Malevolent (27 page)

Good God, Griffin thought. Don’t let him ask me for farm animals, children or men.

Hovering too close on his side of the counter, the Weasel looked like he wanted to pull Griffin into the slime pit of his life. He licked his lips. “I don’t know what it would cost, but…” The Weasel offered up a pasty-faced grin as his pale fingers flicked invisible lint from the counter.

Griffin said, “Sorry, pal. I don’t know what you need, but everything I got is back there.”

The Weasel made a dry-chuckle sound. He raised his eyes from the counter and pointed vaguely to the curtain. He moved in closer and dropped his voice even further. “No, that’s not…I think she likes me. The blonde-haired lady back there.”

Griffin knew he was still perched on his stool, his hands resting on the counter, but he was at the same time somewhat disassociated from the stool, the counter, the hands.

The Weasel, still awaiting a response that didn’t look to be coming, backed off. He mumbled, “Sorry. I thought you might…know her or even that…I don’t know.” He leaned in again. “Maybe it—she—costs something.” Then something broke in his expression and he said, “I’m not saying she’s a…uh…sorry.”

He backed away, began to slink to the front door, leaving behind his mumbled flurry of words.

“Wait,” Griffin croaked. “Who’re you talking about?”

The Weasel stopped and stared. He licked his dry lips and moved in closer again so he could keep his voice low. “Her.” He gestured once more toward the black curtain. “She seemed friendly, but—”

“Who?” Griffin snapped.

The Weasel recoiled as if he’d been hit. “
Her
. The blonde lady,” he whispered.

Griffin focused all of his attention on making himself sound unconcerned to the point of boredom. “Let’s go back and see if she’s still there.”

“No,” the Weasel hissed. “I don’t want…” But he let himself be prodded toward the black curtain. “Introduce me,” he said, faint voice trembling as they clawed through the velvet barrier.

Splayed legs, silicone breasts, cartoon-size penises and glistening red lips greeted them, but all from the rows of DVD cases.

“Where is she?” Griffin demanded, sounding as weak and broken as the Weasel.

“She was right…is there another door?”

Pretty much what Griffin suspected. They searched the little room anyway.

“She was right here.” This from the Weasel.

“I know, I know. You said that.”

“I didn’t see her real close. She was standing behind this center display shelf, but kind of peeking out at me.”

“What’d she say to you?”

The Weasel stared at the shelved rows of display boxes. “I guess she didn’t really say anything.” He sounded unsure of his own response.

“What did she look like?”

“She had blonde hair.”

“Yeah, I know that, but what else?” Griffin fought off the urge to shake more out of the frail man. “What else did you see?”

“Well…I’m sure she had a real fine body,” he said. But sounded like he wasn’t too sure of that at all.

“What was she wearing?”

The Weasel shook his head. He looked dazed. “I don’t even remember what it was about her that drew my attention. She had a nice soft laugh, but…” The rest trailed off.

Griffin glared at the other man until the Weasel seemed to wither. “Okay. She must have left,” he said as he exited the tiny room.

Back out under the bright white lights, the Weasel said, “I guess I won’t be renting anything tonight. Bye.”

Before he’d made it out the door, Griffin shouted at the man whom he knew only as the Weasel, “Hey, man, what’s your name?” It just seemed like something he should know after their intimate time together in the adult room.

A trapped-animal look flashed across the Weasel’s pale face. “Donovan,” he finally said. “Donovan Manning.”

Donovan Manning. The name must have flashed up on his computer screen two dozen times, but it didn’t mean a thing to Griffin. He’d just always been the Weasel.

He nodded, made himself say, “Nice meeting you, Donovan. I’m Griffin. You take care, okay?”

The frail man smiled. “Yeah. You too, Griffin.”

He won’t be back, Griffin thought, and the thought didn’t disturb him.

Chapter Forty-Three

“Guess what? It’s not just me,” he said as his first new visitor in fifteen minutes buzzed through the door. When Tim frowned in confusion, Griffin pointed out the adult room and said, “Someone else saw her an hour ago.”

Griffin was waiting for doubt, mockery, impatience, maybe even anger, but what he got was a nod. “Maybe you could close up early,” said Tim. “We got much to talk about.”

It was one thirty, the bars not yet closed, but Griffin reluctantly shut down.

“Let’s go back to your office.”

“Anything you want,” Griffin grumped.

“What’s with you?”

Griffin sprawled out on the dilapidated couch in his tiny office, leaving Tim the broken-down swivel chair behind his desk. “What’s with me,” he replied, “is that Friday night is one of my busiest, but you don’t give a shit. You got something important to say, so let’s hang out the
Closed
sign.”

“Sorry. I missed the line forming to get in the front door.” Tim cleared a space and took the desktop instead of the chair, immediately squirming and wincing on the hard surface.

Good, thought Griffin.

“But since you’re so concerned,” Tim added, “I’ll get right to the point. Patty kicked me out.”

“And the problem is that you’ve lost her, or that you’ve got no place to stay?”

“Thank you for your concern.”

“Dude, you’re concerned enough for the both of us. You’re selfish, self-absorbed and as oblivious as a three-year-old at the pain you cause others.”

“Yeah, but I’m cute.” Getting nothing for that but a sullen stare, Tim actually pondered Griffin’s unsolicited character analysis. “Jesus, I didn’t even know you a couple of weeks ago,” he said after a second. “You barely know me.”

“If I ran what I just said past Patty, which of those character traits would she argue?”

“She’s no saint, either.”

“She put up with you for how long?”

“How come you’re always taking her side?”

Griffin thought back to past conversations on the subject and had to admit Tim was right. He always did take Patty’s side. “Sorry. I’m just pissed that you made me close up on a good night.”

“So bill me for what you lost.”

Sure, Griffin thought. Give the tab to the man with no steady job. No home either, apparently. Patty really had been a saint for not throwing him out earlier, and yet Griffin could recognize that he was being irrationally quick to defend a woman he’d never even met. Or was he just resentful of Tim for squandering a good relationship because they happened so easily for him?

“All right,” he said glumly. “You’ll get my invoice.”

“Fine, but credit me for the six-pack I’m about to buy us.”

“I don’t want to go out.”

“Me neither. We’ll drink it here. We got a lot to talk about. Maybe when we get back you’ll give your guest the couch that etiquette demands.”

“It’s not a couch. It’s a sofa.”

Back from the convenience store, they compromised and both sat on the rug, open beer bottles between them. Tim, as though stung by the accusation of self-absorption, made Griffin tell his story first. By tale’s end, both wore tight, hard expressions

Griffin said, “It’s because my customer—”

“The Weasel,” said Tim.

“His name’s Donovan,” said Griffin, slightly insulted on the odd little man’s behalf even though it had been he who’d supplied the nickname. “Anyway, it’s because he’s uncomfortable around women—like me. Or maybe he stepped in the church like I did. I don’t know. I’m making this up as I go. None of it makes sense, but tell me something that does.”

Tim toyed with a rubber band he’d found on the floor. He twisted it around his hand and shot it off into a corner where the desk lamplight didn’t penetrate. “Your story, it doesn’t seem all that strange next to the one Patty finally came out and told me.”

Tim’s retelling of Patty’s tale was skimpy on the details. A gun battle in the upstairs apartment with the ghost of the still-living Melinda Dillon, something like that. The bottom line was that Patty was alive, and…different. Stronger, Tim said. Or something.

“Maybe she hasn’t changed at all,” Griffin said. “You just never noticed her before. I’ve only seen her from a distance, but she’s always looked pretty strong to me.”

Tim’s expression soured. “Hell, all women look strong to you.” Then his face went slack as his testiness seemed to lose all momentum. “You’re probably right,” he said quietly.

“Maybe it’s not too late for the two of you.” Only saying that to take the edge off. Griffin didn’t really believe it, and for some reason didn’t want to.

The comment hung between them as though they both recognized its insincerity. After an uncomfortable silence, Tim said, “So why don’t
you
date her?”

Griffin’s eyes flickered. “Date who?”

“Who’re we talking about, asshole? Go out with Patty. I’ll even introduce you if she doesn’t trash the house again soon as she sees me.”

Griffin made a sound that made Tim add, “I’m serious, dude. I’d rather see you with her than a
total
jerk.”

Griffin studied his friend’s face for a hint of sarcasm. Didn’t find it. Said, “I don’t even know her.”

“Apparently neither did I, but that didn’t stop me. Your only problem with women is low self-esteem.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“All right. You’re nice.”

Griffin looked for the punch line, but couldn’t find it. “Nice.”

“Yeah, nice. Decent. Sincere. All that shit.” Tim stepped out of one shoe and started to rub his foot. “You’re also fun to hang with, but so am I and that’s not enough. It’s the
nice
thing, believe it or not, that’s important. You got it going for you and I don’t. Leastways not with Patty anymore.”

Griffin chuckled.

“You don’t believe me?” Tim scowled. “Dammit, man, you’d do anything for whoever you were with, but your mind’s still back in junior high, where nice don’t mean crap. Trust me, women see right through good looks and charm and a quick wit if there’s nothing else there.” He flashed a quiet smile. “Trust me.”

“Let me add
egotistical
to your list of character deficiencies,” Griffin said.

They laughed. They sat and sipped beer in the dark and thought their own thoughts.

Tim said, “Thanks for shutting down your place for me tonight. Okay, it was selfish of me. But I just want you to know I appreciate it.”

Griffin stared deeply into his beer can, embarrassed at the maudlin moment, but touched as well. He put on a cockeyed grin and said, “What are friends for?” All he could come up with.

“For one, friends are for putting up overnight accommodations when their pal’s been kicked out by his girlfriend. No matter how much he deserved it.”

Pal.

“Can’t even crash on your own couch, huh?”

“I’m telling you, don’t ever let a woman put her name on the lease if you move in with her. Make her come to your place. You’re still gonna end up sacked out on the couch, but at least you’re under your own roof,” Tim said. “I even had to make an appointment for tomorrow night at seven to pick up some of my stuff.”

Griffin thought they’d be spending the night plotting against demons and malevolent churches, but he was relieved to see Tim yawn and kick off his other shoe, obviously settling in at the tiny office. Griffin tossed him a set of keys and told him to lock up after himself.

On his way out, Griffin said, “Remember, seven o’clock. Tomorrow. When Patty wants you to stop by and pick up your things.”

“Yeah, seven.”

“You can move in here for awhile and be my unpaid security. I sometimes get a neighborhood kid to help behind the counter when things get busy here. Maybe I’ll call him in tomorrow so I can give you a hand moving out.”

“Why do you think I mentioned it?”

“You son of a bitch.”

Tim smiled. “Said I was
working
on that self-absorption thing. I never said I was cured.”

Chapter Forty-Four

“This next time, I think you’ll
really
enjoy yourself,” Laney told him as he lumbered out to the garage, barefoot, to join her.

Naturally, it was night and she’d once again kept him from sleep. As always, he’d just
known
she was out here. He’d simply awakened from as close to a deep sleep as he was getting these days, slipped on a pair of pants and come out to find her.

She lay across the hood of the ’69 Beetle, stretching like a cat in a bright yellow sunbeam.

Exhausted, he slumped to his customary spot in the wobbly canvas chair he’d brought out here for this purpose, and watched. Seeing her stretched out like that made him yearn for the sleep he couldn’t find anymore. His body felt as cold and numb as the cement under his bare feet, but his mind remained excruciatingly active, besieged by a plague of recent memories.