Billy Summers

Tears begin to spill down her cheeks. ‘Oh my God. Oh my God. My mother can never find this out. She never wanted me to come.’

Billy thinks he already knew that. ‘Let’s go back downstairs. I’ll make you some real breakfast. Eggs and bacon.’

‘No bacon,’ she says, grimacing, but she doesn’t say no to the eggs.

5

He scrambles two eggs and sets them before her with two more slices of toast. While she eats, he goes into the bedroom and closes the door. If she bolts, she bolts. He has been gripped by the fatalism he felt during Operation Phantom Fury, clearing the city of insurgents street by street and block by block. Checking for the baby shoe on his belt loop before stacking to go in each house. Each day he wasn’t wounded or killed increased the odds that the next day he would be. You could only roll so many sevens or make so many points before you crapped out. That fatalism became sort of a friend. What the fuck, they used to say. What the fuck, let’s get some. Same thing now: what the fuck.

He dons the blond wig, the mustache, the glasses. He sits on the bed and checks a couple of things on his phone. Once he’s got the info he needs, he goes into the bathroom and spreads a handful of baby powder on his stomach. He’s found it helps with the chafing. Then he takes the fake belly into the kitchen.

She looks at him with wide eyes, the last forkful of eggs suspended above the plate. Billy holds the Styrofoam appliance against his stomach and turns around. ‘Would you tighten the strap for me? I always have a hard job doing it for myself.’

He waits. A lot depends on what happens next. She might refuse. She might even stick him with the knife he gave her to butter her toast. It’s not exactly a lethal weapon, she could have done more damage with the paring knife if she’d decided to use it on him while he was sleeping, but she could put a hurt on him even with a butter knife if she put her arm into it and got it in the right place.

She doesn’t stick him. She pulls the strap tight instead. Tighter than he’s ever managed even when he starts by turning the fake belly around to the small of his back so he can see the plastic buckle.

‘When did you know I knew?’ she asks in a small voice.

‘While you were telling me your story. You were looking right at me and I saw it click. Then you had the panic attack.’

‘You’re the man who killed—’

‘Yes.’

‘And this is … what, your hideout?’

‘Yes.’

‘The wig and mustache is your disguise?’

‘Yes. And the fake potbelly.’

She opens her mouth, then closes it. She seems to have run out of questions to ask, but she’s not whooping for breath and Billy thinks that’s another step in the right direction. Then he thinks, Who am I kidding? There is no right direction.

‘Have you looked at your—’ He points at her lap.

‘Yes.’ Small voice. ‘Just before I got up to see where I was. There’s blood. And it hurts. I knew that you … or somebody …’

‘It isn’t just blood. You’ll see when you clean yourself up. At least one of them didn’t use protection. Probably none of them did.’

She puts the forkful of eggs down uneaten.

‘I’m going out. There’s a twenty-four-hour drugstore about half a mile from here, back toward the city. I’ll have to walk because I don’t have a car. You can buy the morning-after pill over the counter in this state, I just checked on my phone to make sure. Unless you have religious or moral objections to taking it, that is?’

‘God, no.’ In that same small voice. She’s crying again. ‘If I got pregnant …’ She just shakes her head.

‘Some drugstores also sell ladies’ underwear. If they do, I’ll buy some.’

‘I can pay you back. I have money.’ This is absurd and she seems to know it because she looks away, flushing.

‘Your clothes are hanging in the bathroom. Once I’m gone you could put them on and get out of here. I can’t stop you. But listen, Alice.’

He reaches out and turns her face back to him. Her shoulders stiffen, but she looks at him.

‘I saved your life last night. It was cold and it was raining and you were unconscious. Drugged to the gills. If you didn’t die of exposure you would have choked on your own vomit. Now I’m going to put my life in your hands. Do you understand me?’

‘It was those men who raped me? You swear?’

‘I couldn’t swear to it in court because I didn’t see their faces, but three men dumped you out of that van and you were with three men in that apartment when your memory went dark.’

Alice puts her hands over her face. ‘I’m so ashamed.’

Billy is honestly perplexed. ‘Why? You trusted and you were tricked. End of story.’

‘I saw your picture on the news. You shot that man.’

‘I did. Joel Allen was a bad man, a hired killer.’ Like me, Billy thinks, but there’s at least one difference. ‘He waited outside a poker game and shot two men because he lost big and wanted his money back. One of them died. I want to go now while it’s still early and there aren’t too many people on the streets.’

‘Do you have a sweatshirt?’

‘Yes. Why?’