2. (continued)
"I appreciate your offer, but..." She glanced aimlessly around her spacious kitchen, everything in its proper place. It seemed to say to her, 'Do something with us, or just get out.'
"If you're hungry I can whip something up. I usually don't eat dinner. But..."
She tried to look indifferent about the surprise he had brought her. She had to give him a surprise in return, a gift of her apathy toward new hires and split fees.
When he stood there on the verge of leaving, his expression an amused one, she said, "Would you like an omelet?"
"Steak and omelet sounds good."
"I haven't any steaks. I've hash browns."
"Are you a vegetarian?"
"Sort of. I don't eat meat. But I'm not a vegan. I like eggs and cheese and whole milk. I get the animal fats I need to keep my brain nourished. Do you know--" Here came the surprise-- "People who get sufficient amounts of animal fats and animal protein do better in cognitive tests than vegans. That is, people with high cholesterol levels are brainier than people with low cholesterol."
Russ nodded in mock seriousness. "Let's hope Claus Staarsmann is a vegan."
His statement had the intended shock value. There was never much doubt that the bail jumper he had referred to was Claus. But now, with all doubt removed, a light within her blazed. All the illusions went up in smoke. The man in the moon was not Claus. Not any longer.
Well, what did she care? It had never been more than an interesting possibility. It did seem a waste, though, that such a likely candidate for the moon's favors should end up being fried by the sun. Nothing had changed really. There was still the smells of coffee and warm damp streets, still the same introverted stars, and the immaculate kitchen that wanted to be used or left alone. However, that wasn't quite the picture she saw now. Russell Mott in her apartment. The bringer of bad tidings. He stood surveying her entertainment center in a pose of careless ambiguity. Nothing had changed for him, either, she thought. The wolf on the hunt. If one deer gets away there is always another, a scent of prey in a forest of evergreens. A blessing in disguise? Was he that to her? She smirked half-heartedly.
"Do you want omelets and hash browns?"
"If you'll join me."
"I'm having toast. Will that suit you? Are you going to arrest him in the office?"
She took a carton of eggs and a bottle of milk from the fridge. As she waited for his answer the stove and the wooden board next to it seemed to smirk back at her.
"That would be easiest for me," he said as she cracked an egg over a blue ceramic bowl. "But for you it might be problematic."
"Oh? How so?" She poured the milk. Her heart rate was elevated. She raised her brows at that. It was nothing to her. She would just have to call the employment service again, that was all.
"Suppose you have a prospective client or two in the office," he explained, carrying his black cup into the kitchen. "Having an employee arrested would bode ill for the reputation of Nordic Swiss."
His shadow crossed the stove as she stirred the eggs and milk with a fork.
"Yes I see what you mean. Mr Ubrecht wouldn't care for that too much. He'd have to be told what happened. I couldn't not tell him." She put a skillet on a front burner.
"Then tell me where Staarsmann lives. I'll pinch him at his residence."
She poured the mix into the hot skillet and looked at him, a spatula poised near her cheek. "That WOULD be better, definitely. Off hand I don't know his address, but I know he lives in the Chillcreek Apartments across from the mall. I think it's a gated community. He's not going to let you in, you know."
"But he'll let you in, Gina," he said.
She fancied he said it tenderly. She folded the blended egg and gave it a pat. She really must do something about her runaway heartbeat. It helped to busy herself with putting the frozen hashbrowns in the microwave. He watched her while he drank his spiked coffee. She didn't like being an actress in a play. She wanted the theater curtain to come down. She wanted things to be a normal part of her evening, but how, when normally she was alone?
"Is he intending to embezzle from us?" she asked, her hands toying with a towel.
"That's his modus operandi," Russ said. He was leaning against the bar counter. The amused expression was back. "You like him."
She stiffened. She had to put the towel back on the oven handle to unbend herself. "I did, sort of, like him. I thought he was the perfect agent. Friendly, articulate, pleasant to look at. He's done well, and if it wasn't for..."
She hurriedly removed the omelet from the skillet. "I forgot to ask if you wanted cheese in it."
He held out a plate. She slipped the omelet off the spatula onto the plate, saying, "The hashbrowns will be ready in a minute. What would you like to drink with that? Milk? Grapefruit juice?"
"Scotch."
"Ha. There's water. Or tea. Would you like iced tea? I remember you drinking a can of Arizona Iced Tea in Jimmy's office."
She immediately regretted saying that. It locked her eyes onto his. It was like a coded message. The microwave timer dinged. The curtain came down, and taking out the hash browns she felt as light as a fairy. Nothing bothered her anymore. She regretted nothing now. Nothing mattered except she wanted him to like her cooking. When he held out his plate she tipped the hash browns over the omelet to keep it warm.
He was right there smiling down at her. The moon was in his eyes.
"You're too intellectual for your profession," she said. It was what she thought would please him.
"Are you trying to tell me there isn't any Nobel Prize for Achievements in Bounty Hunting?"
She smiled, and it was genuine.
He noticed it. She couldn't tell how it effected him. He looked distracted. He set his plate on the bar counter and took a cell phone from his back jeans pocket.
He stared at the lighted screen. He had received a text message. She saw his profile's expression become lax with astonishment. Then he looked at her with a grim smile of great intensity.
"It's from Jimmy's night man," he said. "The police found Thornton."
Gina was momentarily speechless. Up went her heart rate again. "Did they? Where? How?"
"In the trunk of a stolen car. Dead. We're off the hook."
"Well, how... wonderful!"
With a grunting laugh, Russ took his plate and went around to the dining nook. "Make your toast. Add some extra butter. We're celebrating."
And they sat across from each other by the tall narrow window whose drapes she had taken down because no matter how sheer the material or how tightly she tied them back from the pane they marred her view of the sky, of the sunrise at breakfast when often the ghost of the moon was there still, doggedly hanging above the rooftops. She thought now, as she jellied her toast, that she had been missing the special view of the sunset and moonrise that only a dining table perspective could give her. She must start having dinners again.
She felt a thrill watching him eat. He ate like a man. Decorum meant nothing to him. He was hungry and he ate. But he didn't neglect her. And he didn't talk with his mouth full. He listened to her as he ate, and when he had something to say he wolfed down his bite, lifted his tea glass, and said it, clear and deep. He didn't try to impress her. He was just himself, a wolf shaking the snow out of its fur and satisfied with the carcass at its paws smoking slightly in the chill air of the forest.
Russ would follow Gina to the skip's apartment tomorrow evening. How adventurous she was, after just thirty minutes at the dining table. Yes, she would ask Claus to let her through the gates, that she had some "facts and figures" to discuss with him that "really can't wait."
She took the plates into the kitchen. It was such a docile kitchen now, obedient to a fault and completely at her mercy. She sensed that Russ was wanting to think things out alone, to get back to his rooms at the Park Alley.
He admired her outfit. The snug slacks and the fuzzy pullover sweater. She was lovely in a chic way. He decided to put an arm around her waist. If she gave the slightest sign of wanting to be kissed he would oblige her. And so when he put on his black Greek fisherman's cap and she came up to him with the bashfulness of indecision, he gave her a one-arm hug.
She tilted back her head, like a reflex action, without any guile or imposture, without any demands, and received his hard weighty kiss. He felt her body tensing. Should he knudge her toward the bedroom? He thought he ought not to be too forward this first time. Give her something to think about.
"See you at lunch tomorrow," he said conspiratorially.
"Yes! Good night."
He went downstairs to the lobby and out to his Cyclone cruiser. He had only three blocks to go. He wouldn't wear his helmet. He was still celebrating. Five grand in his pocket by next week and then... Where to? Did it matter?
Gina Monteverdi crossed her arms on the sill of the open window, her coffee cup at her elbow. The moon's rounded three-quarter profile gazed at her with its bright lunatic promises. Hope rose with the damp sweetness of the street below. The bakery door was open and someone came out with a dozen glaze, it smelled like.
Well, look at that, she thought. Jimmy's neon sign had flickered like an old-time movie reel and then... it blacked out.
It was like all the other dark signs now.
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