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  You kidding? Jog . . . no, I don't go sailing either, or play golf. Jesus Christ, do I jog . . .

  You have a nice trim figure, Maureen said, I thought maybe you exercised.

  I've been running to the bathroom every ten minutes since your buddy Lieutenant Cruz was here. I don't need any more exercise, I'll tell you. She paced over to the dining-L and back to the desk in the living room before stopping again to look at Maureen. How would you tell him?

  Just the way Lieutenant Cruz suggested, Maureen said. You gave the gun to Mr. Sweety because you were afraid to throw it away yourself.

  It's true.

  So you have nothing to worry about.

  He's gonna ask me if the cops were here, I know he is.

  Well, I'm here, Maureen said. I asked you if you saw a gun in Clement Mansell's possession, here or anywhere else and you told me no. That's all you have to say. Don't complicate it.

  You don't know him.

  I'll bet I've known a few like him though. Maureen watched Sandy move to the windows and look out toward the river. There's one guy we sent to Jackson keeps writing to me. He says we're pen pals. I think when he gets out in about seven years he wants to get together.

  Clement's only been to prison once, Sandy said. He's been to jail plenty of times, but he's only spent like a year in a regular prison. He says he won't ever go back again and I believe him. God, he makes up his mind to something . . . but he's so unpredictable. One time we're out at Pine Knob, the Allman Brothers were there. Everybody, you know, they're drinking beer and acting crazy, rolling joints on their coolers. This boy turns around and offers Clement a toke? Clement slaps it out of his hand like he was the boy's dad or something, gives him this real mean look. All while the Allman Brothers're playing Clement's waving his arms around to make the smoke go away. Sometimes, I swear, he's like a little old man.

  You must like him a lot, Maureen said.

  Sandy turned from the window. Shit, I'm scared not to. She stared off, mouth partly open, then gradually began to grin, though not giving it much. He's cute, though, you know it? God, in bed . . . I think that's where he got his nickname, the Wildman? I swear, he gets it up, like he says, you got to hit it with a stick to make it go down. Sandy's grin broadened as her gaze moved to Maureen and she said, What're you smiling at?

  I've had some experience there, too, Maureen said. I was assigned to Sex Crimes for nine years. I think I saw everything there is to see. I mean, you know, funny things.

  God, Sandy said, that must've been interesting. Like rapists and degenerates and all? Perverts?

  Uh-huh, lot of perverts. People you'd least expect.

  Isn't that the way? Like schoolteachers . . . preachers?

  Uh-huh. A lot of flashers.

  Yeah? Guys with raincoats and nothing underneath?

  The pros cut the whole front out of their pants, Maureen said. One of the weirdest ones we got a rape report. Right over in the City-County Building, one of the secretaries was dragged into the stairway and raped, had her clothes torn off. We asked her to describe the guy, if he had any unusual marks or characteristics. The girl said yes, come to think of it, he had an infantile penis.

  God, Sandy said, a rapist. She sounded a little sad. Did you get him?

  We rounded up suspects, repeat offenders, Maureen said, but first we had to qualify them, if you understand what I mean.

  Sandy's face brightened. Yeah, to see who had an infantile one. She frowned. How little is infantile?

  Wait, Maureen said. A suspect would be brought in, then one of the guys in the squad would tell him to drop his pants.

  Didn't you see any of 'em?

  Well, a few. But during the investigation I think something like a hundred and fifty-seven penises were inspected.

  Wow, Sandy said, with something like awe. A hundred and fifty-seven. God . . . She paused then with a puzzled expression. Wait a minute. This girl said the guy's joint was infantile, but compared to what? I mean her old man could've had a shlong that hung down to his knees. You know it?

  We thought of that, Maureen said. Compared to what? We never did get the guy.

  That's really something, Sandy said. At least you get to meet a lot of interesting people.

  Well, I'm never bored, Maureen said.

  When Sandy was alone again she let the silence and dismal evening sky work on her. It was the best time of the day to be depressed. She was able to cry for a few minutes, shredding another Kleenex, made moaning sounds as she went into the bedroom, stood in front of the full-length mirror and studied her image hiding there puffy-eyed behind Bert Parks' big grin.

  She said out loud, You poor thing. She curled her lower lip down and got her chin to quiver and studied the expression. Then parted her lips slightly and opened her eyes wide in a look of surprised innocence. Well, I didn't know. God, I thought you'd be glad pouty again 'ystead of being an old meany. Sandy stared at her slumped shoulders, her pitiful expression. She stared for a long silent moment and then said, Fuck it. She took off the T-shirt and jeans and tried it again, looking at a bra-less image now, hooked her thumbs into the narrow band of her white panties and cocked a hip . . . turned sideways and stared past her shoulder, letting her eyelids become heavy . . . turned full front again and stared with her bare feet apart, hands moving to her narrow hips.

  She said, Hey, are you Sandy Stanton? and cocked her head slightly. Yeah, I thought you were. You've got a dynamite body, you know it? I mean anybody can see you've got it together. Look at you. You are a fucking groovy chick, you know it? Yeah, I know it. Then what's the problem? What problem? I don't have a problem, you have a problem? . . .

  When Clement came in he said, Where you think you're at, a nudist camp? Without a bit of fun in his voice. Jesus, turn that boresome music off We a little irritable this evening?

  With a foot-dragging funky step and two whole joints working in her, Sandy got over to the hi-fi just ahead of Clement and saved the Bee Gees from being scratched to death. She said, What on earth is the matter with you?

  He walked over to the windows and stood looking out at the downtown lights.

  Sandy tried again. This your thinking time?

  He didn't answer.

  I've been worried about you sitting here all day. There's such a thing as telephones, you know. Yeah, get a little pissed at him.

  Early this morning Sandy had let the EMS attendants into Skender's apartment building, told them Down the basement and got out of there fast. They drove over to Woodward Ave-nue, pulled up alongside Blessed Sacrament Cathedral and Clement told her to get out, take a cab home. She'd said, What am I suppose to do, stand out on the street like a hooker? He gave her a shove. She asked him where he was going to stay and he said, Don't worry about it. In one of his moods.

  Evidently still in it. Good. She could think about standing on that Woodward Avenue street corner with all the colored guys slowing up to look her over and get really pissed at him.

  She said, Don't worry about me, just think about yourself.

  Still looking out the window Clement said, I was thinking about you. Come on over here. You ever been up the top of the RenCen?

  Course I have. I used to work there.

  He put his arm around her bare waist, pulling her in close. Seven-hundred feet up in the air. You sit there with your cocktail and it turns. It turns reeeeeal slow. You look at Canada a while. You look downriver at the Ambassador Bridge. You look over De-troit then as you turn real real slow, giving yourself time to wonder and think about things.

  I didn't throw the gun in the river, Sandy said. I gave it to Mr. Sweety.

  I know you did.

  You want to know why?

  I know why.

  How do you know?

  I talked to him.

  Are you mad?

  No . . . He didn't sound too sure about it. See, when I was up there thinking about you? . . .

  Yeah?

  I called you up and the line was busy.

  San
dy held on, not making a sound.

  I thought, who could she be talking to? Not the Albanian.

  Uh-unh . . . Sandy said, thinking, Please, God

  And then it come to me. You were talking to Sweety.

  God, are you smart. She felt herself shaking a little and slipped her arm around Clement. I know you don't like me to smoke weed, but it's sure good when I'm nervous.

  Tell me what you're nervous about.

  Well, I thought you'd be mad that I didn't, you know, throw the gun away. But I really thought Mr. Sweety would know how better.

  I understand that, Clement said. But see, then another person knows my business.

  Yeah, but he doesn't really know anything. I mean, it's just a gun.

  Well, how come he's nervous and wants me to come get it then? I told him, chuck it in the river you don't want it. He goes, 'yI ain't fooling with no hot gun. It's yours, you take care of it.' See, why would he think the gun's hot?

  Well, maybe the police talked to him. Right away, Sandy knew she had made a mistake, said too much.

  That's a thought, Clement said, giving her a squeeze. Like they talked to you, huh?

  Even with miles of nighttime lights outside reaching way way off, Sandy felt walls around her, no more room than inside a box, a coffin. It was a terrible feeling. She said, I was so worried about you today, I didn't know where you were or if anything happened to you or anything.

  They come see you today?

  Well, this lady cop stopped by. Asked if I knew anything about a gun. But she was real nice about it.

  Tricking you, Clement said.

  Yeah, but I didn't tell her nothing. I didn't.

  Clement patted her. He said, I know you didn't, hon. It's just their chicken-fat ways . . . You been smoking a little?

  Few tokes is all, now and then. She was surprised, he was making it sound so simple.

  When'd you get it?

  The other day.

  When you give Sweety the gun?

  Uh-huh. I just got a little bit.

  Oh my, Clement said with a sigh. Life can sure play a tune on you you let it.

  I didn't do anything wrong.

  I know you didn't, hon. But see what's happened? They got to Sweety and I 'ymagine made a deal with him. He sets me up or they shut him down, put him on the trailer. I come get the gun, walk out of there and twenty squad cars converge on my ass out of nowhere. 'yThrow up your hands, motherfucker!' They'd have to empty their weapons, Clement said, cause I sure ain't doing hard time. Never have and never will.

  Let's go to Tampa, Florida, Sandy said, right now.

  I'd like to, hon, but we got some problems. Those goddamn Albanian undertakers shot your Montego all to hell no, that's something I'll tell you about after, Clement said, Sandy frowning up at him. First thing, we got to get shuck of the gun.

  Why? Why not just walk away from it? Sandy was still frowning. This was not turning out simple at all.

  Cause I don't leave behind anything might catch up with me later, Clement said. If I don't get rid of the gun then I got to be rid of anybody could take the stand against me. I don't think you'd care for that.

  Yeah, but you know I wouldn't testify.

  Hon, I know it but I don't know it. People change their mind. The only thing perfectly clear in my mind, I ain't gonna do time. So the gun goes or you and Marcus Sweeton go. Which'd you rather?

  I thought everything was gonna be good now. Sandy's voice was faint, sounding as far away as her gaze, the little girl wishing she was out there somewhere, even out beyond the lights of Canada.

  We'll make her, Clement said. I'm gonna call Sweety back, tell him the arrangements.

  But you said if you picked the gun up

  Trust the good hands people, Clement said. You feel that good hand on you there? Here comes another good hand close your eyes. Here comes another good hand . . . closer . . . closer . . . Where is it going to land? . . .

  Doing was more fun than thinking. But sometimes thinking made the doing more worthwhile. Like if he had known he was going to do the judge he would have thought something up to make it pay more and the doing would have been more satisfying. When he tried to explain this to Sandy, she said she would just as soon not know what he was thinking, if it was all the same. She turned on the television set and he turned it off.

  What am I saying?

  I don't know what you're saying, or want to.

  I'm saying like in this deal here, Clement said, there are ways to skin by. Shit, lay in the weeds and let it pass over. Like that Grand Trunk railroad train passed over me. But there also ways of doing it with some style, so you let the other party know what you think of their chicken-fat scheme. You follow me?

  No, Sandy said.

  Then keep your eyes open, Clement said, and see if your old dad ain't a thinker as well as a doer.

  Chapter 27

  RAYMOND THOUGHT OF Madeline de Beaubien, the girl who overheard the plot and warned the garrison Pontiac and his braves were coming to the parley with sawed-off muskets under their blankets and saved Detroit from the Ottawas.

  The house could have belonged to one of her early descendants, an exhibit at Greenfield Village that people walked through looking into 19thcentury rooms with velvet ropes across the doorways, a cold house despite amber reflections in the hall chandelier and a rose cast to the mirrored walls. The house was too serious.

  That was it, Raymond decided. The house didn't see anything funny going on or hear people laugh. Marcie told him solemnly, a funeral-home greeter, Ms. Wilder was waiting for him in her sitting room.

  An audience with the queen. No more, Raymond thought, mounting the stairway, not surprised to find her in semidarkness, track lighting turned low, directed toward squares of abstract colors, Carolyn lying on the couch away from the lights. She told him he was late and he asked, For what?

  He let himself relax and said, Let's start over.

  You were going to leave in a few minutes, Carolyn said. That's what you told me.

  I know, and then we got into something. What's the matter with your voice?

  He did not see her face clearly until he turned on the lamp at the end of the couch away from her and saw the bruise marks and swelling, her mouth puffed and slightly open. Carolyn's eyes held his with a quiet expression, her eyes blinking once, staring at him, blinking again, waiting for him to speak.

  I told you, Raymond said.

  Her expression began to turn cold.

  Didn't I tell you? No, you can handle him, no problem.

  I knew you'd have to say it, Carolyn said, but I didn't think you'd overdo it.

  You didn't? Listen, I'm not through yet, Raymond said. If I can think of some more ways to say it I'm going to, every way I know how.

  She said, You're serious . . .

  You bet I am. I told you, don't fool with Clement, but you did anyway.

  I misjudged him a little.

  A little . . .

  She began to smile and said, Do you feel better now?

  He said, Do you? Then surprised both of them.

  He went to one knee to get close to her and very gently touched her face, her mouth, with the tips of his fingers. He said, You don't want to be a tough broad. She said, No . . . and slipped her arms around him and brought him against her. The faint sound that came from her might have been pain, but he didn't think so.

  He said, I want to tell you something. Then we'll see if we're still friends, or whatever we are. I didn't plan this. As a matter of fact, I came here I was a little on the muscle. I was gonna listen, try to be civil and get out.

  What happened? Carolyn said.

  He liked the subdued sound of her voice.

  I don't know. I think you've changed. Or I've changed. Maybe I have. But what I want to tell you, I think you're too serious.

  She didn't expect that, or didn't understand what he meant. He beat hell out of me . . .

  I know he did, touching her face again, soothing her with his voice
and his fingers. I'm not gonna say it any more, you know who he is . . . Tell me why he's going to the bank tomorrow.

  He made me give him a check. All the money I had in the account.

  How much is that?

  Over six thousand.

  What did you say one time, he's fascinating? I'm sorry, I've got to quit that . . . Did you stop payment?

  No, I'm going to file on three counts and get him for assault, extortion and probably larceny from a person. He took more than a hundred in cash.

  Hold off on it, Raymond said. Let me bring him up on the homicides, then you can file all the charges you want.

  You'll never convict him, Carolyn said, unless you have more than I know about.

  Did he have a gun?

  Not when he was here; at least he didn't show it. But when I heard shots and looked out the bathroom window I thought it was the police and I remember thinking, Wait, as I went to the window, I want to see him killed.

  Really?

  It was in my mind.

  Did he have a gun then?

  Yes, shooting back at them. It was an automatic, a fairly good size. But who are they?

  He told her about Skender, Toma. She knew something about Albanian blood feuds and now wasn't surprised. On the phone you thought I wanted to file against them on behalf of Clement, while I'm thinking of all the ways I want to see him convicted.

  Let me do it, Raymond said. I'm close. In fact, it could happen tonight, as soon as I hear something. Looking at her, thinking of Clement, he said, Did he . . . molest you?

  Carolyn began to smile again, her eyes appreciating him. Did he molest me? . . .

  Come on did he?

  Her mood became quiet. Not really.

  What does that mean, not really?

  He touched me . . .

  Make you take your clothes off?

  He opened my robe Carolyn stopped, she seemed mildly surprised. You know what I'm doing? I'm being coy. I've never been coy in my life.

  No, you've been too busy impressing yourself, Raymond said. Tell me what he did.

  What're you trying to do, analyze me? He felt me up, but we didn't go all the way. Now Raymond smiled and she said, You think you have insights, is that it?