“Of course I didn’t forget—”
“Then where were you?”
“I’m trying to explain.”
“Then explain. Who’s stopping you?”
“I was in jail.”
“In jail?”
“I was in jail and they confiscated my phone.”
“Why were you in jail?”
“There was this woman—”
“I’m sure there was.”
“It wasn’t like that, Nina.”
“There was this woman who needed help and so you helped her.”
“Okay, maybe it was like that.”
“It’s always something with you, you know?”
I’m sorry.
“You’re always sorry.”
“Nina, it wasn’t—”
“And it’s never your fault.”
“No, it’s not. I mean, sometimes it is, but this time it really wasn’t.”
“Uh-huh.”
“The Anoka cops threw me in jail.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Actually, it’s kind of a funny story when you hear it.”
“I bet.”
“Tonight, let me come by and I’ll—”
“I have a date tonight.”
“A date.”
“Yes.”
“You have a date.”
“Yes.”
“Tonight.”
“Yes.”
“You have a date tonight.”
“You’re slow but sure, McKenzie.”
“With who?”
“With whom.”
“With whom do you have a date tonight?”
“The man who escorted me to the ball.”
“You went anyway?”
“Of course I went anyway. Why wouldn’t I?”
“I just thought. . . No, it’s good that you went. Was it fun?”
“You would have liked it, McKenzie. Free vodka martinis, shaken, not stirred. Strippers, too. Very tasteful. They danced to songs from the James Bond movies—Goldfinger, Diamonds Are Forever, Goldeneye. Cheryl Tiegs ran the auction.”
“Cheryl Tiegs the former supermodel?”
“She looked damned good for a woman her age. In fact, I’d say she looked damned good for a woman of any age. You would have liked her. You would have liked the purple dress I wore, too. But what is it you like to say? Oh, yeah—you snooze, you lose.”
“Nina—”
“Anyway, I have a date tonight. With the man who was kind enough to drop everything and escort me to the ball—on very short notice, no less.”
“I don’t blame you for wanting to punish me, but if you let me explain—”
“I’m not punishing you, McKenzie. I’m moving on.”
“Nina.”
“Good-bye, McKenzie.”
The click of the connection being severed sounded like a cannon going off in my ear. I kept calling Nina’s name, even though I knew she was gone.
“This is not fair,” I shouted at the wall.
Can you blame her for being angry? the wall replied.
“It’s not my fault.”
Whose fault is it?
“Baumbach and the Anoka fucking Police Department.” I was still yelling.
I was too angry to sit, so I started stomping from one room to another, vengeance on my mind. I thought about it as I went into the “family room,” slipped a Toots Thielemans CD on the machine, and listened to his jazz harmonica from nineteen speakers strategically placed in eight rooms and my basement. I thought about it as I ate a dish of leftover beef lo mein in the kitchen. I thought about it as I paced the empty living room and the dining room—at least it will be a dining room once I buy a table and a few chairs.
It occurred to me that I hadn’t thrown a single dinner party in the past two years without inviting Nina.
“Dammit, I’m going to get those guys.”
How?
I knew I couldn’t bring myself to sue them. I couldn’t sue cops—I used to be a cop. I couldn’t file a complaint with the Justice Department for the same reason. Besides, my inner voice reminded me, you and the FBI aren’t exactly like this.
I crossed fingers on two hands and held them up—and shook my head.
“Keep talking to yourself this way, the next thing you know you’ll be collecting cats.”
You could call the ACLU.
“Nah. I support most of what they do, but sometimes I just want to smack ‘em upside the head. Dammit, stop talking to yourself.”
Here, kitty, kitty.
“Arrgggggg!”
I was getting close to slapping myself silly when I decided to sleep it off. I showered, shaved, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. The dream came quickly.
The glass door of the convenience store swung open. The suspect didn’t see me. I tucked the recoil pad of the shotgun against my shoulder and sighted down the barrel.
“Police. Drop the gun. Put your hands in the air.”
The suspect turned toward me. He was holding a paper bag in his left hand and an S&W .38 in his right.
“For God’s sake drop the gun.”
The suspect raised his hands.
I fired once.
I was wide-awake when the phone rang.
It’s Nina, calling to forgive you.
“Nina,” I said into the receiver.
There was a slight pause, followed by a woman’s voice I didn’t recognize.
“Rushmore McKenzie?”
“Who’s calling, please?” I was expecting a sales pitch.
“Mr. McKenzie, my name is G. K. Bonalay. I’m an attorney representing Merodie Davies.”
