Dearly Devoted Dexter (Dexter 2)

And once again I was waylaid, this time by a savage attack on my upper arm. Vince himself grabbed my bicep and pulled me away from the door and back into surrealism.

“Hey!” he yodeled. “Hey, party boy! Where ya going?”

“I think I left my keys in my car,” I said, trying to disengage from his death grip. But he just yanked at me harder.

“No, no, no,” he said, pulling me toward the fountain. “It’s your party, you’re not going anywhere.”

“It’s a wonderful party, Vince,” I said. “But I really need to—”

“Drink,” he said, splashing a cup into the fountain and pushing it at me so it slopped onto my shirt. “That’s what you need. Banzai!” He held his own cup up in the air and then drained it. Happily for all concerned, the drink sent him into a coughing fit, and I managed to slip away as he doubled over and struggled for air.

I made it all the way out the front door and partway down the walk before he appeared at the door. “Hey!” he yelled at me. “You can’t leave yet, the strippers are coming!”

“I’ll be right back,” I called. “Fix me another drink!”

“Right!” he said with his phony smile. “Ha! Banzai!” And he went back in to the party with a cheery wave. I turned to look for Doakes.

He had been parked right across the street from wherever I was for so long that I should have spotted him immediately, but I didn’t. When I finally saw the familiar maroon Taurus, I realized what a clever thing he had done. He was parked up D E A R LY D E V O T E D D E X T E R

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the street under a large tree, which blocked any light from the streetlights. It was the kind of thing a man trying to hide might do, but at the same time it would allow Dr. Danco to feel confident that he could get close without being seen.

I walked over to the car and as I approached the window slid down. “He’s not here yet,” Doakes said.

“You’re supposed to come in for a drink,” I said.

“I don’t drink.”

“You obviously don’t go to parties, either, or you would know that you can’t do them properly sitting across the street in your car.”

Sergeant Doakes didn’t say anything, but the window rolled up and then the door opened and he stepped out.

“What’re you gonna do if he comes now?” he asked me.

“Count on my charm to save me,” I said. “Now come on in while there’s still someone conscious in there.”

We crossed the street together, not actually holding hands, but it seemed so odd under the circumstances that we might as well have. Halfway across a car turned the corner and came down the street toward us. I wanted to run and dive into a row of oleanders, but was very proud of my icy control when instead I merely glanced at the oncoming car. It cruised slowly along, and Sergeant Doakes and I were all the way across the street by the time it got to us.

Doakes turned to look at the car, and I did, too. A row of five sullen teen faces looked out at us. One of them turned his head and said something to the others, and they laughed. The car rolled on by.

“We better get inside,” I said. “They looked dangerous.”

Doakes didn’t respond. He watched the car turn around at 2 2 0

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the end of the street and then continued on his way to Vince’s front door. I followed along behind, catching up with him just in time to open the front door for him.

I had only been outside for a few minutes, but the body count had grown impressively. Two of the cops beside the fountain were stretched out on the floor, and one of the South Beach refugees was throwing up into a Tupperware container that had held Jell-O salad a few minutes ago. The music was pounding louder than ever, and from the kitchen I heard Vince yelling, “Banzai!” joined by a ragged chorus of other voices. “Abandon all hope,” I said to Sergeant Doakes, and he mumbled something that sounded like, “Sick motherfuckers.” He shook his head and went in.

Doakes did not take a drink and he didn’t dance, either. He found a corner of the room with no unconscious body in it and just stood there, looking like a cut-rate Grim Reaper at a frat party. I wondered if I should help him get into the spirit of the thing. Perhaps I could send Camilla Figg over to seduce him.

I watched the good sergeant stand in his corner and look around him, and I wondered what he was thinking. It was a lovely metaphor: Doakes standing silent and alone in a corner while all around him human life raged riotously on. I probably would have felt a wellspring of sympathy for him bubbling up, if only I could feel. He seemed completely unaffected by the whole thing, not even reacting when two of the South Beach gang ran past him naked. His eyes fell on the nearest monitor, which was portraying some rather startling and original images involving animals. Doakes looked at it without interest or emotion of any kind; just a look, then his gaze moved on to the cops on the floor, Angel under the table, D E A R LY D E V O T E D D E X T E R

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and Vince leading a conga line in from the kitchen. His gaze traveled all the way over to me and he looked at me with the exact same lack of expression. He crossed the room and stood in front of me.