Otero held up a hand. "I never said you wasn't a stand-up guy, Charlie.
This is business. I bet the cops been following you since you got out.
Any business we do is gonna be on videotape. Things are back to normal and I want to keep it that way."
Charlie smiled coldly and shook his head.
"This is bullshit, Raoul. You owe me."
Otero flushed. "I'm tryin' to say this politely, Charlie, 'cause I don't want to hurt your feelings, okay? I ain't gonna do business with you. It's too risky. Maybe, in the future, when things quiet down, but not now. I can't make it any clearer."
"It might be worse for business to fuck with me."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're a smart guy. Figure it out." Charlie stood up. "I'm gonna be in a position to move a lot more than a key pretty soon.
When I'm ready, I'll be back to see you. That will give you time to think about how intelligent it is to stiff a guy who went to the row instead of trading your fat ass for a life sentence. A person like that isn't afraid of death, Raoul. Are you?"
Cruz started to bring his right hand out from under the table, but Otero clamped a hand on Cruz's forearm.
"I'll think about what you said, amigo."
"It's always better to think than to act rashly, Raoul. See you soon."
Deems walked out of the restaurant.
"Charlie Deems has been too long on this earth, Raoul," Cruz told Otero in Spanish, still watching the front of the restaurant.
"Charlie's just upset," Raoul answered in a tone that made it clear he was not certain about what he was saying. "He's just being the man.
When he calms down, he'll do what he told me to do. Think. Then he'll see things my way."
"I don' know. Charlie, he ain't like other guys. He don' think like other guys. He's fucked up in the head. Better I take him out, Raoul.
That way we don' take no chances."
Otero looked troubled. Killing people was bad for business, but Bobby Cruz was right when he said Charlie Deems didn't think like other people. Charlie Deems was different from any man Raoul Otero had ever met and he had met some bad hombres in his time.
Charlie Deems sat in his car behind the restaurant. Anger was flowing through him like a red tide. The anger was directed at Raoul, whom he'd gone to death row to protect and who now turned his back on him. It was also directed at Abigail Griffen, the bitch who was responsible for all his troubles. If she hadn't made prosecuting him a personal crusade, he would not have lost almost two years of his life.
Charlie let his imagination run wild. In his fantasy, Deems saw himself gut-shooting Raoul, then sitting in a chair with a beer as he watched him die slowly and in excruciating pain. His fantasy about Abigail Griffen was quite different.
Caruso's did not have the best Italian food in Portland or great atmosphere, but it did have subdued lighting, stiff drinks and the privacy Abigail Griffen needed to brood about her bastard husband, who was in her thoughts because she had just come from a two-hour conference with the attorney who was handling her divorce.
At thirty-three, Abbie felt she had lived long enough to have some idea of what life was supposed to be about, but she was still in a state of tortured confusion when the subject was love. Abbie's parents were killed in a car accident when she was three and she grew up believing that she was missing a special kind of love that all the children with mothers and fathers received.
Abbie was afraid to form relationships with men, because she was afraid that the love she shared would disappear like the love that had been snatched away when her parents were taken from her. It wasn't until her sophomore year at the University of Wisconsin that she fell in love for the first time.
Abbie sipped from her wineglass and thought about Larry Ross, a sure sign that she was courting severe depression. When she married Robert, Abbie had been so happy that she stopped thinking about Larry, but she found herself clinging to his memory with increasing urgency as her marriage soured.
The alcohol Abbie had consumed since entering Caruso's was beginning to make her woozy. She tried to remember what Larry looked like, but his image was blurred and insubstantial. What if Larry's memory slipped away forever?
Larry Ross was a quiet, considerate pre-med student who was a friend for a year before he became Abbie's first lover. When Larry started medical school at Columbia University, Abbie sent out applications to every law school within commuting distance of New York. They both felt that they would be together forever.
She was accepted at New York University exactly one week before Larry was fatally stabbed during a mugging. Abbie fled home to the aunt who had raised her.
After Larry's death, Abbie ran away from every man who tried to form a relationship with her, because she was certain she could never survive love's loss a second time. Then she met Robert Griffen, who made her love him and then betrayed her.
Abbie had downed several Jack Daniel's in rapid succession soon after sliding into a deep leather booth well away from the front door of the restaurant. She was through most of a bottle of Chianti and a dinner of linguine con vongole when Tony Rose blocked what little light there was in the booth.
Tony was a cop who had testified in a few of Abbie's cases when she was in the drug unit. He was handsome, well built, and had the testosterone level of a teenager. After two cases, Abbie stopped prepping him for his testimony unless someone else was present. Putting together a good direct examination while trying to fend off a horny cop was too exhausting.
"Hi," Rose said, flashing a wide smile. "I thought that was you."
Alcohol had dulled Abbie's reactions and Rose was sitting across from her before she could tell him to buzz off.
"How you doin'?" Rose asked cheerily.
"Not so good, Tony."
"What's the problem?" Rose asked with phony concern.
"My son-of-a-bitch husband, the Honorable Robert Hunter Griffen," Abbie answered with a candor she would never have offered if she was sober.
"Hey, that's right. I forgot. You're married to a Supreme Court justice, aren't you?"
"Not for long."
"Oh?"
"I walked out on the bastard," Abbie said, slurring her words.
Rose noticed the half-empty Chianti bottle and the melting ice cubes in Abbie's last glass of Jack Daniel's. He was an old hand at bedding inebriated women and he guessed that Abbie's inhibitions were way out of town by now.
"Hey! Isn't Griffen the judge who let out Charlie Deems?"
"He certainly is. The next time Deems kills somebody, they can thank good old Robert. And I'll tell you something else. I think he reversed the case just to embarrass me. Maybe next time Deems will do us all a favor and blow my asshole soon-to-be-ex to kingdom come."
Abbie reached for her wineglass and knocked it over. A river of ruby-red Chianti flowed over the edge of the table. Abbie tried to slide away from it, but she was too slow.
"Ah, shit," she said, dabbing at her lap with a napkin.
"Are you okay?"
"No, Tony. I'm fucked up," Abbie answered distractedly.
"Look, I was on the way out. Can you use a lift home?"
"i've got a car."
"You've got to be kidding." Rose laughed. "If I saw you driving tonight, I'd have to bust you."
Abbie slumped down on a dry section of the booth and put her head back.
"What a terrific way to end a rotten day."
"Leave your car and take a taxi in the morning. Come on. I'll get the check and you can pay me back."
Abbie was too tired to fight Rose and too drunk to care. She let him take her arm.
"What?" Abbie mumbled.
"I said, watch your head."
Abbie opened her eyes. She was staring at Tony Rose's chest and she had no idea where she was. Then Rose shifted and she could see her house through the car door.
"Come on," Rose said, easing her out of the car. Abbie stood unsteadily. Rose wrapped an arm around her waist. Abbie tried to stand up. Her head swam and her vision blurred. She leaned back against Rose's shoulder. He smiled.
"Take it easy. We're almost there. Where's your key?"
Abbie realized she was holding her purse. She fumbled with the clasp and finally got it open, but missed the keyhole on the first try.
"Here," Rose said, taking the key from her.
Rose helped Abbie into the house and switched on the light.
Abbie shut her eyes against the glare and leaned on the wall. She heard the door close and felt Rose near her. Then she felt Rose's lips. His breath smelled minty. His kiss was gentle. So was his touch when he slipped his arm around Abbie's waist.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"What you want me to do," Rose answered confidently.
"Don't," Abbie said, pushing against Rose. The cop's muscular arm tightened around her and she was crushed against his chest. Abbie strained against Rose's grip, but he was very strong.
She felt his hands on her buttocks. Fear suddenly coursed through her, cutting through her haze. She pulled her head away and Rose pressed his lips against her neck while his right hand groped under her skirt. Abbie shifted until she could get her teeth around Rose's ear, then she bit down hard.
"Hey," Rose yelped, jumping back and holding a hand to his ear.
Abbie slapped Rose as hard as she could. The policeman looked stunned.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked in a shocked tone.
"Get out, you son of a bitch," Abbie yelled.
"What's going on here? I was just trying to help you out."
"Was that what you were doing just now?"
"Look, I thought . . ."
"You thought I'd fall into bed with you because I'm smashed."
"No. It's not like that. You looked like you needed a friend."
"And that's what you were doing? Being my friend?"
"Hey," Rose said angrily, "when I kissed you, you didn't exactly faint."
"You bastard. I'm drunk."
"Man, you are one cold bitch."
"Cut the shit, Tony. You wanted to get me into bed. Well, it didn't work out."
Rose looked hurt, like a little boy.
"It could," he said. "I mean, we got off on the wrong foot here, but that's not my fault. You're the one who was giving off signals."
"Tony, haven't you been listening... ?" Abbie started.
Then she stopped herself. Whatever had happened had happened. She just wanted Rose out of her house.
"Look, Tony, this was a major mistake. Let's just forget it.
Okay?"
Rose took his hand away from his ear. It was covered with blood.
"Jesus," he said. "You really hurt me."
"I'm sorry," Abbie answered, too exhausted to be angry anymore. "Can you please leave? I want to go to bed."
"I guess you are as frigid as everyone says," he snapped, getting in the last word. Abbie let him save face. It was worth it to get him out of her house. He slammed the door and she locked it immediately. The engine of Rose's car started and she heard him drive away.
Abbie turned away from the door. She saw herself in the hall mirror.
Her lipstick was smeared and her hair looked like it had been permed in a washing machine.
"Jesus," Abbie muttered. She imagined herself in court looking like this. She started to laugh. That would be something. She laughed hirder and could not stop. What a fool she was. How had she let herself get into this situation?
Abbie slumped down on the carpet. When she stopped laughing, depression flooded over her. She leaned against the wall and started to cry. It was Robert's fault she was falling apart. She had loved him without reservation and he had deceived her. She hated him more than she ever thought possible.
Abbie closed her eyes. She was so tired. She started to fade out, then jerked herself awake and struggled to her feet. She was going to sleep, but not on the floor in the entryway.
Abbie's bedroom was at the end of a short hall. She staggered inside.
The shades in the bedroom were open and the backyard looked like a black-on-black still life. The only light came from the window of the house next door. Abbie reached for the light switch. In the moment before the bedroom light went on, a shape erased the glow from the next-door window. Abbie stiffened.
Someone was in the yard. She switched off the light so she could see outside, but she had been blinded momentarily when the bedroom light flashed on.
Abbie pressed her face against the windowpane, trying to see as much of the backyard as possible. There was no one there. She must have imagined the figure. She sagged down on the bed and Closed her eyes. A doorknob rattled in the kitchen. Abbie's eyes flew open. She strained to hear, but her heart was beating loudly in her ears.
Abbie had received a number of threats over the years from people she had prosecuted. She had taken a few of them seriously enough to learn how to shoot a semiautomatic 9mm Beretta that she kept in her end table.
Abbie took out the gun. Then she kicked off her shoes and walked on stocking feet down the dark hall to the kitchen. Abbie heard the doorknob rattle again. Someone was trying to break in. Was it Rose?
Had he parked his car and returned on foot?
Abbie crouched down and peered into the darkened kitchen.
There was a man on the deck outside the kitchen bent over the lock on the back door. Abbie could not see his face because he was wearing a ski mask. Without thinking, she ran to the door and aimed her gun, screaming "Freeze!" as she pressed the muzzle to the glass. The man did freeze for a second. Then he straightened up very slowly and raised his arms until they were stretched out from his sides like the wings of a giant bird. The man was clothed in black from head to foot and wore black gloves, but Abbie had the strange feeling that she knew him.
Their eyes met through the glass. No one moved for a moment.
The man took one backward step, then another. Then he turned slowly, loped across the yard, vaulted the fence and disappeared.
It never occurred to Abbie to pursue him. She was just glad he was gone. The adrenaline began to wear off and Abbie started to shake. She dropped onto one of her kitchen chairs and put the Beretta on the kitchen table. Suddenly she noticed that the safety was on. She felt sick for a moment, then felt relieved that she was safe.