Choke On Your Lies Part 25

I thought he was going to go all kabuki-faced again, the wrinkles coming on severely, the blood rushing back, but then he croaked out, "That's not fair."

I stood there, waiting.

Ashton dropped to his knees. "No, no, don't. It's not fair."

He started crying. A hard jag, mostly silent, like he couldn't get breath. And then he sucked in loud like a dinosaur. Head buried in his hands.

I said, "I'm sorry" again, but he didn't hear. I started for my car, my hands shaking as I fumbled the keys. I glanced at the Administration building one more time, and there was Labat out front, mullet and all, smoking a cigarette. I could tell he'd watched the whole fight. He took a puff on the cig, then lifted it over his head and gave me a fake bow. I looked away, climbed in my car, and got the h.e.l.l out of there.

Once back in Octavia's driveway, bruised, suffering, but still feeling the relief of being downgraded from suspect to "person of interest", I bawled my eyes out for so long, Jennings finally came outside to retrieve me.

"There, there," he said. "Sometimes we need to cry."

I laughed through tears, wrapped an arm around his shoulder, and we both stood on the front steps of the mansion, weeping.

And then a swarm of Feds showed up in big trucks.

NINE.

Once again, we stood outside the house while law enforcement types wandered in and out, flashing pictures, doc.u.menting everything. They were even taking some things away-computers, paperwork, some of the art and antiques-for "further study".

Apparently between the day before and right then, there had been so many formal complaints filed against Octavia by investment companies, insurance companies, company insiders, merchants, banks, and plenty of others who had past business with her that the IRS and Federal Trade Commission decided to move in and seize the house, plus any property that might have something to do with the insider trading and insurance fraud of which she was being accused.

Needless to say, Octavia was p.i.s.sed. But on top of that, she was powerless. Speak up and risk another arrest? Not likely. She knew that the only way to defend herself was to stay free. But as several of her prized paintings were taken out, not properly boxed, I could see the anger breaking down into remorse. She blinked away the excess moisture in her eyes and kept sniffling, leaning on the cane she had grabbed in case we'd have to stand for a long time. She'd been right. And she was still wearing her leather jacket, shapeless jersey dress, and Crocs. Strands of hair had escaped the bun and spread all over like weeds.

Jennings and I both had our arms crossed, eyes shifting between the ground and the parade of excess force pa.s.sing like ants between the large trucks and the front door.

"What the h.e.l.l happened to you?"

I must've been more bruised from my run-in with Ashton than I thought. "Got my a.s.s kicked by a grieving widower."

"Ah, I see." A long spot of silence. "How did your meeting with the Provost go?"

She was unusually calm, as if we were in the study discussing it over coffee instead of watching her collection be picked apart.

"They told me I'm in the clear, mostly. I just can't tell anyone. It's weird. But I guess that helps me to feel a little better."

"It shouldn't."

"Why not?"

"The only reason he's telling you that is so you will relax. You'll call off the dogs, believing they're not after you anymore. But in actuality, you're still in the crosshairs. It's a scam. They f.u.c.ked up once. And now they're using the f.u.c.k up to buy more time."

"So...I'm not okay?"

"Jesus, Mick, you're less okay than you've ever been in your life."

"He said-"

"He's a cop! What do you expect? By tomorrow, they'll come around with more questions, then more and more, and you'll feel relaxed, all the while as they slip the noose around your neck." She craned a bit, pretending to examine my neck. "I can see the marks already."

I reached up for my throat. She loved that.

"Oh, wait, that's where Ashton strangled you."

I waved my arms at the circus around us. "You're one to laugh. I'm sure you didn't deserve any of this. Bye-bye, everything you own. Me, I'm innocent at least. You, I'm sure you don't have anything to feel guilty over, do you, Miss Lawsuit? No b.u.t.terflies in the breadbasket?"

I reached across to pat her stomach. She slapped my hand away.

"f.u.c.k you."

"Right back at you."

"Not even a noose, you know. A needle."

My skin crawled. She knew I hated needles. "No."

"A nasty needle, and you'll be strapped down, have to watch it right before they kill you-"

I clamped my hands over my ears. Ground my teeth together.

"Hey," Jennings said.

I was too busy saying, "Maybe they'll put you on a diet, too. I'm sure it'll turn into a hunger strike, since their gruel won't be good enough for you."

"How dare you! I take you into my home as a guest and you verbally abuse me like this?"

"Hey-"

I said, "Well, it's not looking much like your home anymore, so what do I care? Now I've got nowhere to go."

"Hey!"

We both looked at Jennings. He took a step back, then said, "Do we need to be here for this?"

I shrugged. Octavia squinched her eyebrows.

"I mean, have they impounded the Escalade?"

Octavia said, "If it's in the garage, it's theirs. I'm pretty sure it's on the list."

"How about Mick's car?"

Of course. Why not? But I saw in my mind the front wheels off the ground, the back b.u.mper sc.r.a.ping the road. And both of them knew exactly what I was thinking.

Octavia curled her lip. "I wish this on you one day. I hope a gland goes haywire and does this to you."

Jennings stepped between us before the sparks lit us up again. "Look, if we can get out of here and go someplace to think, won't we all feel better?"

"What about all these people?"

"They've got her cell number and her lawyer's number."

Octavia looked around. "And where the h.e.l.l is she, anyway? G.o.dd.a.m.n, as we as I pay her..."

"But what if-" I wanted to say the back axle snaps or the cha.s.sis collapses or the wheels get bent, but ended up with, "-you know. I'd need...repairs."

It was a done deal. I'd already pulled the keys from my pocket without realizing it. Jennings plucked them from my hand and said, "Thanks. Let's go."

And n.o.body really paid us much attention as we headed to the car, helped Octavia squeeze inside the back, then got in front. Then and only then did a man with a clipboard and a green windbreaker flag us down.

Jennings lowered the window. "Can I help you?"

The guy looked confused. "Are you...is there any particular...why are you leaving?"

"We're bored."

"Okay. Still, I'm going to have to ask-"

"Really bored. No one's talking to us. You can call Ms. VanderPlatts's attorney if you need us. Bye, now."

Up with the window, and we were on our way, leaving a bewildered government worker in the middle of the drive.

We couldn't go to the cabin in Duluth.

"They're either already following us or will pick up the trail before we get out of the metro."

We couldn't go to my old place.

"I'm sure it's sealed with police tape and a constant vigil."

And Jennings no longer had an apartment. Gave it up six months into his employment.

"How about that student you f.u.c.ked, Mick? What was her name, Bollywood Jane or something?"

I gritted my teeth, but didn't let her see. "Nuha."

"There you go. Is she still around?"

After a few calming breaths, I said, "Let's be reasonable. I don't think that's appropriate. Things didn't end...well...between us."

"Fine, fine, shut up about it before you start thinking I'm a shrink. Since we don't have family close by, nor do we want to drag what few friends we have into this, and because you don't want to bother your little piece of stuff, that leaves one place."

Harriet opened the door and we immediately smelled something with a lot of c.u.min in it. She looked more like the rough-and-tumble girl I'd guessed her to be under the chef's jacket-black tank and low cut jeans. Some sort of noisy new fangled college music a.s.saulting my ears. Jennings had called ahead, and from what we heard it didn't seem like an angry conversation. But Harriet flung the door open on the first ring of the doorbell, and I thought fire might shoot from her eyes.

"I quit my f.u.c.king job for you. I gave up a chance to climb the ladder because you said this would be even better. Well, I haven't worked in two f.u.c.king days, and my bills are late, and now it sounds like you're flat broke, plus a liar, plus a pot dealer. f.u.c.k you, you fat b.i.t.c.h."

Octavia stood her ground right outside the front door, Jennings and me behind her. I'm just glad Harriet wasn't mad at us, too.

"Not to mention you're going to bring some murderer into my apartment. What the h.e.l.l is wrong with you?"

I raised my hand. "I didn't do it."

Octavia reached back and slapped me. Then turned back to Harriet. "I grow marijuana because I enjoy it. I've never sold any. All of my business interactions may have been tough and pressing the envelope, but I never stepped over the line. And I've still got plenty enough money to pay you. I guess you can always go back on the line if you don't believe-"

"Just get in here." She turned from the door, lips twisted, shaking her head.

We stepped inside and the c.u.min smell blended with more wonderful spiciness. I said, "Curry?"

"Well, I've got to do something. You guys eat, and then give me whatever cash you've got in your pockets."

Jennings was last inside and closed the door. We all stood around the entryway to Harriet's place, a too-small apartment crammed with too-cool thrift store furniture and CD's, posters from foreign movies, old French New Wave, although most were Hong Kong chop-sockey things. She had a couch and a futon in the same room, the futon in couch-mode, but obviously her usual place to sleep, as evidenced by the sheets and pillows. She had a TV and stereo, but no DVD player, no VCR, no movies. So I guessed she didn't care so much about the movies in the poster as she did the posters themselves. A breakfast bar, a small kitchen, and a short hallway to the one bedroom and bath. It had an eighties feel to it, which probably meant it was still expensive, considering it was so close to downtown, but still reasonable if your whole point was to be within walking distance to the clubs and Eat Street diners.

"Nice place," I said.

Harriet said, "Ugh." Really, she did. Then, "So you kill your wife and lover, and now you sneer at my apartment?"

"Hey!"

Octavia said, "Calm down, both of you. Harriet, you know good and d.a.m.ned well he didn't kill anyone or you wouldn't have let us come over. Second, this place looks like a grad student's wet dream. It's not as cool as you think, and that's why none of your dates stay the night."

"Only reason yours do is because they pa.s.s out from being doped up. How do you know if they reach o.r.g.a.s.m or not when their eyes roll back and they're drooling?"

Octavia sniffed. "Not about them, is it? Would you offer us something to drink already?"

"Fine." She looked at us. "Come on, what do you want?"

Jennings said, "Beer. Whatever's your favorite. I don't care." With a smile.

I said, "What sort of wine do you-"

She rolled her eyes.

I said, "Red. Anything red."

"Nope."