A Fountain Filled With Blood

Unless this is his new boyfriend and they’ve come up here to have sex. She tried out the idea. There was simply no way she was going to huddle unseen, like a rabbit, and eavesdrop on that. If it sounded like they were getting intimate, she would have to reveal herself and say—what? That she had come upstairs to use the bathroom? And had happened to walk all the way down the hall to the room farthest from the stairs to find one? Even if she had the excuse of being completely potted, that sounded lame.

The noise of the men’s voices brought her attention back to the room beyond the bathroom. She wasn’t hearing murmured sweet nothings. In fact, from the sound of it, she didn’t have to worry about any tryst, unless they were a couple who used arguing as a substitute for foreplay.

“All I’m saying is, I didn’t sign up for anything like this.” She could hear the second man more clearly now that the bathroom door was slightly open. He sounded vaguely familiar, although she couldn’t place a name or face to the voice. Maybe another party guest?

“Anything like what?” Malcolm spoke like someone who was very annoyed and trying not to show it.

“For God’s sake! The man is dead!”

Clare dropped any speculation about lying her way out of the bathroom. The man’s last statement stabbed through her, fixing all her attention to their words.

“So he’s dead. So what? He went cruising in a park in a town where two queers had already been beaten up. He got what he was asking for.”

The other man’s voice was barely a whisper. “You don’t—he wasn’t—that can’t be all there is to it!”

“Do you have any evidence otherwise?”

“No, of course not. I don’t want any evidence otherwise. I just want your assurances that I’m not going to get picked up by the police and questioned about anything.”

In the pause between the CD’s tracks, there was a faint creaking sound, as if one of them had sat on the bed. “Well, if you are questioned, you won’t have anything to tell them, will you?”

“How can you say that? I’m up to my ass in alligators on this thing! I feel like I’m being set up as the fall guy precisely because I don’t know—Jesus Christ! What the hell is that?” The man’s voice had shot up the scale.

“What’s the matter? You’ve never seen one of these? It’s a Lugar Five-fifty. Wicked, huh?” Over the sound of the music, she heard the click of the chamber being drawn back, but she couldn’t tell if a round had gone in.

“I’m not looking for trouble,” the other man said. His voice was thready and light.

“Hey, I know you’re not. You’re a team player. What? You think I brought this out to threaten you? No way, man. I wanted to show you what else is in here.”

Clare oh so slowly and oh so carefully laid her sandals on the shower floor. She could be out of the shower, throw open the door, and tackle Malcolm in under three seconds, she estimated. She would have to hope Malcolm was a talker, and that he would play with the other man a little before actually shooting him. That would give her time to make her move. Like a pilot reading instrument gauges, she noted that her heart rate had actually slowed down and her limbs were more relaxed at the prospect of hurling herself on a loaded gun. That probably said something terrible about her priorities and fitness for the priesthood, but she couldn’t figure out what at the moment.

“Holy shit. Is that what I think it is?”

“What, you never tried any when you were at school?”

“That’s got to be worth thousands. What are you doing with a stash like that?”

“I’m an independent businessman now. It’s funny. My cousin Diana thinks I’m a hopeless slacker. But really, I’m just as much old Eustace Landry’s descendant as she is. There must be some sort of entrepreneur gene, don’t you think? Unfortunately, I can’t open my books and let the family admire how well I’m doing.”

“Does your aunt know?”

“Leave my aunt out if it.” Malcolm’s voice was cool. “In fact, if I were you, I’d avoid my aunt at all times.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Take it as a warning.” There was a rustling, then a dull thud. Inside the shower stall, Clare tensed. “Here.” Malcolm’s voice was decidedly warmer. “Take this, as well. It’s yours.”

“Are you kidding? What am I supposed to do with this? Throw a party?”

“Sell it. That neatly sealed bag is worth about ten thousand dollars on the open market. You could use ten thousand, couldn’t you?”

“No way. If I got caught with this, I’d be looking at ten years playing girlfriend to some guy in Attica. Look, I really didn’t get into this for the money.”

Malcolm laughed.

“Well, not like that. Not for this. I didn’t think anyone was going to get hurt. I was assured—”

“I know what you were told. And I know what you want. You think I didn’t know?” His voice became caressing, persuasive. “Tell you what. You take this, as a surety. I’ll set up a sale. You return it to me, I get the cash, and the cash goes to you. Then you can go off to Texas or Alaska or something and lie low until this business about Bill blows over.”