A Good and Useful Hurt (14 page)

Lamar had said to meet him at a new bar called Graydon’s, and so that’s where Mike was headed.
The weather had said rain, but so far just clouds and no drops. The air did smell like rain, though, rain and those first hints of spring just waiting to burst through. The kind of weather that makes even someone in a horrible mood smile while they walk, and Mike was feeling just fine.

Not counting his near breakdown after Sid, Mike couldn’t recall his last vacation. Going somewhere new to both of them like Vegas would be perfect—it would set the tone for what was going to happen with them. Mike knew there would be serious talks ahead, and he was OK with that; he was shocked that he was OK with it, but the weather didn’t exactly hurt. Worry about Lamar was really all that was on his mind.

Lamar never got wrapped up over women, and this had the potential to be an absolute disaster. Mike wasn’t really sure what he’d do if Lamar threatened to quit. The shop wouldn’t be the same without him, and even though they hadn’t spent much time together lately, he still felt a tight bond with the younger man.

Was Mike in love? Was it possible? Mike had thought of the emotion as being like some long-dormant beast in him that was never going to leave its dwelling. Instead, it was all over him. He felt like a stupid teenager, hadn’t been an emotional mess like this—a
good
mess—since before his marriage. That, however, was not a ride Mike was willing to take again, he reminded himself.

He walked. It wasn’t warm, but he was happy, so he smiled and said hello to strangers as he went to meet his friend.

Mike came to the bar after just a few short blocks and walked inside. It smelled of tobacco, fried food, and good beer. Lamar was sitting in a high-backed booth at the rear of the bar; Mike was relieved to see that he was alone. He walked to him and slid onto the bench opposite his friend.

“What are you having?” he asked Lamar.

“Bell’s Expedition Stout.”

“Good?”

“Yeah.”

Mike waved to the barman.

“I’ll have the Bell’s stout.”

The man nodded at him, and Mike turned to Lamar. “So what’s going on?”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so weird, man. It’s been hard on me, too. Her name is Rani; I met her here.”

“Ronny?”

“No, Rani. R-a-n-i. We’re a really good match: she’s really into painting, she likes the same kind of movies, and she even likes good beer.”

“So why in the hell haven’t I met Miss Perfect yet?”

“We made a deal when we started dating that we weren’t going to meet any of the other person’s family and friends until we were committed to one another.”

The barman set down the glass of beer in front of Mike. Lamar said, “Put it on my tab.”

“What do you mean
committed
? You had better not be jumping into a marriage before your friends can even meet her. Seriously, this is insane.”

“I don’t mean committed like married, I just mean that we wanted our relationship to be serious before we let it alter our lives.”

“How in the hell would you be altering your life by dating a girl who likes all the same shit you like?”

“I wouldn’t be. Sure not in a bad way, anyway.”

“OK. Seriously, Lamar, what in the hell is going on?”

Lamar took a drink from his beer, and Mike did the same, a long drink. “She’s Jewish.”

“So what? Is she going to make you convert? You’d look good in one of the hats.”

“She’s orthodox, or at least her family is. It would be bad enough that I’m black and not Jewish. They might get over that stuff eventually. It’s the tattoos that are the problem.”

“Why would they care if you’re tattooed? Just don’t tattoo Rani and you’re good to go.”

“Orthodox Jewish people are really not down with tattoos. If you have even a little one you can’t get buried in a Jewish cemetery. When they find out that I’m not only pretty much covered with them but put them on people, they’re seriously going to freak. Rani thinks her dad might actually disown her.”

“So since you couldn’t meet any of her people…”

“It was only fair that she couldn’t meet any of mine.”

“That makes sense. I guess.”

Lamar laughed. “With all the weird shit you do, you’ve got no place. Anyways, Rani wants me to meet her family, just to get it over with. The anticipation is seriously killing her. She’s scared about what’s going to happen, but no matter what does go down, she’s going to be with me.”

“You really think she’ll stick with you?”

“After everything that’s already happened, I think they might disown her either way.”

“You didn’t tattoo her, did you?”

“It’s just a little Star of David. It’s not a big de—”

“Oh this is epic, even for you. Shit.” Mike drained his beer and waved the barman over. “Anything you’d recommend?”

“We’ve got an excellent double IPA from New Holland.”

“Perfect, and why don’t you pour three shots of good bourbon and come have a quick drink with us.”

“Excellent choice, sir.”

The barman left, and Mike said, “I like him, he’s cool. You, I’m not sure about. Does the old man go hunting? You seriously might want to pack some heat if he does. Either way, actually.”

“Ha ha.”

“I’m not kidding. You’ve been fucking her too, I’m sure, and it’s a damn good bet that if they don’t like tattoos, and especially swarthy black tattooists, they’re not going to like that you’ve been fucking their kid. Hell, every parent hates that. You are so done.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

“You have no idea.”

The barman returned and set down the pints in front of them, removed the empty glasses, and then returned with the three shots. He set one down in front of the each of them and held his own. Mike said, “Thanks. Lamar, nicely done. To happiness, regardless of its perils, most of which you are certainly sure to be well acquainted with soon.”

They clinked glasses and drank. Mike set his glass down with a deep breath and took a sip of the IPA. Lamar curled back in his seat, and the barman took the shot glasses. “Thanks for the drink, guys.”

“No problem.”

The barman went back to work, and Mike said, “Seriously though, I’m happy for you. Is this girl going to be worth what are surely going to be some shitty times?”

“Absolutely. She’s dying to meet you guys, and I think her and Deb are going to get along great.”

“Really? You think she’ll like Deb?”

“Well, they’re both crazy.”

Mike drank from his glass. “That’s not a bad start.”

“Exactly. This IPA is fantastic.”

“Agreed. Is she sure you’re worth losing her family over? I mean, not to be a dick, that’s a serious question.”

“Yeah, we’ve talked about that. Mostly what happens if we don’t work out for whatever reason. She’d still have all of her friends, and at least from what she tells me she’s not that close to her dad, but she’s got three younger brothers. She’s mostly just worried about her mom. They’re really close, and her mom’s been sick for the last couple of months.”

“I’m sure meeting you will perk her up.”

Lamar shook his head and smiled. “You’re just full of it tonight.”

“When do you meet them?”

“Soon, maybe this weekend. They live up by Lansing.”

“What does she do for work?”

“She’s got her paintings in a few galleries in town, and she assists a photographer on the weekends, weddings and events and stuff.”

“Well she’s artsy, that’ll help. She’s not knocked up is she?”

“No, thank God. It’s going to be awkward enough without a baby. I think she’s going to move in with me soon though. It’ll be nice to save on rent.”

“Ahh, young love.”

“It’s not like she’s moving in just so we can split rent, douche bag. That’s just a perk.”

Mike swallowed half of the glass of beer. “You’ll have to get a parking spot.”

“They’re not that expensive. It’ll still be way cheaper than living alone.”

“Well this has been a revealing evening. When is she coming by the shop?”

“I think she might stop by tomorrow.”

“Well I can’t wait to meet her.”

They talked more, the chatter of old friends pleased with the way the world was spinning. Mike had two more beers, picked up the tab despite Lamar’s protests, and left to walk home.

The air was cooler and the sky darker, but it still had yet to rain.
Mike wasn’t drunk, but he was about as close as he liked to get these days.

It had gone well with Lamar, and that mattered more than just about anything else. The fear of losing such a good friend and coworker had rankled him greatly, and no matter how flaky or risky his decision-making might be, at least for now it seemed like Lamar and Rani were making the right decisions for themselves. Mike just hoped for his own sake the girl was tolerable to be around. Lamar had shown remarkably poor judgment in such matters in the past.

Mike crossed the street; he was about a mile from the shop. A beast of a Ford truck raced past him, and Mike wondered whether he’d ever own a car again. It had been almost nine years since his ex had taken his in the divorce, and there’d been no reason to even consider buying one since then. It’d be convenient, though, and if Deb liked to travel, maybe he’d find a way to like it, too.

He could see the streetlights by the shop now. Vegas would be fun, he thought. A trip, a good trip, was what they needed. Maybe they’d get drunk and wind up in some chapel and get married. Who knew? It could happen. Was she worth that? It was an easy question—of course she was. He felt better than he had in years. He was happy, Lamar was happy, and Becky was at least pleased with whatever meathead she was hanging out with now. There’d never been that kind of harmony at the store, and Mike wondered if the total absence of pain would disrupt the artwork or kill some of the energy. His work hadn’t faltered, he reasoned with himself. There was no reason that Lamar’s should either.

Mike walked toward the back of the shop to climb the wrought-iron stairs. They really did need a coat of paint. He could see light coming from the top. The door was open. He covered the last steps at a gallop. Something was wrong—he could feel it all over him like an itchy sweater.
Was it Sid?
was his last thought before entering.

Deb lay on the floor of the main living space. The red warm-up pants she’d been wearing when he’d left her lay twisted and ripped around her left ankle. Her T-shirt was black and looked thick and heavy in spots. Around her milk-white thighs and stomach the floor was covered in blood. Mike ran to her.

Her neck had deep bruising on it, marks that looked like they’d come from a cord or rope. Her face was a mess. Her jaw looked broken, and it hung loose from her face like a puppet’s. Her left ear piercing had been torn free and had taken the stretched lobe with it. Two longs strands of flesh hung from the cartilage, and these too were covered in blood.

Mike felt her chest. She wasn’t breathing.

He squeezed her nose to give her CPR, and it felt mashed and ruined under his fumbling, shaking hands. He put his mouth over hers, but her jaw hung so loose and wrong that he couldn’t make a seal.

He took his cell phone from his pocket and dropped it twice; his hands were slick now with her blood. The blood was everywhere, the smell of iron so thick and awful. He looked at her while he called 911; she was broken, but still beautiful. She was gone and he knew it.

He remembered nothing about the call or about anything else. He was pain, diffused emotion, dead and gone with her. While he waited for the ambulance, he sat and held her hand. She did not stir.

Mike woke on the floor of a holding cell.
His hands were bruised and bloody. And then he remembered all of it. He swooned, fought it, and sat up next to the drain. There was no blanket and no pillow. His keys, phone, belt, and wallet were gone. A tray with cold water and a pack of instant coffee sat by the door. Under his fingernails was a patina of rusty, dried blood. His throat was ragged, as though he’d been screaming, and his accelerated breathing was raspy and sore. Blood—from his fists?—was drying on the door.

Mike wept as quietly as he could. Two hours later they came for him.

“Mike, you’ve got to level with us,” said Detective Van Endel. “You have to tell me everything.”

“I have. I went to see my friend, and when I came home she was dead.”

“Mike, don’t get me wrong. I believe you. But Jason here, he’s kind of shaky on the whole thing. Maybe explain it again for him?”

“Fine. I need your badge numbers first.”

The other cop in the room, Jason, laughed like a cough. “Mike. C’mon. Not going to happen. This is the second girl you’ve found dead in your apartment in the last five years. We have some shit to work out, friend-o.”

“I loved her. I’d never have hurt her. Never.”

Van Endel sighed, and the younger detective tried to mimic it, but he came up short. “Mike, that’s the thing. We danced this number five years ago. It was established by a short margin that you weren’t responsible. From my perspective, you did this and then had some beers.”

Mike swept the just-too-long hair from his forehead. Deb had told him to cut it, and that thought burned like acid.

“I went to the bar with my friend. I came home. She was dead. I tried to help her, but she was already gone.”

“Mike. You know that’s not enough. Who was with you that afternoon? Who saw you that day before Lamar?”

“Deb was. Just her.”

“You know for me that doesn’t work, right?”

“I can accept that, Detective.”

The younger, thin detective spoke. “So you realize you’re fucked?”

Mike watched Van Endel scowl. “You can do what you want. I don’t give a fuck.”

“So you—”

The older detective cut him off with an open hand, and Mike said, “Can you get him the fuck out of here?”

Van Endel did. Then he sat across from Mike and said, “It’s just that we let you go for something like this before.”

“That was different. You should have kept me locked up that time.”

“You didn’t kill her. What would I have charged you with?”

“Being an asshole.”

“I’m sorry to say that, though that’s a charge I’d love to lay on quite a few people, the Michigan judicial system won’t currently recognize it. Mike, you need to give me something to work with.”

“Look, I want to help you, but all I can say is that when I left, my girlfriend was alive. When I came back, she was dead. You trying to put it on me won’t bring her back or punish the asshole who really did it.”

Van Endel sighed and flexed his fingers in front of him. “Tell me again exactly what happened.”

“I left to go see my friend Lamar—”

“What time?”

“Nine.”

“Alright.”

“I went out at nine to see Lamar. We met at Graydon’s—it’s a pub on the north end. I stayed for four beers, and we did a shot with the bartender. I left just after eleven. Took me about twenty minutes to walk home.”

What Mike wanted to tell the detective was about how perfect the night had been. About the trip to Vegas, and the wind on his cheeks while he walked. About having good beers and good conversation, about how good and perfect everything had been, and about how nothing was ever going to be good or perfect again.

“When I walked in, Deb was on the ground. She wasn’t breathing. I tried to give her CPR, but it was too late. Somewhere in there I called 911. Things are a little hazy after that.”

“Did you see anyone around the building? Any strange cars?”

“I saw a Ford truck, a big one. Not new, not old. That was it.”

“Look, I’m going to level with you, OK? I know you didn’t kill Deb. I have a good idea that this case is going to get lumped in with the other rape-murders we’ve had over the past two years or so. So really think about this. Was there any customer of Deb’s that seemed off-balance or obsessive? Does anything stick out over the past few months?”

Mike laughed. It surprised him, and came out more like a seal’s braying than laughter.

“Deb only worked on weirdos. I mean literally, she’d have a guy fly in from out of state to get his dick carved up. Her client roster could have someone on there who would be a viable suspect, but they’re all going to look like someone who could have done it. The problem is that none of them would have—they’re not the right kind of psychos. Not to mention the fact that they all loved her to death.”

“I’d still like to go over all your books. You never know, and frankly, this case has been a mess since day one. It would be nice to get a strong lead, even if it is from an unlikely source. Because right now, the only thing different for me is that we’ve got another body. There was nothing in your apartment or on your girlfriend that will advance this case an inch. We’re still waiting on medicals, but I’m not expecting anything.”

“You’re welcome to anything that will help catch the motherfucker who did this.”

“I appreciate it. I’ll send a uniform over this afternoon to pick some things up.”

“When can I leave?”

“Soon. We haven’t even officially charged you, to be honest. Some of the boys upstairs are just getting antsy to put a face and name to this stuff.”

“OK.”

“You need a ride?”

“I can walk.”