All Acts Of Pleasure: A Rowan Gant Investigation (22 page)

“Fine,” I surrendered. “But please let’s not
start this argument up all over again.”

“It’s about the evidence.”

“Okay, what about it?”

“What evidence have you heard about?”

“So far, just the DNA and the hair. They took
some of your clothes from the house. They also grabbed some books
from my office, but those were mine…and the library’s, so they
don’t count. Other than that, not much, really.”

She sighed and glanced away then looked back
to me with a renewed nervousness.

“I love you, Rowan Linden Gant,” she abruptly
announced.

“Right back at ya’, Felicity Caitlin
O’Brien,” I answered. “But somehow I don’t think that qualifies as
evidence.”

“No, but my overnight bag is a bit of a
different story, then,” she confessed. “And, you need to know that
no matter what they imply to you, I have never…”

She didn’t get a chance to finish the
sentence before the guard outside opened the door once again then
stepped in and announced, “Time’s up.”

“Just another minute or so,” I appealed.

“No sir. I already let you go long as
it is,” she replied in a vindictive tone. “
Your time
is up. Now you’re wasting
my
time
.”

I wasn’t smiling when I walked out into the
afternoon daylight. There wasn’t even an expression remotely
resembling good humor in close proximity to my face. I know the
chorus of the once popular song said that after “fighting
authority”, I was supposed to come out “grinnin’”, but it just
wasn’t going to happen.

I’d been locked in this me-versus-the-law
free-for-all since Friday morning, and it was getting tiresome.
Thus far I hadn’t accomplished much of anything other than digging
myself into a deeper hole because, also like the song says, the
bastards did indeed keep coming out on top. There was, however, a
point other than the “grinnin’” where the lyrics and I would again
be diverging—and that was very simply the fact that I wasn’t about
to let them “always win”.

As far as I was concerned, they were welcome
to claim victory in all of the skirmishes they wanted. The truth
was they already had, with their latest triumph being my
unceremonious ejection from the interview room and immediate escort
out the front doors of the Justice Center. However, when it came
down to the fate of my wife, I was going to prevail, not them. They
just didn’t know it yet. However, the fact that the details of how
I was going to accomplish this were still radically fuzzier than my
crystal clear conviction was a moot point at the moment, because my
mind was actually elsewhere.

It was still back upstairs with my wife.

I was certain that had I been a bit
less surly—okay, a
lot
less
surly—in my interaction with the corrections officer, I might have
gotten the extra minute or two I had asked for. Instead, I was all
but manhandled out of the room before Felicity could really begin
her story, much less complete it. The fact that it had begun in
such a cryptic, confession-like manner worried me. It wasn’t that I
didn’t trust her because I did, that wasn’t the issue at all.
However, when you mix “overnight bag” and “whatever they imply, I
didn’t…” together, the result can be more than just a little
disconcerting. Suffice it to say, since something about an
overnight bag had the police taking particular notice, and with an
opening like the one she’d provided, I couldn’t help but have a few
questions of my own.

Of course, as it stood now, I had probably
done more damage than good with the authorities inside where my
visitation rights were concerned. With that, and the fact that
Jackie was still inside with Felicity, I wasn’t sure when I would
be getting my answers anytime soon. Yet another overt and
undeniable chunk of evidence to support what everyone around me had
been saying all along—that I needed to calm down. Unfortunately, it
was much easier for them to say than it was for me to do.

I stopped mentally castigating myself for a
moment and looked up to glance at the traffic cruising along Tucker
before stepping off the curb on my way around to the driver’s side
of my truck. As it turned out, it was a good thing there weren’t
any moving vehicles nearby because the voice that suddenly came
from behind gave me an alarming start.

“So, how’s she doin’?”

I flinched involuntarily as the unexpected
words caused me to lurch then immediately stumble headlong toward
the street. At the same instant I felt myself pitching forward,
someone clamped onto my upper arm and pulled me back. It should
have been obvious that whoever had grabbed me was merely trying to
help, but my paranoid mind took it in a completely different
direction. I twisted around quickly, tensing as I tried to assume
what I thought would be a defensive posture.

Ben took one look at my face then released my
arm and held his hands out in a yielding gesture as he took a half
step back. “Whoa, Kemosabe. Just a bit jumpy, ain’t ya’?”

I allowed myself to relax once I realized who
I was dealing with, but only slightly. My mood hadn’t exactly been
uplifted recently, and to be honest, I wasn’t in a big hurry to
talk to Ben. We had made some headway last evening, but it had
really only taken the edge off my anger. While that was a start, it
definitely hadn’t repaired the schism by any stretch of the
imagination.

As we stood there, I gave him a quick
once-over. He really didn’t look any better than I felt, so I
suspected he was dealing with his own demons and sleepless nights.
I couldn’t say that I was sorry about that. I also noticed his jaw
looked just about as bruised as my fist. Right or wrong, I took a
modicum of satisfaction in that.

“Didn’t see you,” I finally replied, voice
flat.

“Yeah…kinda got that from the ‘I’m gonna kick
your ass’ look on your face.”

“Uh-huh…well, as I recall you’re the one who
told me to be careful when I’m in the city.”

“Yeah, but I meant the parts where ya’ really
need ta’ be careful. I mean, look around. Ya’ got coppers all over
the place down here.”

“All the more reason to watch my back, don’t
you think?” I just couldn’t stop myself from uttering the choleric
words.

“Yeah, uh-huh. So, obviously you’re right
back ta’ bein’ major pissed,” he grunted. “Thought we’d patched
things up a bit last night.”

“Maybe a little, but this is going to take
more than a little patching. I mean, look at what I’m dealing with
here? Can you blame me for being pissed off?”

“Guess not,” he assented with a shallow nod.
“But ya’ need ta’ try and get over it ‘cause we ain’t the bad guys,
Row.”

“It’s been my experience that the bad guys
rarely think of themselves as such.”

“Yeah, okay,” he replied, holding up his
hands again in surrender. “Not gonna go there with ya’. Don’t wanna
argue right now. You’re pissed, that’s fine. It’s all good. We’ll
just hafta work around it.”

“Thank you so much for your approval,” I
offered with heavy sarcasm overtly tagged to the words.

He just shook his head but didn’t reply.

“So,” I asked out of curiosity. “Are you
following me now? Am I under surveillance? On the verge of being
arrested as Felicity’s accomplice or something?”

“Gimme a break,” he grunted. “If you were
under surveillance, you wouldn’t know it unless we wanted ya’ to.
The real deal is I was gonna call ya’, but I noticed your truck
sittin’ here when I pulled in a couple minutes ago. Thought I’d
just come over and talk to ya’ in person instead.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

He shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. But I was
seen talkin’ to ya’ last night, so if there’s gonna be any fallout,
the damage is already done…for me, anyway.”

I didn’t really understand what he meant with
his addendum to the sentence, but it wasn’t important. The fact was
that his obvious conclusion about me being concerned for his
career, while somewhat logical, was a misinterpretation of my
query. I thought I should probably just let it go, but again my
mouth was running out of sync with my brain.

“Actually, I was talking about your jaw,” I
corrected him. “You aren’t afraid I might take a swing?”

“Uh-huh,” he said with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah. Well, don’t expect another free shot anytime soon, white
man. Ain’t gonna happen.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he said, still not pursuing
the caustic tone of my replies. Instead, he peered back at me with
questioning eyes then repeated his earlier question, “So, anyway,
how’s Firehair?”

“She’s been better,” I answered. “Of course,
that stands to reason when you think about where she is.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, inspecting the sidewalk
for a moment before looking back to my face. “But, she’s tough.
She’ll hold up.”

“Yeah. I just hope she’s tough enough.”

“She is.”

“Glad you’re so confident.”

“You ain’t?”

“Let’s just say I’m worried.”

“Yeah, I can understand that…” he agreed with
a nod.

“So,” I asked. “This great confidence you
have in her fortitude…is that recent revelation?”

“Just drawin’ from what I know about
‘er.”

“Really? I thought you’d pretty much
discounted all of that last night when the irrefutable evidence
became the thing.”

“I never said that.”

“Not in those exact words.”

He shook his head. “Ya’know, the only reason
I’m resistin’ the urge ta’ kick your ass right now is that I know
your head ain’t on straight.”

“Okay. Am I supposed to say thank you?”

“It’d be nice, but I’d settle for ya’ tryin’
ta’ be a little more civil.”

“This
is
me being civil, Ben.”

“Yeah, right,” he harrumphed. “It’s more like
you bein’ an asshole.”

“Live with it.”

“It ain’t helpin’ your wife, Row.”

“Coming from you, that sounds a bit
empty.”

“Look, I’ve been doin’ some thinkin’ about
all this and askin’ a few questions.”

“Oh yeah? Did you come to any
conclusions?”

“Yeah, actually, I did.”

“Let me guess…you still think Felicity is
guilty.”

“Actually, considerin’ some of the answers
I’ve gotten, what I think is some shit don’t add up.”

“Okay, so, is that a yes or a no on the
guilty part?”

“It’s a ‘I think some shit don’t add up’,” he
replied and then added, “On both sides.”

“So what you’re saying is that now you’re on
the fence?”

“Shit, Rowan, I was climbin’ the goddamned
fence last night. Just wasn’t quite sittin’ on it yet.”

“I couldn’t tell.”

“Wanna know why? ‘Cause ya’ were too friggin’
busy bein’ pissed off ta’ listen to me.”

I paused for a moment to weigh what he had
just said. In truth he was probably correct. Much of the previous
evening was a painful blur, with even more excruciating but still
out of focus highlights. I’m sure my emotional state clouded much
of it just as it had been doing all along.

I finally gave him a shallow nod and replied,
“Maybe so.”

“Yeah…so listen…you wanna go grab somethin’
ta’ eat this evening?”

Taking into account the events of the past
day, the invitation seemed to come out of nowhere. While I was
willing to make a concession about my stubborness, I was still on a
roller coaster ride where my feelings about Ben were concerned. I
was willing to talk, but I wasn’t so sure I wanted to sit down to
dinner with him. On top of that, I had more than enough to deal
with at the moment.

“No offense, Ben,” I replied, begging off the
invite. “But I’m not much in the mood for socializing right now.
And, to be honest, I’m still not so sure about the company.”

“Yeah, well in case ya’ didn’t notice, that
last part was actually kinda offensive.”

“Sorry about that. Just being honest.”

“Okay, but ya’ gotta eat.”

“Trust me, if I get hungry I’ve got food at
home.”

He reached up and smoothed back his hair
before dropping his hand back down. He started to say something
then glanced almost furtively from side to side. I followed his
gaze and noticed a fairly steady stream of people moving along the
sidewalk.

Gesturing obliquely, he fixed me with
an odd stare. As he spoke, he carefully enunciated the words.
“Listen to me, Row. I
really
think you need to come to dinner with me.”

For whatever reason, I wasn’t getting his
point, even with the out of character exactness of his speech. In
fact, the only thing I was getting was annoyed. “Ben, I just
said…”

“Fuckit,” he muttered, cutting me off as he
shook his head then gave me an even more wide-eyed stare. “Listen
to me very carefully, willya’?” His next sentence was slow and
deliberate with heavy emphasis on each individual word. “You… Need…
To… Come… To… Dinner… With… Me.”

It finally dawned on my overtaxed and under
rested brain that what I was getting was not a social invitation
but quite possibly an offer of information, or even help.

“Oh” was all I could think of to say.

“Yeah, oh,” he echoed. “Say around
six-thirty. Meet me over at that Mexican place there in the middle
of Westview Plaza?”

“Yeah, I can do that,” I said with a nod.

“Good. So, look, I gotta get back ta’
work.”

“Yeah, okay. Guess I’ll see you around
six-thirty then.”

“Good.”

As he started away I called after him, “Hey,
Ben, just a second…”

“Yeah?”

“Is Constance going to be there?”

He gave his head a quick shake. “Nope. Just
me.”

I scrunched my brow and cocked my head to the
side. Once again, without bothering to think first, I spoke. “I
don’t get it then…Why the cloak and dagger? I thought you just said
you weren’t worried…”