The 8th Circle (13 page)

H
e had to get out now.

Zach stuffed clothes into his duffle. All he wanted to do was get to the other side of the roof and down the fire escape to the street. Just in case anyone was waiting, like that big guy in the black watch cap who’d stood on the corner all day. He tried to blend into the crowd that gathered near the newsstand and pretend like he was just waiting for a bus. Well, he could stand there ’til his balls froze.

Zach had a back way out. He’d jump the roof to the next building in the back. No big deal, no more than ten feet, and he was in shape. He was pretty sure no one knew about that route. Then he’d cross the bridge to Camden and hop a bus to New York.

Gone. He’d be gone.

He saw them take Ivy. Man, that’s what happened when you got friendly with reporters. You got dicked every time.

He probably should’ve just hit the road then, but he needed his cash. They’d been here before he got back, but they hadn’t found his stash. He figured they thought he already blew out of town.

He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a Coke can.
Things go better with Coke, all right
. Zach took a knife and hacked it
apart. Jackpot. Out popped a bunch of twenties and the occasional fifty. His lifesavings. He didn’t stop to count. He jammed the cash in his pocket and headed out.

It was bitter cold on the roof, and he paused to zip up his jacket. The distance looked wider than he remembered. More like twelve, maybe even thirteen feet, but he licked his lips, took a deep breath, and went for it. His feet pounded against the asphalt. Faster and faster.

Five yards from the edge, he saw them right near the fire escape. That big fuck, Lyle, and his sidekick—Zach never could remember his name. Dark silhouettes against the setting sun, Zach knew they’d been waiting for him the whole time.

Too late to stop now, and they’d never follow. Slugs. He kicked off the edge. Arms outstretched. Airborne.

His legs scissored, as if he ran on the air itself.

Yeah, he was gonna make it. He heard two pings hit a pole to his right. One pop hit to his left, but he could see the top of the building. His head roared.

Then something burned through his back and exploded out of his chest in a spray of red. It couldn’t be. He was so close. So goddamned close. He could see the asphalt rooftop. He reached out his hands, but he couldn’t feel anything. Only darkness.

L
inda Cohen fastened the gold collar around her neck. Andy called it her Cleopatra collar. He’d bought it for her years ago after they first wed. Before he found it necessary to seek out younger, fresher women. Or maybe she deluded herself. Maybe the women had always been there, and she chose not to see them.

She was dreading this holiday party. It seemed callous to throw such an enormous gala so soon after her son’s death, but Michael would have said they were acting in character.

Linda’s eyes filled, and she blinked back the tears. They came too often lately, and she hated self-pity.

“Damn it!” Andy stood in the doorway to her bedroom. His dress shirt gaped open and he struggled with his French cuffs. “Help me with this, Lin.” He shook his arms in exasperation.

Linda couldn’t help but smile. Andy was such a child. She went to him, took his hands, and finished with his cuffs. Then she attached his studs, knotted his bow tie, and smoothed down the front of his shirt. Perfect.

She stepped back, and he gave her a kiss on the top of her head.

“You’re wearing the collar,” he said. “It still suits you.” He rapped on it and kissed her on the lips this time.

She pushed him away when the need swelled up. “It still suits me.” Hurt crushed her heart, and she folded her arms against her chest.

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Lin. I know this has been hell for you.”

“Did you talk to Danny?”

Andy’s eyes shifted away, and Linda’s insides chilled. He didn’t do the one thing he’d promised. She wasn’t surprised. She knew how much Andy dreaded that conversation.

“Andy, you have to talk to him.”

“He won’t listen.”

Linda wanted to punch him. “You’re a coward, Andy. I love you, but you’re a coward.”

“He’ll walk away.”

She heard the tremor in his voice, and the anger drained out. It was replaced by a hollow resignation. Funny that Danny should be one person whose approval Andy craved. Maybe because Andy viewed him as his creation, the son he wanted so desperately. If only he’d loved Michael half as much.

But wasn’t Andy’s failure her own? Hadn’t she cringed away from her own child, even while she pretended to embrace him? Michael, her wretched Caliban. God had seen her hypocrisy and punished her.

“If you don’t talk to him, I will.”

Andy’s shoulders slumped, but he nodded. “I’ll talk to him after the party. I promise.”

“W
elcome to the Four Seasons, sir.” The doorman snapped to attention and smiled like he’d been waiting all night for Danny to arrive. “Enjoy your stay.”

In the lobby, Danny paused to let the old feelings pour over him. Beth and he used to meet here for those romantic weekends. No one made an entrance like Beth. She didn’t walk; she seemed to glide. He never tired of watching her. They’d order room service and make love until they were spent. And talk. Once he thought they would never run out of things to say.

A year ago, they were right here at the Four Seasons for the same event, the Cohens’ holiday party. They had been dancing, and the orchestra was playing “I Can’t Get Started.” Halfway through it, Beth had begun to cry, silent tears sparkling on her cheeks, and he’d kissed her and said some inanity or another. He couldn’t remember now. Couldn’t remember why she’d been crying, but they’d gone home and made love for the first time in months with a new sort of gentleness. He’d thought they had reached some sort of understanding because he’d wanted to believe they’d rekindled something that night.

Now a year later, he stood in the lobby of the same hotel. Pretty weird, considering Andy had almost pushed him off the suicide bridge. But he hadn’t. If Andy was crazier than usual,
perhaps he had reason. Maybe Danny needed to find out that reason.

A flash exploded in his face. The light blinded him for a moment before Andy took him by the arm and led him through the crowded ballroom toward the bar. He caught glimpses of the cell phones trained on him and sighed. No escape.

“Good thing for you it’s only the society reporters tonight—and the citizen bloggers, of course,” Andy said. “I’ve managed to keep our coverage of your involvement with the heart lady to a minimum. I hope I don’t live to regret it.”

“I don’t know how she got in my bed.”

“You’re going to disappoint me. I can feel it. Well, come have a drink. No pussy club soda. You gotta have vices, babe.” Andy draped his arm around Danny’s shoulder. “Have you got any? Vices, I mean.”

“I think we all know I’m a little bit nuts.”

“That’s pathos, not vice.” Andy leaned closer. “Come on, Daniel. Haven’t you ever crossed the line? What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” He backed Danny up against the bar. “You do the nasty with the heart chick? Before she was croaked?”

“Jesus, Andy.”

“Did you?” Andy waved his hand to the bartender. “Scotch for me and bourbon for my friend here. Straight. We’ll do shots. Why don’t you like to drink? That’s always bothered me. Never trust a man who doesn’t drink. I wonder if he’s keeping notes, and you do, don’t you?”

“That’s my job.” Danny wondered how many shots he could manage before he began to see stars. “Don’t you think it’s a little early to get hammered?”

In the semidark, Andy’s face reflected the twinkling gold lights on the ceiling. They gave his eyes a peculiar glow, like lit coals. He seemed so pleased with himself that Danny supposed this was one of Andy’s new tests of manhood.

Andy always was big on tests of manhood for Michael and him. Crazy-ass shit like who could come up with the most depraved murder on the police beat. Michael wilted under the
tests, but Danny always preferred hunting down a story—even if it was an insane one—to hanging at the clubs with Andy and his crew of merry sycophants.

The bartender set down two shot glasses, and Andy picked up both. He handed one to Danny.

“Down the hatch,” he said.

Danny bolted the bourbon. It burned down his throat.

Andy held up two fingers to the bartender. He winked at Danny, looking a little like a satyr. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Which question was that?”

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

“How is that your business?”

“It’s not. You’re my business. I own your ass.”

“Slavery was abolished a while back.”

“You think so? Maybe you’re not as smart as you think.”

The bartender set down two more glasses, and Danny wanted to beg him to pour more slowly.

“Drink up, pal. The night is young,” Andy said.

The second shot went down easier. Danny set down his glass, and Andy held up his hand to signal for two more.

“You ever do cocaine, Daniel?”

Danny shook his head. Heavy-duty drugs were his sister Theresa’s province. “I used to sell dope in high school. Does that count?”

Andy’s face brightened. “Ah, yes, the famous essay. Heroin?”

“Pills. Weed.” Danny felt almost embarrassed by Andy’s look of contempt, like he should have been a big-time dealer. He had sold a little coke, but in his neighborhood, most of the kids couldn’t afford it.

“Michael used to smoke dope. Poor bastard. He loved you. Did you know that?”

“I know. Michael was a sad guy.” The bourbon was already buzzing around his system, and Danny cursed himself for not eating.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” Andy’s eyes bore into him, not accusing. Probing. “Did you ever hit Beth?” Andy’s hand clamped down on his arm. “Did you?”

The bartender set down two more drinks. Danny pushed Andy’s hand aside and downed the bourbon. It was a game. He knew that, but he still wanted smash the empty glass into Andy’s face. “I never hit Beth.”

“But she—I thought—”

“You thought wrong.”

Andy swallowed his scotch and slammed down his empty glass. He signaled for two more. “Goddamn you! Why didn’t you say something? Everyone thought—well, everyone but Linda.”

“Christ, Andy. What difference does it make now?”

“She had pictures, you idiot.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She had pictures. She said you beat her. I saw them, Daniel. She was bruised. Her wrists. Her back.”

The drinks arrived, and they swallowed them in unison.

“I never beat her. You want the truth? She was having an affair. Maybe he did it.”

Danny had to grip the edge of the bar. He’d said the words he hadn’t admitted to anyone. Beth was having an affair. Michael had told him six months before the accident, offered to show him photos, but Danny had been unable to bring himself to look. He hadn’t wanted to acknowledge the truth. He’d known somewhere that life was falling apart, but he had always believed he could fix the cracks.

He knew where she got the bruises. That night in the Mercedes after they had fought. They both had them, but if Beth had pictures, that could only mean she planned to file for divorce and claim spousal abuse. He’d believed they could turn their marriage around because he hadn’t wanted to face the truth, and she’d played him. His stomach felt like it had caught fire.

“Jesus Christ, Andy. I loved her. I always loved her.” He heard his voice crack.

Andy said nothing for a moment, but he didn’t signal the bartender. He drummed his fingers on the bar, then slipped his hand into his pocket. “Here.” Andy slapped a sheath of cardboard
containing a plastic room key into Danny’s hand. “Stay here tonight. I don’t want to worry about you driving.”

Danny started to shake his head. “I’m okay.”

“Yeah, you think, but you’re a candy-ass. Can’t drink worth shit. I don’t want you on my conscience.”

“Who else is on your conscience, Andy?”

“Find Linda and say hello. She’ll be upset if you don’t. Make sure you tell her how good she looks.” Andy ran his hands through his hair and managed to make it stand up around his head in white spikes. “Go ahead. Pick up someone and have sex. You’re still young. You don’t have to be a goddamn celibate.”

Danny wanted to ask if he’d passed the test or not, but Andy had already turned to the bartender and ordered another scotch.

*

“Don’t you look handsome tonight.” Linda Cohen kissed Danny and rested her hands on his shoulders. “I do love a man in a tuxedo.”

“You look terrific yourself,” he said, but he thought Linda looked more worn than she had at Michael’s funeral.

“I’m so glad you’re coming back to us.”

“Andy’s a hard man to refuse.”

“He needs you. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I let him down.” Where did that come from? The bourbon? Danny felt fuzzy around the edges. Still trying to comprehend Beth’s treachery. Still hurting.

“You never let Andy down. Damn it, he’s such an idiot.” Linda drew a shaking breath. “All this nonsense with the police. About that woman, I mean. Whatever you need, we’ll be there for you.”

He bowed his head against hers, overwhelmed.

She fumbled in her purse. “Take this.” She handed him a plastic CD case. “I took it from Michael’s computer before the police confiscated it.”

“What is this?”

Linda took another breath, then smiled and squared her shoulders. “I want you to use the CD, no matter what.”

“What do you think I’m going to find?”

“Just promise.”

“I promise, but—”

“Linda, darling, you look fabulous!” Three women surrounded her, cooing and fawning, and Danny watched her compose herself.

She mouthed, “Later.” Danny nodded. He slipped the disc into his pocket and then stepped away to blend into the crowd.

*

“Danny Ryan?”

Danny turned at the sound of the low voice to face a blonde in a black velvet dress that hugged her slender body and puffed out in ruffles of taffeta at her hips. Under a million layers of makeup, she had eyes the color of aquamarines and skin so flawless it could have been made of wax.

When she laid her hand on Danny’s arm, he noticed her long, white fingers, so smooth they seemed not to have knuckles. They tapered almost to points made more obvious by her frosted white nails. Then her perfume hit him in a wave that smelled like death—it probably had some stupid name like Agony.

“Do we know each other?” He forced a smile.

She bared white teeth under her wet, red mouth. “We’ve met.”

“Not to sound clichéd, but I’m sure I’d remember you.”

“You’re looking so well tonight. Come to steal some hearts?”

The blonde licked her lips, like she was sizing him up for dinner. Danny shuddered. “What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.”

“Maybe you’d tell me where we met?”

“Why? It’s much more fun watching you try to remember.”

Danny tried to force his mental Rolodex to function. Normally, he was good with faces. He wished he hadn’t done those shots with Andy.

Then he saw Kate walk into the room. His shoulders relaxed, and the tension began to drain from his body. It was like the relief of a cool rain that washed away the dank humidity of a long
summer night. When Kate blew him a kiss, the blonde gave him a feral smile.

“Someone you’ve been waiting for?” she asked.

“A friend.”

“I won’t keep you from your friend.” The blonde kissed him full on the lips. Her nails dug into the back of his neck. “Think about me, Danny, and I’ll think about you.” She winked and sauntered away.

Danny pulled a napkin off a tray to wipe his mouth. In the dim light, the lipstick looked like blood.

*

Danny walked up behind Kate and kissed the side of her neck. She leaned back against him. He slid his hands down her arms, and his knuckles just skimmed the sides of her breasts. Her perfume made him think of moonlit gardens. He wanted to breathe her in, lose himself in her. Christ, he was half in the bag.

“You have a bad habit of not calling, Ryan,” she said, but she didn’t really sound angry.

He was glad he stood behind her so she couldn’t see his face tighten. “I suppose you’ve seen the news.”

She turned in his arms and put her hand on his cheek. “You should’ve called anyway.”

He couldn’t stop staring, and he wondered what she’d say if he told her that he had a room for the night. Probably slap his face. “You look nice, Kate. I mean terrific.” Danny winced.
The great Pulitzer Prize winner sounded like a moron
.

“Now there’s a line to knock a girl off her feet. I hope you did better with that blonde.”

“I’m pacing myself.”

She picked up her glass. “Why? You think you’re going to get lucky?”

He wanted to come back with something, but all the cracks that came so easily when it didn’t matter fled him. He cleared his throat. “Maybe you’d like to dance?”

*

Danny knew he’d pay for the champagne on top of the four shots of bourbon, but right now, he didn’t give a damn. He let his palms rest against Kate’s back and let the longing soak into him. She was smaller, more fragile than Beth, her warm skin so pale against the green velvet of her dress. They gave up the pretense of dancing but instead clung to each other, as if making up for lost time. That sweet ache convulsed his chest. He couldn’t put a name to it, but it was like feeling the sun break through the heavy purple clouds on a winter morning. Despite the bitter cold, there was a hope of spring.

He glanced up and saw Robert and Patricia Harlan enter the room. The senator wore his benevolent face tonight, and Mrs. Senator, her frosted-blonde helmet firmly in place, was the picture of decorum in a tasteful ice-blue gown.

Patsy Harlan liked to tell people she was from an old Southern family, but Danny knew she was raised on a Georgia pig farm. He figured there was nothing wrong with growing up on a pig farm until you began to intimate it was really Tara, with the darkies singing “Swing Low Sweet Chariot” in the cotton fields.

Still, he’d always felt sorry for Patsy. He knew she’d worked hard to mold herself into a perfect senator’s wife, always smiling, always complimenting, never able to let down her guard. Maybe that was why she hated him. She knew he recognized her as a fellow outsider.

“Your boss is here,” Danny said. “He has his wife with him.”

Kate’s eyes narrowed. “And you’re suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting that being with me won’t do your career any good. I wasn’t their favorite son-in-law.”

Kate slid her hands back around his neck. “Do I look worried?”