The Subtle Art of Brutality

“You can’t smoke in here.”

“I can.”

“Well...” looks around, flabbergasted. Defensive, getting irritated. “You know, she fucked up my entire life. Fucked up everything. Do you know how much I pay in alimony every month? Let alone child support.”

“Actually, I do know how much you pay. Speaking of your ex-wife, did she ever threaten Delilah?”

His eyes twinkle. A tell. Conniving. Revenge. Opportunity. “All the time.”

Boil that down, burn off the obvious enthusiasm: Janet Richey cursed Delilah’s name when White came home and explained what had happened.

“Specifics then,” I say, blowing smoke at him.

“Janet blamed Delilah for everything.”

“Not you?”

“We shared the burden. I paid for it.”

“Keep going.”

“Well, she blamed Delilah for all kinds of things. Ruining our marriage, making Janet a divorcee’, the extra hassle with picking the kids up, dropping them off, moving, all of it. But, Janet also knew that Delilah was sexier than she was. Even when she dabbled in drugs too hard for me she just had this...way about her. It was in her ass. The way she shook it. Janet saw it just as well as I did. Plus, Delilah was the last affair Janet would tolerate.”

I smirk. This guy couldn’t ooze jackass anymore if he was John Edwards’ used car salesman brother.

“Did she ever look Delilah in the face and threaten her? Not call her names, not blame her for anything, threaten.”

“She said she could kill her for what she’d done, so yes. Threats.”

“Did she really say that? Or are you making up shit?”

“It’s in the divorce proceedings. She said she could kill Delilah for her part in ruining Janet’s life. The judge stopped her, had the court reporter read it back. Janet threw a fit, said she meant every word.”

“Where is she now?”

“Up in Knoll Hill. Lives by the lake. Want the address?”

“Why else would I ask where she is?”

“Fine.”

He digs through a Rolodex, writes it down. I pocket it.

I stare at him for a moment. A punk with traces of a skittish animal in him, wrapped up in a designer suit. Looking for a reveal: “Wear a rubber?”

“What do you mean?”

“The last you slept with Delilah, did you wear a rubber?”

“Why? Did she give me something? Oh my God you’re—Oh my God.”

He has no idea what I’m talking about. A baby daddy would react, even if it were just a flick of the eye. I turn to leave.

“Wait! Is it AIDS? Oh my God what will Amy think? Oh Christ, not again! Every time I fuck that scrawny tramp I have to confess it to my wife!” Whining. Gushing forth. “Oh what if I gave it to her? To Amy! We’ve been trying for a baby...”

The door shuts as I hear him ask: “Did Delilah give you something?”

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