The Butcher (25 page)

“Okay, not to gush, but you look
great
,” Sam said, shrugging out of her coat. She took a seat at the bar stool by the counter. “What's going on with you? Have you been drinking water from the fountain of youth? If so, can I have some?”

The Chief chuckled, his eyes twinkling as he poured hot water into two mugs. “I must be extra handsome, the way you're staring at me. And two visits this week? You must like me a little.”

“Seriously, Chief, you look awesome.” Sam couldn't stop staring. “What have you been doing? New skin cream? New diet? New girlfriend?”

“Maybe all of the above.” He winked and dropped a tea bag into her mug, pushing it toward her. “I wish it was as exciting as that, my dear, but I'm afraid it's not. My new doctor prescribed some pain meds for my hip.”

“And you're actually taking them?”

“I know. I can hardly believe it myself. Somewhere, pigs are flying.” Edward took a sip of his tea and took a seat beside her at the counter. “But really, though, that's all it is. It's amazing how much better I feel now that I'm not in pain all the time. I'm moving better, I'm eating better, and I'm sleeping better.”

“I'm glad to hear it. You certainly look terrific.”

“Maybe you could tell my grandson that. I haven't seen him in a while.” He frowned at her. “It took you a while to get up here. You must have enjoyed your little chat with Miguel?”

“Uh . . .” Sam took a sip of her tea. She hadn't been expecting that comment. “It was interesting. He was just telling me about the woman who died here last night.”

“Any excuse to keep talking to you, obviously. His goddamned eyes are always more on your tits than your face.”

“Don't be crude, please.” Sam pursed her lips. “We were talking about the woman who died. That's all.”

“That would be Gloria.” Edward reached for the sugar bowl. “Poor lady. There was a lot of activity here this morning after she was found. I liked her. She was a friend.”

Sam looked at him closely. “A good friend?”

“You might say that.”

“I'm so sorry. You must be so upset.” Though he didn't look upset at all.

“She wasn't my only lady friend,” the Chief said with a small shrug. “And I certainly wasn't her only male companion, either. But she was fun, and she'll be missed.”

“Do you know what happened to her?”

“The rumor mill is saying it was a sex thing.” He raised an eyebrow and took another sip of tea.

“And what do you think?”

He shrugged again. “Not to speak ill of the dearly departed, but it wouldn't surprise me. Gloria was quite . . . frisky.” A small smile played at his lips.

“And what does the rumor mill say about who she was with last night?”

“Nobody seems to know. But I'm sure PD will investigate and get it
sorted out. Anyhow.” Edward waved a hand. “I don't smell cannolis. Is that because you didn't bring me any?”

“Crap, I forgot.”

“So then what brings you by?” He looked at her expectantly. “As much as I'd like to believe that you're here to watch
Wheel of Fortune
with me, Samantha, I can tell you have something on your mind. Out with it.”

Sam hesitated. “I don't quite know how to start . . .”

“The beginning usually works for me.”

She stirred more sugar into her tea, trying to figure out the right words. Finally, taking a deep breath, she said, “Matt and I . . . we're having problems.”

“What, he screw around on you?” The Chief didn't miss a beat. He looked at her sternly. “You tell me if he did, Samantha, and I'll have a talk with him.”

“No, he . . .” Flustered, Sam suddenly didn't know what to say. “I actually don't know. We haven't been close lately.”

“Well, whether he did or didn't, it doesn't have to be a deal breaker, you know.” Edward softened his tone. “Matthew's a good kid. His worst flaw is that he thinks he's got it all figured out, when in truth, he's got a lot to learn. Like how to prioritize.”

“I can't disagree with that.”

“And he's arrogant.”

“I can't disagree with that, either.”

“He probably gets that from me.”

Sam smiled, wisely not saying anything.

Edward chuckled. “Listen, sweetheart. A man like Matthew is hard to tie down. He's bright, he's ambitious, he works hard, and he's goddamn successful at what he does. That's who he is, and while those
things are attractive qualities to a woman like yourself, they also make it difficult to have a relationship.”

Sam nodded. The Chief had nailed it. She waited for the advice she knew was about to come.

“You either accept it or you don't,” Edward said. “But you won't change him. That drive . . . it's in his DNA. He's not going to slow down. Not for you, not for me, not for anybody.”

“I don't want to change him,” Sam said. “But it's Matt who's changing.”

“In what way?”

“He's different these days, Chief.” She bit her lip, unsure how to explain. “He's always been ambitious, I've known that since the day we met. And he's always been a busy guy, and that's never bothered me. I knew that from the beginning, and I honestly don't mind scheduling time with him in advance if that's what it takes. But lately, he's been really tightly wound. Tense. Distracted. Angry. It's not just me who's noticed it. His staff has complained about it, too. I'm not sure if it's just stress, but right now he's not the Matt I know. He's not the guy I fell in love with.”

“You know he's always had issues with anger.” Edward's dark eyes were impossible to read. “We've dealt with that before. It doesn't make him a bad person.”

Sam knew the Chief was referring to Matt's arrest for assault last year. She'd been with her boyfriend when it happened. They'd been at a bar in downtown Seattle, watching the Seahawks game with a bunch of friends, when some drunken guy who was rooting for the other team had gotten a little too friendly with her. Matt had told him to quit it, and the two had exchanged heated words until things had come to blows. Her boyfriend ended up breaking the other man's nose and wrist, and if Edward hadn't intervened after Matt's arrest, he might have landed in jail.

“I know,” Sam said. “But then he took those anger management classes, started seeing a therapist, and he calmed down. And he was better. Up until a few weeks ago. And now it's like he's backslid. He's worse than ever.”

“Has he hit you?” Edward stared hard at her. “You tell me if he's laid a hand on you, Samantha.”

“No, it's nothing like that,” she said quickly. “Of course he hasn't. But I feel like he's a ticking time bomb. Not just with me. With everyone.”

“So he hasn't hit you, and he hasn't cheated on you. He's just been . . . busy. Working hard. Becoming successful.” Edward frowned. “I'm not sure I follow.”

Sam was close to tears. This was hard enough to talk about without having to explain it to Matt's old-school grandfather. Maybe talking about this with the Chief wasn't such a good idea after all. “It's just . . . I feel like we're not going to make it, Chief. I don't know how to be in this relationship with him anymore.”

Edward snorted. “Then maybe you shouldn't be, Samantha. Maybe you're not the right girl for him. Nobody would blame you if you walked away. It's your decision. Though I doubt you'll ever meet another man like him.”

An awkward silence fell between them. That wasn't the advice she'd been hoping to get. She hadn't known what to expect by coming here to discuss Matt, but this certainly wasn't it. Now she felt downright stupid. Sipping her tea, Sam stayed quiet, not knowing what else to say.

“How's the book coming along?” the Chief finally asked. “Any new theories you want to run by me since you're here?”

Sam shook her head, still feeling like an idiot. “Just the same one I had last time.”

“You think the Butcher was someone other than Rufus Wedge,” Edward said.
“And that the Butcher, whoever he really is, killed your mother.”

“I wasn't going to bring it up again. You seemed annoyed with me the last time I was here.”

“Annoyed?” The Chief laughed. “My darling, I wasn't annoyed. The fact that you think I killed an innocent man is not annoying, sweetheart.”

Sam felt a wave of relief. “I'm so glad. I certainly wasn't trying to insinuate that you didn't do your job properly.”

“Oh come off it.”

She blinked, not sure how to take that. “Um . . . what?”

“That's exactly what you were trying to insinuate.” The Chief's voice turned to ice. “And let me tell you, it's fucking insulting. I'm not annoyed, I'm pissed-off. You have a pretty head on your shoulders, my dear, but I wonder about the size of your brain sometimes. I really do.”

Sam froze. “I . . . I'm sorry, Chief. I—”

“You know what, I have things to do today.” Edward got up off his bar stool. He reached for Sam's mug and put it in the sink, even though she wasn't finished. “Why don't you run along now? And tell Miguel downstairs that I said hello. If that pretty boy male nurse is the kind of man you like spending time with, then maybe you shouldn't be with Matthew at all.”

Sam's mouth dropped open. She was ushered out, the door slamming behind her, before she could even think of a response.

PJ Wu stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at Matt, eyes like black holes in his pallid face. PJ wasn't happy. Ghosts never were.

“How could you do it to me, man?” PJ's voice was pleading as he reached forward to touch the blanket covering Matt's feet. Matt tried to move away in time but couldn't, because of course he was paralyzed. He could feel PJ's cold fingers through the thin sheet. “I thought we were friends.”

“We are,” Matt said. “We were.”

Obviously he was dreaming, and none of this was real. But lucid or not, it didn't make it any less real, or any less terrifying. He couldn't seem to wake up. He would have to ride it out, like he had every night for the past week.

“We were friends, man. I never wanted you to die. It was an accident. I'm sorry. I am so sorry.”

“Then make it right. You're not the Chief. You can make it right.”

“It's too late.” Matt felt the tears running down his face, hot and salty and full of guilt. “It's too late. I can't change it now, buddy. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“You cut me up.” PJ's face darkened and his voice became accusing. Suddenly he was at the side of the bed, only inches away from Matt, and again there was nowhere to run. In Matt's mind, he was squirming, but in reality, his body was frozen. “You chopped me into little pieces and now I can't have an open casket. Do you know what that's doing to my mom? They don't believe in cremation, Matt. They think they've been cursed. My mom cries every day. Every day, Matt. She thinks I was a bad son, that I got killed because I did something bad.”

“You weren't, you were a good son, and you were a good friend.” Matt was somehow speaking even though he couldn't feel his lips moving. “It was me. I lost my temper, I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean for it to happen.”

“But it happened, and you need to make it right.”

“I can't. If I say anything, I'll lose everything.”

“But it's not fair!” PJ yelled. “It's not fair, don't you understand that? I'm dead and it's because of you and it's not fair! It's not fair! It's not fair!”

“I'm sorry!” Matt cried. Please God, he wanted to wake up, he wanted to wake up so PJ would stop yelling, so he could breathe, because he couldn't breathe, because the blankets were twisted around his neck and he was choking and PJ was so angry, so angry, and shouting awful things. “PJ, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, please, man, I'm so sorry!”

Matt woke up.

His eyes flew open and he took a giant gasp of air, hands clawing at his throat to remove the twisted bedsheet that wasn't there. It took a few seconds to remember that it was a dream, a goddamned awful dream, and that there was nobody in the bedroom but him, because PJ was dead and gone and not really here to torment him.

He was safe.

His pillow was drenched in sweat and his face was salty from the tears he'd really cried. Matt sat up, rubbing his eyes with his hands, trying
to shake it off. But like all nightmares, it clung. The awful dream was still there, and it had felt totally real.

The clock told him it was 3:52 a.m. Every night was like this. It would be an hour or two before he'd be able to fall back asleep.

How did the Chief do it? How did he sleep?

Grandpa sleeps just fine because Grandpa is a psychopath,
that little inner voice whispered, and Matt lay back down, taking deep breaths to try to restore his heart rate to normal.

Eventually, blessedly, he slept.

*   *   *

The men's bathroom mirror showed every line, crease, and wrinkle on Matt's sleep-deprived face. Cold water helped a little to reduce the puffiness around his eyes, but there was nothing to be done about the dark circles. He looked five years older than he had two weeks ago, and felt about twenty years older than that.

And, of course, today was the first day the camera crew would be here.

It wasn't officially show footage, more like a trial run, according to Karen, who was back in town. So far he'd successfully managed to keep all of their conversations to restaurant-related matters, and she seemed to finally be getting the hint that he wasn't interested in anything more than that. At least he hoped so.

Bernard was waiting for him when he exited the bathroom.

“Oh no. No no no,” the producer said, looking up at Matt. He stood with a hand on one skinny hip, dressed head to toe in black save for the flashy white leather belt around his waist. A black cross-body bag (a “man bag,” as Matt often thought of them) completed the producer's look. “Honey. What happened? Pardon my bluntness, but you look like absolute shit.”