For a moment there was silence on the phone. Pink stared at Clarence. Clarence shrugged back, as if to say, “What do I do now?”
Pink motioned for him to hang up. Clarence was easing the phone into the cradle when the voice began again.
“Clarence! Don’t sit there like a fungus! Say you understand. Say you’ll have that fat bastard call me. I mean it, Clarence.” Pink heard Isabelle sniffle, then cough. “Do you hear me?” He wondered if she was crying. A moment later he got his answer. She continued shouting at Clarence, but her words were unintelligible now, runny and drippy with sobbing, like someone arguing under water. Clarence looked over at Pink and shook his head, frowning, thrusting the phone at Pink. Pink shook back violently, mouthing the words, no no no no no.
There was silence when the bawling stopped. Pink heard Isabelle blow her nose, then she started speaking in a low, calm tone that was more disconcerting than the mewling of a moment earlier.
“Pink, I know you’re listening on the extension,” Isabelle said. “I’m not protecting you anymore, Pink. There’s something you need to know, something you should have known a long time ago. I won’t protect you anymore.”
Click.
Pink held the phone close to his ear. Clarence laid the phone in the cradle then looked up at Pink. Pink hung up and pulled up the collar of his jacket around his neck.
“I’m going to lunch,” Pink said. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
Pink stepped from Clarence’s office, expecting Clarence to say something or ask him to bring back a sandwich but Clarence said nothing. Pink could feel Clarence’s eyes on the back of his neck.
What a hell of a morning, Pink thought, as he walked to the front door.
*****
After lunch, Pink couldn’t go home, and he didn’t want to go back to the office. He browsed the shops along Main Street in Dedmonson, bored out of his mind. Protect him? From what? He couldn’t stop wheeling Isabelle’s statement around in his head. Maybe Claire had some rare disease he could catch, one she’d failed to tell him about? Or maybe Isabelle’s illness was contagious and the only reason he hadn’t caught it was because she had been sneaking some antidote into his coffee and now she would withhold it? Or maybe the Mafia had contract killers stalking him, and she’d managed, each and every time, to thwart their attacks. Picturing Isabelle as some kind of martial arts expert, kicking and punching and spinning, made him chuckle. He stopped at a bakery and ordered coffee and a donut. All this thinking made him hungry.
Pink sat at a table and checked his cell phone. Five calls from Isabelle and some other numbers he didn’t recognize, probably busybodies who’d seen the newspaper. He punched in the office number. Clarence answered.
“Any business?”
“Is that you, Pink?” Clarence asked.
“No, it’s the IRS and we want to audit you as soon as you make some damn money. Christ, Clarence, who else calls and asks if there’s any business?” Half-wits without an ounce of charisma were selling the entire country out from under the poor and middle-class, two and three times over, while Pink watched from the sidelines. Millions of dollars going to people who didn’t deserve it near as much as he did, poor suckers who happened to be in the right place when no one was watching.
“Isabelle called again,” said Clarence.
“Anybody else?”
“Yeah, lots of people,” Clarence said. “None you’d want to talk to though.”
“Only call me if somebody has property or wants property. I’m not coming back today. And if Isabelle calls, you tell her you haven’t heard from me.” Pink waited for Clarence to say something. “Hello? Are you there?”
“I’m here, Pink. You really should give her a call.”
“And you should wear something other than plastic shoes, Clarence. Where’d you ever get the idea that plastic was good for your damn feet?”
“She was really upset the last time she called. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to her.”
“Did Claire call?” Pink asked, suddenly wondering what was going on with her. Silence again. It was starting to irk him. “Clarence?”
“Yeah, Claire called. I could hardly understand her for the blubbering.”
“Where was she?”
“Home, I guess.”
“My home?”
“No, her home. She wanted me to tell you she’s back with Kenny. She wants you to call her.”
Why in the hell did she go back to him? Pink wondered. “Call me on the cell if something important happens . . . like new business.” Pink hung up and checked his messages again. Why weren’t there any calls from Claire if she needed to talk to him so bad? He punched in her number, hoping Kenny didn’t answer the phone. It rang at least ten times before Claire answered.
“What’s wrong with you, Claire? You sound like shit? You got a cold or something?”
A second of silence before Claire’s howling bellowed through the phone. Pink tried to quiet her down, but Claire wouldn’t stop long enough to speak, each time choking, strained sounds as though she were hyperventilating. “Breathe into a dang bag, for Christ’s sake,” Pink said. “And why’d you go home to that maniac of a husband? He’s the one started all this in the first place.”
“She said . . . horrible . . . things. Horrible, dirty things.”
“Who?”
“I can’t . . . talk . . . right now . . . Pink,” Claire said, sniffling and crying. Her voice trailed off in a slow, melting whine until the phone clicked and went dead. Pink clamped his cell shut and shoved it in his pocket.
“What the hell is going on?” Pink said to himself. “Have they both got some crazy gene that’s kicked in?”
Pink couldn’t stand another second window-shopping in Dedmonson. He knew of a strip club in Burryville, not far from the casino. It was an hour’s drive, but he had nothing else to do. If he couldn’t find a girl at the club to spend the night with, he figured he’d go back to his mama’s house to sleep, give Isabelle time to cool off. By morning, everything would be back to normal.
Chapter 33
The young man backed his Toyota out of Michelle’s driveway, then stopped on the road and rolled down his window. “Are you going to be okay, Michelle?” he asked, glancing toward her dark cabin.
“Sure,” she said. “Thanks for the ride. Can I give you some money?”
“No way. Call me if you want to try mountain biking sometime.” He waved as he drove off. She was glad he declined the money—she didn’t have any.