Exact Revenge Page 2

  “Raymond,” he said, pitching the cigarette to the ground and pumping his arms to catch up. “Wait up.”

  The light was against me. I had to wait. Rangle grinned and held out his hand again.

  “I meant it,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks, Bob. I appreciate it.”

  The light changed and I started to walk, feigning interest in the envelope.

  “Celeste Oliver?” Rangle said, his nose poking around my shoulder, his big close-set eyes blinking.

  “It’s for a friend,” I said, stuffing the envelope back into my jacket. “Do you know what end of Lodi Street is 1870?”

  “The wrong end,” Rangle said. “I’m meeting Paul Russo at the Tusk. Have a drink with us.”

  “Maybe later. I have someone I have to see first.”

  “Before the wrong end?”

  I nodded.

  He smiled back in that sharp-toothed smile.

  4

  THE DOOR THAT LED up to the second-floor condo complex where Lexis lived was just down the wide brick alley that bordered one side of the Tusk. I stepped into the shadow of the alleyway, leaving Rangle to search the crowd that had spilled out from the bar and into the railed-off section of tables and chairs.

  The condos were high-rent, and I had to punch in a code just to get into the common area. As I started up the steps, my heart began to thump. I hadn’t seen Lexis in four weeks. We hadn’t even spoken on the phone.

  On New Year’s Eve, she threw a drink in the face of a partner’s wife. The next day we took a long walk and I tried to hint around that maybe she should get some help to stop drinking.

  When she figured where it was I was going, she got hot and started to yell. I tried to keep cool, but pretty soon we both said some things we shouldn’t have. Stupid things neither of us meant. Then I got tabbed to go down to the city and salvage the Iroquois deal and we agreed to take a break and see how we really felt about each other. A test.

  I knew how I felt. I felt like shit. Going up those steps, I suddenly didn’t care about the Iroquois deal. I didn’t even care about the United States Congress.

  I stood there thinking about how to say I was sorry. Then I heard a voice through the door, deep and rumbling. My gut knotted up. It was her old boyfriend. A guy I knew whose dad was head of the Patrolmen’s Benevolent Association. No surprise he was the youngest detective in the department.

  My hands clenched into fists and I hammered on the door.

  “Son of a bitch,” I said between my teeth.

  There was a pause, then footsteps, and the door swung open.

  “Raymond?”

  It was Lexis. I wanted to punch my fist through the wall. My face burned and my stomach felt sick.

  Her dark hair hung in long smooth sheets that only made her blue eyes more striking. Her skin was from another age, a Victorian painting. China skin with a straight nose and high cheekbones. The hair around the fringes of her face was damp.

  She wore a white cotton dress with a blue flower print that matched those eyes. Her legs were long and lean. Her waist was narrow.

  “What are you doing?” she said.

  I said, “What are you doing?”

  “I didn’t even know you were back,” she said. “Frank is here. His mother is sick.”

  “Right,” I said. My hands were jammed in my pockets and I stood glowering at her with my attention fixed on the interior of the apartment.

  Lexis stepped toward me. She put a hand on my cheek and kissed me lightly on the lips. Her lips were full and soft, she smelled of strawberries.

  “Missed you,” she said. Her voice was hushed, tender.

  I didn’t kiss her back.

  She sighed as if to say it was nothing more than she expected out of me and said, “Come in here.”

  She turned and walked down a narrow hallway into the towering loft that served as both living room and studio. Frank was standing by the glass doors next to an unfinished canvas. Outside was a balcony overlooking the hickory trees that lined the street below. The sunlight streaming in through the leaves dappled the scarlet silk of his shirt. It hung loose around his waist, but I could still see the bulge of his police-issued Smith amp; Wesson.

  I despised him. He was like a giant from a children’s story, with a mop of dark curly hair, flaring nostrils, and hands like slabs of meat. Most women thought he was handsome. So did Frank. He had this shiny olive skin, small fat red lips, and pale blue eyes with lashes like a girl.

  “Sorry to hear about your mom,” I said. “What’s wrong?”

  “Heart attack,” he said. “She’ll be okay. She’s pretty tough.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “they say those aren’t as serious as they used to be.”

  I circled toward the kitchen, keeping my body sideways to him the way I did when I was sparring.

  “Still working on that kung-fu stuff, Big Chief?” he said.

  “Some people might be offended by a stupid comment like that,” I said. “But they might not understand about people who are mentally challenged.”

  Frank laughed.

  “You gotta be careful out there,” he said. “It’s a dangerous world.”

  “Same for you, Frank. Don’t try to walk and chew gum at the same time.”

  “Tell your mom I send my best,” Lexis said, taking Frank by the arm.

  He looked up at me and, showing his teeth, said, “Make sure you treat this girl right.”

  I forced a smile.

  When he was finally gone, Lexis closed the door and came back into the living room. Almost every flat surface was covered with photos of her and me in delicate silver and wood frames. Us at Disney in front of the castle. Her sister’s wedding in L.A. Camping. Our first-anniversary dinner. She moved slowly across the room, stopping to straighten the picture frames as she came.

  “Oh, Frank,” I said. “I’m so glad you could console his delicate spirit.”

  “He’s gone.”

  “But he’ll be back,” I said. “An asshole boomerang.”

  “He’s nothing,” she said. “Don’t waste your time.”

  I smelled the musky sweetness of Oriental lilies and looked for the source. In a glass vase beside the couch was a fresh-cut flower arrangement. The paintings on the high brick walls were the same as they’d been a month ago. Surreal, with electric blue skies and inanimate objects with bloody teeth. No new work. Even the canvas on her easel had seen little progress. I couldn’t help feeling glad.

  Across the room was the door that led to her bedroom. I studied the big king-size sleigh bed in the middle of the wood floor. It was neatly made.

  Lexis was in front of me now. In her hands was an inlaid mahogany frame that held a picture of just me. My neck, shoulders, and chest were bare and tan, the lines of muscle and bone clearly drawn. My hair was a dark tangle. My eyes were half shut, but you could still see the yellow slivers set deep in their brown.

  “Remember when I took this?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  I did remember. A seaside cottage on Cape Cod. She said after sex was the only time I ever really relaxed. She said she liked me that way.

  “Yes,” I said in a raspy tone.

  She traced a fingertip up the front of my thigh.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

  “Me too.”

  I could feel her touch through the leg of my pants, up over my waist, then through my shirt, sharp and tingling, ascending my abdomen, over my chest and coming to rest just above my collarbone, where she moved it back and forth in a gentle rhythm. It got hard to breathe. I stepped toward her and let my hand slide down the muscular ridge along her spine to the shelf of her round bottom, where I took hold and pulled her close, pressing her hips against my own and kissing her.

  Lexis stripped off my coat and frantically unbuttoned my shirt. They both slipped to the floor. The corner of the white envelope poked out from the inside pocket. I star
ted to bend down to tuck it back in, but her dress fell to the floor-came up over her head and down over the top of it. We began to kiss again, holding it as we moved sideways toward the bedroom. One of my hands slipped beneath her bra, the other under the waistband of her lace underwear, finding the small smooth scar at her hip. My belt buckle jingled and came undone.

  By the time we reached the bed, we were both naked. She pushed me onto my back, and then, everything stopped.

  5

  I STARTED FROM MY SLEEP and, for a moment, didn’t know where I was. Then I saw the deep web of Lexis’s hair spilled across the pillow next to me. I breathed deep the familiar hint of incense she sometimes burned. I felt refreshed, but less than a half-hour had gone by. Outside, the sun’s beams were still thick, although slanted nearly flat. They drew long shadows from the windowsills of the building across the street. Out on the studio floor, my suit coat still lay beneath her dress, but the corner of the envelope jutted up into the thin material, casting a small shadow of its own.

  I sat up, and the cotton sheets slid easily from my legs.

  Lexis groaned and reached for me.

  “Where are you going?” she said, her face still buried in the feather pillow.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, running my fingers through her hair. “I haven’t even spoken to my father. His phone was disconnected last week. Crazy coot. I’ve got to stop by. I was thinking I could do that, go home and change, and then we could meet for dinner…”

  I looked at my watch.

  “It’s almost seven-thirty,” I said. “How about nine-thirty?”

  Lexis rolled over and I kissed her lips.

  “I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t him.”

  She touched my lips with her fingertip and said, “I like that you care about him like that.”

  When I left Lexis’s apartment, I decided I was going to ask her to marry me. I already had the ring. I’d been waiting to be sure. Waiting to see what the break would do to us. Now I knew. This was it.

  When I saw Rangle at his table on the corner of the sidewalk and the alleyway, I was too cheerful to dip my head and walk on by. He was on his feet, waving to me and calling my name. Besides, I thought I owed his buddy Paul Russo a favor. Not my favorite guy, but the vice president at a local bank, and before I left for New York City he had promised to put together that small business loan for my dad.

  The world is round.

  The Tusk boasts a glass storefront with over five hundred kinds of beer behind a bar decked out in brass. Its doors stay open in the summer so you can smell the yeasty richness even on the sidewalk, and above the bar in gold carved letters are the words: Reality is an hallucination brought about by the lack of good beer. On the wall, in old-world letters, is another sign: Est. 1978.

  It was an after-work crowd of lawyers and accountants, along with a handful of skilled tradesmen whose rates were high enough to afford five dollars for a pint of beer. People sat on tapestry stools or stood leaning against the high oak tables. But the best seats were where my friends were, outside in the line of tables that ran down the sidewalk and halfway up the alley.

  It wasn’t until I was inside the railing that separated the patrons from the foot traffic, and halfway to their table, that I realized Frank was hiding behind the brick corner of the building. He ended his conversation around the corner and sat down with the other two before looking up at me. He set his mouth in a flat line, then forced a smile. I did the same.

  “My man,” Rangle called out in a slurred voice, holding up his hand for a high five. “You know Paul… and Frank I know you know. Hey, we’re all friends here. The future movers and shakers…”

  The two of them were dressed for success with glimmering silk ties, white shirts, and suit coats with sharp-angled padded shoulders. In a mean way Rangle did have style, but Russo was shorter and such a potato-head that the clothes just couldn’t compensate. Everyone else sitting around was in shirtsleeves at best. The women wore big-shoulder tops and high moussed hair and we all listened to Wham! U.K. and the theme music to St. Elmo’s Fire.

  “Hey, Paul,” I said. “Thanks for helping out my dad.”

  “God, I’ve been wicked swamped,” Russo said. His shoulders were broad but thin, like a paper doll’s. His big hooked nose and protruding ears jumped right out at you from a chinless face that was otherwise flat as a pie tin. Pale gray crescents hung beneath his dark, pink-rimmed eyes. His head was mostly bald except for the buzzed-down patches around his mushroom ears that matched the shadow on his chin and jaw. He had a confident spark to him. “He and I have been trading calls. But we’ll get it done for sure.”

  “You need a beer, Raymond,” Rangle said.

  “That’s okay I-”

  “Just one,” Rangle said, holding up his long hand. “Paul, how about another round of Rogue Ales and whatever Raymond wants.”

  “Me?”

  “Your name’s Paul, right?”

  He flipped Russo his credit card.

  To me, he said, “You can’t not have at least one with me. People will think I’m not happy for you. People will think I’m holding a grudge or something if we don’t have a drink. You and I have to work together. We’ve got politics to talk. I’ve decided to run for mayor. Frank will be my chief of police, ‘buckling down’ on all the bad guys. Please… sit.”

  He grinned. “We’re going to own this fucking town.”

  I did sit, as much as anything to spite Frank and his dark look. I winked at him. Best way to piss off an asshole is to ignore him.

  “I’ll have a Hefeweizen,” I said to Russo, trying to sound glib. “A Franziskaner.”

  “And cigars, Paul,” Rangle said, raising his finger. “They have some Montecristo No. 2s behind the bar. Just tell them it’s for me…”

  Russo, with sweat beaded on his round brow and pit stains bleeding through his suit coat, stood swaying for a moment, puffed his thin lips, and then hurried off.

  “You’ll have to start getting used to good cigars, Raymond,” Rangle said, finishing off the pint in front of him and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “You’ve already got a fine woman.”

  I pressed my lips together and stared flatly at him.

  “Lucky in life and lucky in love,” Rangle said, his teeth glinting.

  I cast a look at Frank to see if he was in on the fun.

  “In today’s politics, the first lady is essential,” Rangle said, belching quietly and loosening his tie before he clutched his fingers. “That’s insider information. The kind of stuff my father taught me. The kind of stuff I’m going to share with you during the campaign and even when you’re in Washington…”

  Russo returned, staggering like a goblin slave with a quartet of glasses and a pocketful of cigars stuffed in with the burgundy handkerchief that matched his tie. I passed on the Montecristo, but drank half of the Hefeweizen before setting the glass down on the metal mesh tabletop.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said, looking at my watch. “But I’ve really got to get going.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Rangle said with a wink, “that little secret errand to run, right? Secret’s safe with me, that’s for sure…”

  Rangle started to chuckle. It infected Russo, who wheezed through that big nose. Frank just stared down at the pint glass between his thick hands.

  “I guess you don’t get to where you are without doing some favors, eh?” Rangle said, clipping the end off his cigar. One eyebrow crept upward and he narrowed his big dark eyes.

  “Meaning?”

  “Nothing bad,” Rangle said, looking up from behind the flame and smoke. Puffing. “We all do favors for people. Look at us…”

  He pointed the butt of his cigar around the table and said, “Four CBA grads. Did anyone think of that? You wore the purple and gold too. A little behind us, but a brother is a brother. The next generation… We have to stick together, no matter what our differences. That’s what the Brothers taught us.”

  Christian Brothers Academy
was a parochial high school. Almost every Italian American family in Syracuse, as well as others that could afford it, wanted their kids to go there. It was also a sports power and I attended on a soccer scholarship.

  I drained my beer and stood up. The first half had already gone to my head.

  “You’re right. Thanks for the beer,” I said.

  “But we’re just starting,” Rangle said, rising up, reaching for my sleeve.

  “No, I’ve got to.”

  “Leave it to Raymond,” he said to the others, “to worry about keeping his promise to a guy who’s already dead.”

  “Leave it to me,” I said, forcing a smile as I backed away, wishing I hadn’t asked Rangle about the address. “Keeping your word is an odd concept for some people.”

  I ducked between two parked cars and waited for a motorcycle to sputter by before crossing. One of the lawyers from my firm walked out of a bar across the street and I was forced to politely accept his congratulations on the Iroquois deal. When I got to the corner, I looked back at the sidewalk table where Rangle, Frank, and Russo still sat. They weren’t looking at me anymore. Instead, the three of them held their glasses high and touched them together in a toast.

  6

  I KNOW THEY THINK I’m crazy, and maybe that’s true. Sometimes they take the punishment I give them in order to subdue me. It takes five men. After a time, though, strong as I am, they are able to chain me up and fasten a leather mask over my face to keep me from biting. Then they’ll carry me to a room and chain me down to a chair that’s bolted to the floor.

  The first time they did this, I thought they were going to torture me. But all they did was bring in a psychiatrist. I still have to fight them when they come for me with the mask, otherwise they might not keep me here. But the truth is, I enjoy talking to the doctors. Four other times they gave me to a priest.