Urge to Kill

“This Legend Lawrence dead?”

“In a hospital’s what I heard.”

“Which hospital?”

“I dunno. But he’s there under another name. Vernon Lake.”

“That his real name?”

“I got no way of knowin’ that.”

She studied him, making him feel like a bug or something under a magnifying glass. This was a hard bitch.

“Okay, Jorge. We’ll see about what you said.”

“You won’t tell where you got the information, will you?”

“I’ll try not to.”

“You seem like a nice lady.”

“Don’t shit me, Jorge. You gotta learn not to keep trying that.” She walked away a few steps and then turned back to face him. “And quit lying to yourself, too.”

“Everybody does that,” he said.

She grinned with big beautiful white teeth, like a celebrity.

“Now you’re learning,” she said.

Jorge watched her walk back across the street to the dusty black Ford. Even scared as he was, he couldn’t help admiring her ass.

When the car had turned the corner and she was indeed gone, Jorge swallowed hard and thought over his predicament. Cincinnati, he decided. He had cousins in Cincinnati who’d put him up for a while. Anyplace other than New York.

The bell mounted high on the brick wall gave two brief rings, signaling that a pizza was ready for delivery.

Jorge thought the hell with that, and climbed on the remaining bike.

Then he reconsidered, dismounted the bike, and went inside for the pizza and the delivery address.

Outside again, he crumpled the address slip and tossed it on the sidewalk before throwing his leg back over the bike. He took the pizza.

He didn’t know when he’d get a chance to eat again.

Probably not soon.

19

Jerry Dunn took a cab from the city to his suburban home in Teaneck, New Jersey. He and his wife Sami had lived in the house for twenty-two years and raised a couple of kids there. It had memories. He liked living there. The neighborhood was tree-shaded and quiet, and only a short commute to and from his job in the city.

Land near New York City being relatively expensive at the time the houses were built, in the fifties, they were close together, but each had a single-car attached garage. Jerry and Sami’s car was a white ten-year-old Toyota Camry, but neither liked to drive in the city, so it was used mainly for errands and trips to restaurants or to a nearby shopping mall.

After paying off the cab, Jerry entered the front door and picked up the scent of onions being fried. Sami was expecting him. They’d made a deal: he’d take a cab to and from LaGuardia so she didn’t have to fight the airport traffic, and she’d have a hot meal waiting for him when he returned.

Of course, this time the cab hadn’t come from the airport, but a deal was a deal.

He set his suitcase in the front entry hall, then followed the scent of onions to the kitchen.

There was Sami at the stove, barefoot and wearing jeans and a loose-fitting blue tunic. Her upswept dark hair was mussed in back in a way that made her neck look skinny. She was frying what looked like thinly cut steaks with some onions in sizzling oil. The table was already set for two.

Jerry knew she’d heard him come in, so he approached her from behind and kissed the nape of her neck, then pulled her to him so her back and generous rump were against him.

He realized he was getting an erection and felt like carrying her into the bedroom. Was it because of what had happened in the city? What he’d done?

My God, is it a turn-on?

“—was the convention?” she was asking, still concentrating on her cooking.

“Just what you’d expect. Information booths, panels, speeches, speeches, speeches…”

“Drinking,” she added, flipping a steak with the wood-handled spatula in her right hand.

He moved back so their bodies weren’t touching. “I went easy on that,” he said.

He was sure she believed him. Whatever his other vices, he was a light drinker. As for women…well, Sami never questioned him about that, thank the Lord. From time to time he thought it might be because she was afraid of the answers, but lately he’d assumed she simply didn’t know what a stud he was. Besides, his hotel quickie sex with almost-strangers meant nothing, really. Not that Sami wouldn’t strongly disapprove. But surely she understood that Jerry had needs she didn’t fill.

“Want iced tea with your steak?” she asked.

“Sounds perfect.”

She propped the spatula against a trivet on the stove and turned and kissed him on the lips, then smiled up at him. “I’d rather have you home than away,” she said.

He kissed her back, hard, and said, “That’s where I’d rather be.”

She turned back to the stove and sizzling canola oil.

“We gonna eat soon?” he asked.

“ ’Bout fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll do some unpacking.”

“You got time,” she said. She opened a drawer and got out a can opener to use on a tin of green beans sitting on the sink counter.

Jerry patted her rump and went back to the entry hall for his luggage, congratulating himself on how calm he was. On how smoothly everything had gone.