I'm supposed to be.”

From where they sat by the door, Luther looked across the soundstage toward Rodney Marvalis. Just the sight of the phony lardass darkened Luther's mood. Marvalis stood with his hands on his hips, chatting up a pair of lycra-wrapped backup chicks left over from the video shoot. Tall curvy blonde, short perky brunette. Stagehands dismantled the set around them. Lenhoff 's camera crew had packed up and disappeared an hour ago.

Denny shook his head. “I'm just saying I don't get it is all. The mood lately.”

Luther didn't expect Denny to get it. The guy never had a better gig in his whole life than this; he'd been happy as a clam in a butter tub since the day Luther had
gotten him the job. Denny had it in his head they were bodyguards for some kind of celebrity. Goofy cracker figured it was bound to get him laid one of these days.

They were glorified babysitters, Luther didn't kid himself. When he'd first heard about the opening over here, he'd mostly just liked the idea of a pay jump and free access to all the top-end workout gear he could use. Few weeks on the job, his delts never looked so good. Triceps? The size of chuck roasts. Eight percent body fat. Plus his own parking spot.

But ever since Rod Marvalis had showed up to take over Gregor Tavlin's spot around here, Luther Vines had started to look at things with a whole new attitude.

“I don't know what you got against the guy, ” Hoyle said.

Luther snorted. Sometimes he had to wonder how a guy like Denny Hoyle got by.

Couple years back, they'd worked together as bouncers at what at the time had been one of Dominic Sackin's it-spot clubs. At least they'd worked together until the night Denny got fired for busting some hotshot movie producer's head open with a Dos Equis for talking trash.

Denny had gotten lucky; the hotshot had been too embarrassed to press charges, and all that ever came out of it was losing his job. But Luther had always kind of liked that about the guy. No fear. Not a lot of brains, but no fear.

“You want my opinion, ” Denny muttered, “I think you're just jealous Rod's got his own TV show.”

Luther looked at him hard.

“Check him out, ” Denny said. “Say what you want, but my boy is smooth.”

Across the room, blondie tossed her hair and laughed. Marvalis made a picture frame with his hands and sized
her with it. She batted at his elbow with her fingertips.

Luther stood. With his right palm on the crown of his smooth scalp, he pulled his head to the side until his neck popped. He rolled his shoulders in a circle.

“Luthe?” Denny said. “Aww, hell.”

Luther had already crossed the floor. He said, “That's a wrap, kids.”

Marvalis glanced over and flashed the girls his camera grin. “Here's trouble. Ladies, meet Luther Vines. He's big and he's bad. Vines, this is Cammie, and this is Vivian. They're not bad at all. Are you, girls?”

“That depends, ” said the short one, grinning at Rod.

Vines looked at her. Cammie. Or maybe it was Vivian. He didn't particularly give a rat's ass.

“Gotta have you bad girls clear the facility, ” he said. “Security policy.”

Rod gave him a look, then winked at the girls.

“It's okay, Vines. Cammie and Vivian have backstage passes.”

“That a fact.”

Rod started explaining how Cammie and Vivian were interested in auditioning for spots on the daily television show.

Luther wasn't listening. He reached forward and jerked the front of Rod's tank top high in one fist. He thought:
You want backstage?
With his other hand, he grabbed the cuff of the neoprene band at Rod's waist and yanked. Velcro gave way with a loud rip. Unfettered, the moist, wrinkled flesh around Rod's midsection quivered briefly, then puddled over his hip bones.

Rod's eyes flew open wide. He grabbed his shirt and tugged it back down. The tall one looked at the short one. The short one just put a hand over her mouth.

“Welcome to the locker room, ” Vines told them. “Tour's over, y'all. Shake ass.”

Cammie and Vivian exchanged looks one more time. Then they checked Luther, dropped their eyes, and retreated to the changing area to grab their gear.

Marvalis snatched the band away and started rolling it into a tight bundle. He'd gone so red he looked purple, and a vein pulsed in his neck. Which made him look, Luther thought, a lot like what he was: a throbbing dick-head.

“You unbelievable
asshole, ”
he hissed. “What the hell is your problem?”

“No pussy on the job, dog, ” Luther said. He was starting to feel a little better. “Lawsuits and shit.”

“You think this is funny?”

“Take it up with Todman if you got a problem. Just earnin’ my pay.”

Marvalis looked around and shoved the rolled waist control down the front of his tight black shorts. He glared at the stage guys until they hopped back to work. He glared at Luther.

Luther stepped toward him and crossed his arms.

“Um … hey, guys, ” Denny said. “What's shakin’?”

Marvalis tried to stay eyeball-to-eyeball with Luther, but he couldn't keep the nerve up. So he turned his glare on Denny instead.

Denny said, “Rod, good shoot, man. Hot stuff. How about I go get the car?”

“You do that, ” Rod said.

Marvalis brushed past Luther with his shoulder. Luther stood solid, and the impact bumped Rod off balance. Marvalis tried to cover, walk off tough, but he was still packing the fatty wrap in his shorts, and it affected
his stride. From where Luther and Denny stood, it looked like his ass was screwed on sideways.

Denny looked at Luther, shaking his head.

“Oh, he's smooth, ” Luther told him, loud enough for Marvalis to hear.

A few feet away, Cammie and Vivian passed by, now decked in cute swishy warm-ups, their club bags looped over their shoulders. Luther happened to catch a snip of the conversation as they whispered to each other on their way toward the exit.

Did he seem kind of out of shape to you?
The short one.

Viv. Please.
The tall one.
My Hyundai has a smaller spare tire.

“You know what, Luthe?” said Denny. “When you want, you can be a damn cold guy.”

“Guess I'm just jealous, ” Luther said, smiling for the first time all day.

EVEN
as kids, Andrew had never been able to fool Caroline completely. It was only one of the things he loved about her.

“Did you really threaten to burn down the beach house?”

“He must have misunderstood my meaning.”

She smirked at him. “You two.”

“I just needed to know where to find the fuse box. He can be obsessively suspicious, your husband. Sometimes I get the feeling he doesn't like me.”