That’s one way you’re like the others. No one seems to know I’m around until their time comes. The Invisible Woman, that’s me. That’s a lot of us, actually.
When I waltzed into the living room, you both jumped up at the same time. I made sure you saw the gun, and you stayed still after that. I wanted to ask if you knew why I came for you, why you deserved to die, but I was afraid I wouldn’t finish if I didn’t do it right away.
I pulled the trigger, and you fell flat on your back. Your roommate screeched; then he tried to run. I couldn’t imagine where he thought he was going to escape to.
I shot him, and I think he may have died immediately. You both seemed to just die. Not much fight in you, especially considering what a snippy, nasty little man you are.
Good-bye, Arnold. You’re gone, and know what else? You’re already forgotten.
Chapter 74
THE STORYTELLER HAD TO STOP the stream of murders now. He knew that; it was part of the plan, and the plan was a good one. What a pity, though, what a shame. He was just getting good at this, and he hadn’t been good at anything for a long time.
Anyway, congratulations were in order. Praise for him was all over the TV, and in the newspapers, of course. Especially the L.A. Times, which had made that piece-of-shit Arnold Griner into such a saint and martyr. Everyone recognized the Storyteller’s masterpiece—only it was so much better than they knew.
And he did want to celebrate, only there was still no one he could tell. He’d tried that in Vancouver and look what had happened. He’d had to kill a friend, well, an acquaintance, an old humpty-dump of his.
So how would he celebrate? Arnold Griner was dead, and that made him laugh out loud sometimes. The ironies were building up now, including some subtle ones, like Griner getting his e-mails, then being his messenger to the police, then getting it himself. In real life—as opposed to what had been written in the latest e-mail—the little prick had begged for his life when he saw who it was, when he finally understood, which made his murder even more satisfying. Hell, he hadn’t killed Griner and his companion right away. It had taken close to an hour, and he’d loved every minute of the melodrama.
So what would he do now?
He wanted to party, but there really was no one he could talk to about this. Boohoo, he had no one.
Then he knew exactly what he wanted to do, and it was so simple. He was in Westwood anyway, so he parked in a lot and walked over to the wonderfully tacky Bruin Theater, where Collateral was playing. Tom Cruise, oh, good.
He wanted to go to the movies.
He wanted to sit with his people and watch Tom Cruise pretend he was a big, bad killer without any conscience or regrets.
Oohh, I’m scared, Tom.
Chapter 75
“MR. TRUSCOTT CALLED for you. He said he’d like an interview. Said it was important. That he’ll come to the house if you like. He wondered if you received his notes about the women on death row.”
I frowned and shook my head. “Ignore Truscott. Anything else happen while I was away?”
“Did Damon tell you he and his friend broke up?” Nana asked me quietly. “Did you even know he had a girlfriend?”
We were sitting in the kitchen that Saturday afternoon on my first day back. I looked over toward the living room to make sure we were still alone.
“Is that the girl he’s been talking to so much on the phone?” I asked.
“Well, not anymore,” she said. “Just as well, I’m sure. He’s too young for any of that.” She got up humming “Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho” and turned her attention to a pot of chili she had going on the stove.
I was distracted by the chili itself, and the fact that she had used ground turkey instead of her usual beef or pork. Maybe Kayla Coles had worked some magic and finally gotten Nana to do something new to take care of herself. Good for Kayla.
“When did Damon tell you he had a girlfriend?” I asked, unable to completely drop the subject. I was more curious about it than I was reluctant to show how out of the loop I had become with my older son.
“He didn’t tell me; it just sort of presented itself,” Nana said. “It’s not something teenagers talk about directly. Cornelia’s been to the house a couple of times. To do homework. She’s very nice. Her mother and father are lawyers, but I didn’t hold that against her.” She laughed at her little joke. “Well, maybe I held it against her just a little.”
Cornelia? Nana the expert, and Alex the outsider. All my good intentions and the promise I’d made myself to do things differently had been swallowed up by whatever it was that always—always—seemed to drag me back to the Job.
Missed out on Damon’s first breakup. Can’t get that one back. Cornelia, we hardly knew ya.
It was good to be home anyway. The kitchen was soon overflowing with the smells of Nana’s cooking, exponentially so, as I was being received back with a party for friends and family. Besides the chili, there was Nana’s famous corn bread, two kinds of garlicky greens, seasoned steaks, and a batch of caramel bread pudding that was a rare show-off treat. Apparently, Dr. Coles hadn’t completely gotten through to her about the taking-it-easy part.
I tried to help without getting in the way, while Nana checked her watch and just about flew around the kitchen. I would have been more excited if I felt I deserved a party. Not only was I out of the running for father of the year, but my return trip to L.A. was already booked.