‘It’s sinking in, isn’t it?’ He took out a pair of handcuffs, slipped one cold, hard bracelet quickly and deftly around her wrist, then his. ‘Don’t want you slipping away.’
‘David . . .’
‘I want Teddy to see me kill you. Do you understand?’
‘No.’
‘Passion. You are dead to me. Have been for a while. But Teddy . . .’ he said, pushing a handkerchief into her mouth.
They could have been standing at the end of the earth, at the end of time. Only cold grayness surrounded them.
‘Waiting for Godot,’ he said laughing. ‘But unlike Godot, my god will come.’
Julia had no idea how much time had gone by. She had hoped someone would happen upon the beach. Not tonight. No sounds. Everything was lost and still and silent. Not even traffic on Highway One. She tried to find something to sense. Salt. She sensed salt; briny, fishy and now a hushing sound of the breakers somewhere out there. She wasn’t even sure of the direction.
David Seidman was calm, patient. He seemed oblivious to the wait, to the cold.
At some point, the vague, formless light appeared. A car door slammed.
‘David!’
‘Over here, Teddy!’ David put the point of the blade at her neck, under the chin. She felt the small hole as the blade went in, could feel the warm blood on her cool neck. She wasn’t going to die yet. She thought maybe she could jerk David’s arm. Jerk it at the right time to throw him off, give Ted a chance. But to move was to die. As long as she was alive, there was a chance for both of them.
‘Where?’
‘Follow my voice.’
‘What is this?’
‘You’ll understand.’
‘Too weird, David.’
‘You’ll understand, perhaps even appreciate it in a queer way.’
‘David?’
‘You’re getting closer. Keep walking.’ David moved behind Julia, brought the blade up to her neck with one hand, pushed the gun forward – in the direction of the voice. Footsteps in the damp sand made no sound.
An overcoat. A long, gray overcoat. A face. A damp face. Dark hair. Maldeaux.
‘David? What is this?’
‘Don’t move, Teddy. Don’t even raise an eyebrow.’ There was a pause. Maldeaux said nothing. He didn’t move. ‘Very good. Very good, Teddy. Now, let me tell you a story. A short story. Very short. I am going to kill Julia, then you. Investigators will believe you killed her and then yourself . . . or if that gets too messy . . . that she got off a round before she died. You had come to finish the job. All done. About the happy ever after I don’t know. Just “the end,” you see?’
Seidman lifted the gun slightly, as if to make sure he was aiming correctly and the gun was moving down again, ready to settle in.
Julia felt the blade at her neck burrow in ever so slightly.
A flash of light, a flat loud crack.
For a moment, the three figures were frozen. Two in shock. One in death. David’s knife fell to the sand. His body slumped down. The only sound was the crush of clothing as David Seidman crumpled into the sand. Another blast of light and sound. David’s gun, aimed out at the ocean, fired.
‘I just didn’t want to take a chance,’ Gratelli said. He dropped down on one knee, his free hand steadying his body on the beach. ‘My legs are like rubber.’ He leaned over David Seidman, felt the neck for a pulse.
He acted like he didn’t expect to find one.
‘My God,’ Julia said.
‘I almost lost you twice in the fog out here,’ Gratelli said to Maldeaux.
Julia looked puzzled.
‘He’s been following me for weeks,’ Maldeaux said to her. ‘Like you, he was sure it was me.’
P
aul and a handsome blond fellow sat outside Cafe Claude’s. The sun was out. The breeze was mild and held only a slight hint of a chill. They sipped coffee out of cups large enough to support a family of goldfish.
Gratelli had lunch at Brandy Ho’s, a Chinese restaurant on the border between Chinatown and North Beach. He didn’t know if he liked his new partner. That would take a while. But at least the new guy appreciated good food.
‘Thank you for meeting me,’ Maldeaux said to Julia. ‘I felt as if we had some unfinished business.’
The maître d’ took them through the dining room to the back, where the fenced courtyard held back the breeze, but allowed the immense spray of sunlight to warm the crowd of late lunchers and illuminate the bright red bougainvillea. There was a low tumble of conversations and the tinkling of wine glasses. Delicate sounds of violins and flutes filled the lulls of the human babble.
‘How are you?’ he asked as the waiter set the menus before them and disappeared.
‘Doing OK,’ she said. She knew her voice was flat. She was having trouble letting any feeling out. Not humor, not sadness, not anger. Julia actually felt all right . . . to the extent that she felt anything at all.
‘You’re remarkable,’ he said.
She had absolutely no idea what to say to that.
Thaddeus paused for a moment. It was clear that he was giving something a lot of thought. Then he spoke. ‘Are you getting any help?’
‘Help?’ she asked.
‘With all this.’
‘Paul is with me. We’re getting the business going.’
‘That’s not what I mean.’
‘I know. It will all work out.’
Thaddeus leaned over the table. ‘You were attacked three times. You were terrorized. You killed a man. You saw another one shot in the head. I can’t let you push all this aside like you sprained an ankle.’
‘I know. I appreciate your saying it. That being said, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. What’s going on in your life?’
Thaddeus looked down at the table, then out over the crowd. The waiter came.
‘White wine,’ Thaddeus said to Julia. ‘Something dry and light, you think?’
‘That’s fine,’ Julia said.
‘Pick out something,’ Thaddeus said to the waiter, then to Julia with an obviously false smile. ‘I like white wine before dark. Then red. How about you?’
‘I never thought of it that way before.’
‘The flowers are pretty, don’t you think.’
‘The flowers are pretty,’ she said, a thin grin on her face.
‘Really a nice day,’ he said.
‘Yes. Very nice.’
‘I like the way you’ve done your hair,’ he said.
‘Thank you.’
‘Did you hear anything about that new Monet exhibit?’
‘No, I haven’t. Where is it going to be?’
‘I don’t know. And don’t care,’ he said. ‘I can’t do this. I can’t let you not live anymore. I don’t want to be polite. I don’t want us to be acquaintances.’
‘We’ll talk about it sometime,’ Julia said. ‘I promise.’
No need to talk. It was better not to. Words could betray her, make her vulnerable. She sensed her father inside her, the Bateman blood. So late to understand.
The waiter came by. They ordered. Both Julia and Thaddeus were quiet when he left. It wasn’t awkward. Was this the end of it? Was this all it was ever meant to be? Meeting a bizarre intersection in each other’s lives? Sharing such profound and frightening truths?
One day at a time. That’s all it ever is, anyway. Life goes on.
A breeze swept across the tables. Awnings and umbrellas fluttered.