97
Aligned Design
Ch 17
"Do you think Deakins knows about us?" Sledge poured more wine into Eames' glass.
"Does it matter?" Jesus, Sledge is skittish about the damnedest things.
"Yeah, I think it does. What does the Work Environment Manual say about fraternization? Because you and I, sweetheart, are fraternizing."
"Edward, no one knows. Stop worrying." Eames didn't think Bishop would say anything.
"Yeah, well Bishop alluded to knowing something." Edward turned back to flipping through a stack of DVDs. The hand holding her wine glass stopped midway to her lips. Shit!
"She doesn't know anything. She was bluffing. Relax." Eames looked at him over the rim of her glass. They would have to be more discreet. Although, she could not see where they had let anything show.
"What is this?" He turned toward her, holding up a DVD case and smiling. "You actually have 'The First Turn On'? This is a cult classic. Let's watch this."
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The lay together panting, he in New York, she in Chicago. Jesus, that was good, he thought. Oh, God, that was good, she thought.
"Honey, you ok?" Bobby asked panting.
Gleason moaned in a most seductive manner. "Oh, yes. I am very ok, Love."
They listened as their breathing slowed. "Did you come, Bobby? I, I couldn't tell. I was . . . distracted," Gleason said with a smile in her voice and on her lips.
"Yes, yes, sweetheart, I did. All over my shirt, hand . . ." Bobby lifted his upper body and looked at his shirt – yuck. He pulled up his pants with one hand and then wiped it on his thigh.
"Bobby, where did you learn to talk like that? I've never done that before."
He had to smile and then said, "Watching porn." He wondered if she'd get it, if she'd remember.
Oh, she did. "Bobby! You took my line!" They both laughed. Ah, this is so good, this is like it was before, Bobby thought. His heart soared.
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Jenese took aim and pulled off two shots, thip, thip! Pangborn dropped like a bag of shit. Navicky looked dumbly at Pangborn on the ground and then looked up, slowly, right into Jenese's eyes. Before recognition could occur, thip, thip, and Navicky jolted backward onto the ground.
Yes! I am a god! Jenese instinctively looked around, and then dashed back to his car. He was tempted to peel around the corner to the Honda, but he resisted and backed up slowly, carefully, stopping just short of Pangborn's body. He popped the boot and got out.
He kicked Pangborn, dead. Yeah, two slugs to the back of the head will do that to you. He stepped over Pangborn and looked at Navicky; the sap stared straight up to heaven, eyes wide open. The two holes in his forehead didn't bleed a bit. Nice work, if I say so myself.
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Eames snuggled into Sledge's arms as they sat on her couch. She finished her wine and Edward reached for the bottle.
"No, no, I'm done," she told him.
"You sure?" He held up the bottle and tilted it. "There's less than a glassful left. Why don't you finish it?"
"Edward, I have three interviews without Bobby tomorrow. I want to be alert. No. Thank you."
"Ok, suit yourself. Although, you don't need Goren to do those interviews, you know."
She thought about this. Well, I'm sure I can interview just fine. But Bobby, Bobby has a way. . . "I know that. I just, just want to be sharp tomorrow."
Edward nodded and sucked down the last of the wine, straight from the bottle.
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Bobby and Gleason lay silently, listening to each other breathe. Finally, Bobby said softly, "I love you, Gleason."
She heard him and her heart filled. "I know you do, love. I know you do." She wanted to say it, Say it! She wanted to tell him how much she loved him, how she had loved him from the moment she saw him in the conference room eight weeks ago. She wanted to tell him how she loved him more than she had loved anyone. Just tell him, she shouted to herself. Say it!
Bobby listened. He waited. Then, softly, deeply, "Honey . . . do you love me?" She said nothing. "Do you love me, Gleason?"
Her eyes closed. Her face squinted in her pain, her dilemma. "Sweetheart, you know I do. Don't you?"
He heard her and he turned this over in his mind, "Then say it. Say you love me."
Oh, God. Say it, she screamed to herself. She felt sick. She sat up, crossed her legs and put her hand to her head. He's waiting, she told herself. He's waiting for you to say it. Go on, just tell him you love him. You do . . . don't you?
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He wasted no more time and lifted the top crate from the Honda into his heap. He was careful not to touch the edge of Navicky's car. Wish I'd thought to bring gloves, he scolded himself. Thank God, these crates are not too big. They were heavy enough.
Jenese shoved the last crate on top and tried to shut the lid. It wouldn't close. Shit! He shoved further, it still wouldn't close. God damn it! He looked at where the problem was. He moved the jack off to the side. That roll of hose is in the way! Jenese pulled out the top two crates and pushed the other four over to the left. He reached past them and grabbed the tubing. He took it from the boot and dropped it on the blacktop. He restacked the last two crates, shoving as far as they would go. There! The lid slammed shut. He picked up the roll and tossed it on the floor in the back. Jenese jumped into the vehicle, started the engine, headed back around the end of the building, turning right, and then right again. The exit was straight ahead, the gate still open.
Jenese drove slowly through the gate and stopped. He left the car in park and jogged back to the gate. He swung it shut and looked at the lock, cheap thing. He clicked the hasp into the block and returned to his car. He checked left, then right and headed east, toward Baltimore.
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Bobby waited. And waited. Still she said nothing. He waited a full minute. I cannot believe this. It should not be this hard for her to say she loves me. Huh, so, she doesn't love me. Jesus Christ, she does not love me! The heat rose in his head. Goddamn her, all this time. She's been using me. Christ Almighty, I've been a fool.
"Ok, so you don't love me. Then why the fuck did you stick around, huh? So I could take care of you? So I could fuck you when you wanted?"
His voice was getting louder. He was on his feet, left hand chopping, arm flailing. "I wanted to fuck you so many times, but I didn't because YOU WERE SO SICK!"
He was shouting, out of control. "Jesus Christ, Gleason, you used me, didn't you? You don't love me. You never did, you never will. Goddamn. Ha! I can't believe this!" He was panting, pacing in the small space between the bed and the chest, the bed and the dresser.
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Edward and Eames snuggled comfortably on the couch, watching the movie.
"Edward, this is the dumbest movie I have ever seen. This is stupid."
"I know! I can't believe you have this. It is so not your taste." He was enjoying the poor writing, stupid humor, shitty acting, crappy editing – everything that made it so bad that made it so damn good!
"I'm going to bed and read. This is a waste of time." Eames uncurled herself and stood up. "Are you going to finish watching this?"
Sledge looked up at her. "Not if I can get into your pants," he said with a dirty grin and raised eyebrows.
"Enjoy your movie." Eames picked up her book and headed to the bedroom.
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Gleason was in shock. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. This wasn't Bobby. This couldn't be Bobby. She was frightened. What's wrong with him? Her mouth went dry. She gulped for air. Bobby. . .? She flipped shut her phone as if a spider had crawled out of it and dropped it on the bed.
She pulled her throw around her. Her hands flew to her face. She was too stunned to cry. My god, my god. What is wrong with him? She never thought he had that inside of him. I did this to him. I made him like this. Oh dear God, what have I done?
Gleason wanted to call him back, but she was afraid. She was afraid of the man she heard on the phone. He was so angry. He shouted at her, swore at her. Bobby would never do that. Never. What has happened to him?
She had to pee. She needed to wash her hands. She needed to take her heart pill. She couldn't move. She was so tired, all of a sudden, she was so tired.
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Jenese headed east with the setting sun at his back. Traffic was heading west, so he had no delays. He checked his watch. Tillman was probably on a plane. He'd wait for his first stop, two, three hours from now and give Tilley a call. He hoped to God Tillman had checked out that ceramicist.
Jenese thought about how the next few days, maybe weeks, would play out. He'd stash the paintings until he could make some connections to unload them on the underground. Fence them off to a dealer working for private collectors who weren't funny about buying stolen art that had been 'found.'
Tillman had taken out a nice, chunky insurance policy on the six paintings and had already filed the claim. Canvettelli had also taken out a policy, for a lesser amount. However, Jenese had signed for the policy and stood to collect. Canvettelli, the fool, had believed Jenese when he had told the gay boy that he would split with him, because he 'loved' Canvettelli so much. Yeah, right, sure.
His piece –twenty-five grand per painting, before the dead artist increase, plus Tillman's piece –fifty grand per painting, before the dead artist increase stood to make he and Tillman fairly wealthy men. And that's not considering the value of the paintings to selective buyers. Yes, indeedy, they would be rich.