Текст книги "Trouble in Paradise"

Автор книги: Robert B. Parker

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"I sell real estate on Stiles Island. I brought a couple of prospective clients, let them circulate, get a feel for their neighbors."

She was wearing a very simple black dress with thin straps, which seemed to whisper engagingly over her body when she moved. Jesse could tell she worked out.

"People from Stiles don't usually come to these things," Jesse said.

"I told them that, but they said they'd like to get a sense of the whole town."

"This may blow the sale," Jesse said.

"Well, they're circulating," the woman said.

"We'll just play it as it lays."

She put out her hand.

"Marcy Campbell."

Jesse took her hand and shook it.

"Jesse Stone," he said.

She leaned her elbow next to him on the bar and looked at the dance floor. She was only a couple of inches shorter than he was.

Her hair smelled the way he was sure violets would have smelled if he had ever actually smelled a violet, which he hadn't.

"You know what violets smell like?" he said.

"No. But I'd recognize champagne in a heartbeat," she said.

Jesse smiled.

"I like your priorities," he said.

"Despite life's busy pace," she said, "it's always nice to stop and smell the booze."

Jesse smiled again and they were quiet watching the dancers moving about the floor. The band was playing "Tie a Yellow Ribbon "Round the Old Oak Tree." Most of the men wore white dinner jackets. Most of the women were in floor-length gowns, some of which were in small floral patterns. Many with puffy shoulders and bows in unexpected places. It looked like an over aged frat party.

"My God, look at those dresses," Marcy said.

"Colorful."

"Look at this with the bow on her ass," Marcy said.

"If you had an ass like that, would you call attention to it by putting a bow on it?"

"I'd rather not think about her ass," Jesse said.

Marcy laughed and took one of the olives from her martini and popped it in her mouth. Jesse took another controlled sip of his scotch.

"Wouldn't you think," Marcy said, "with all that money and all that time on their hands, nobody works, that these women could manage to look better than they do?"

"Well it's not like they all married Tom Selleck," Jesse said.

"I suppose," Marcy said.

"But you know I sometimes seriously think about it. I mean really look at these people. Dancing to dreadful music, wearing dreadful clothes, saying dreadful boring things.

Can they possibly be having any fun?"

"Maybe they think it's fun," Jesse said.

"But..." Marcy shook her head.

"Just imagine the impoverishment of their daily lives," she said.

"If this is their recreation."

"Better than no recreation," Jesse said.

"But that's the sad part. They do this and think it's fun, and so they never have any actual fun. Can you imagine these people in bed?"

"Another thing I'd prefer not to think about," Jesse said.

"Most men, and women, lead lives of quiet desperation," Marcy said.

"That's a quote from someplace," Jesse said.

Marcy laughed.

"Henry David Thoreau," she said.

"I modified it a little."

"How about yourself ?"

"Me? My desperations are never quiet," Marcy said.

"What do you do for fun?"

"Eat," she said, "drink, work out, shop, travel, read, talk to interesting people, have sex."

"Bingo," Jesse said.

"We've found a common interest?" Marcy said.

"Anyone special?" Jesse said.

"That I have sex with?"

"Yes."

Marcy laughed. The laugh was genuine and quite big. He had already noticed that her face flushed slightly when she laughed.

"They're all special," she said.

"No husband?" Jesse said.

"Not anymore."

"Boyfriend?"

"Not currently. How about you?"

"I'm divorced," Jesse said.

"I knew that. Girlfriends?"

"Nope."

"Do you think we've stayed here long enough?" Marcy said.

"Yes."

"Then let's go somewhere and get a real drink."

"What about the clients?"

"They have their own car. I'll just say good-bye."

Jesse watched the way her hips moved under the smooth tight dress as she walked away from him across the dance floor and carrying her martini. She spoke to a good-looking couple near the buffet table. They looked more Palm Beach than Stiles Island, Jesse thought. But maybe they were just summer people. The man kissed Marcy on the cheek, and she turned and came back across the dance floor. In a while, Jesse was pretty sure, he'd see that body without the intervening dress. The pressure of possibility, which had begun almost as soon as she had spoken to him, was now very strong. He didn't mind. He enjoyed the pressure. No hurry. He enjoyed looking forward to it. Marcy put her empty glass down on the bar.

"Shall we?" she said.

Jesse drained the rest of his drink and put his glass on the bar beside hers.

"You bet," Jesse said.

SEVENTEEN.

"See the guy over there talking to Marcy?"

Macklin said.

"Cute," Faye said.

"What's so cute?" Macklin said.

"Well he's slim, but he looks strong.

He's got a nice face. Good hair. Looks sort of, I don't know, graceful. He's cute."

"Whaddya think he does for a living?"

Macklin said.

"He's some kind of professional athlete."

"He's the chief of police," Macklin said.

"He's young," she said.

"How do you know he's the police chief?"

"I scoped out the police station, so's I can recognize the cops, and I see him come and go. Plain clothes, unmarked car, and he walks like, you know, "This is mine." So I go over the library and get a town report and look up the police department and there he is, Jesse Stone, chief of police."

"You don't miss much do you, Jimmy?" Faye's voice was admiring.

"No more than I have to."

He liked to think that of himself, Faye knew. He liked to think that he was prepared for everything. The truth was Faye knew that he simply enjoyed the foreplay. She had never said, If you're so goddamned good why have you spent half your life in jail? It would break his heart if he knew she thought less of him than he thought of himself. At least he was still alive. At least she still had him.

"How's he look to you aside from cute?" Macklin said.

"He looks like he might know what he's doing," Faye said.

"Why do you say that?"

"He looks different from all the other men here," Faye said.

"And they clearly don't have any idea what they're doing."

Macklin laughed and put his arm around her shoulder. He turned her toward him, and they began to dance to "The Tennessee Waltz."

"Well, we're just going to fucking find that out, aren't we, my little chickadee?"

"Don't turn this into a game, Jimmy."

"A game?"

"Don't make this you against the cop to see who's better. Just steal the money and we'll go."

Macklin tightened his arms around her and held her against him. She rubbed her cheek gently against his.

"Not to worry," Macklin said.

"We'll do the big knock over and then we'll go someplace warm and sit beside each other and drink daiquiris in the sun."

"Yes," Faye said softly.

"You and me, babe," Macklin said.

"Yes."

"Always been you and me. Always will be."

Faye didn't say anything.

"Long time together, Faye," Macklin said.

"Just don't turn this into a game of chicken with the cop," Faye said.

"Don't worry," Macklin said.

"I got this thing wired. We're going to do this right."

Faye didn't say anything else, as they moved across the dance floor. She kept her face pressed against his, and she closed her eyes.

EIGHTEEN.

They sat on the open deck of Marcy's small weathered shingle cottage on Strawberry Point in the east end of town, past the narrow harbor mouth, just above the buttress of rust-colored rocks against which the open Atlantic moved without respite. Jesse was drinking beer from the bottle. Marcy had a glass of white wine.

"I thought you drank scotch," Marcy said.

"I do, but beer's nice," Jesse said.

"I thought you drank martinis."

"I do," Marcy said and smiled.

"But wine is nice."

There were no lights on the deck, but there was a small moon and some starlight, and, as their eyes adjusted, they could see each other and the white spray of the breaking swells below them.

"You know why we were drinking differently at the yacht club?"

Marcy said.

"Because we knew we couldn't drink many, so we were trying to get the most bang for the buck."

"I'll be damned," Marcy said.

"You did know."

Jesse smiled.

"I know a lot," he said.

"And so modest," Marcy said.

Jesse had his suit jacket off and it hung from the back of the chair to his left. Marcy could see the butt of his gun showing just in front of his right hip.

"You're carrying a gun," she said.

"I'm a cop."

"Do you always carry one?"

Jesse nodded.

"I'm always a cop," he said.

"What are you now?" she said.

Jesse drank from the bottle.

"Interested," he said.

They both laughed.

"First you," Marcy said.

"Tell me about yourself."

"I was a cop in Los Angeles. I'm thirty-five and divorced."

"I'm older than you," Marcy said.

"Always a cop?"

"No, I was a baseball player, before I got hurt."

"Did you play professionally?"

"Yes."

"Were you any good?"

"I was very good," Jesse said.

"How'd you get hurt?"

"On a double play at second, runner took me out, and I came down on my shoulder."

"What about the divorce?"

"I was married to a starlet," Jesse said.

"She wanted to be a star, so she slept with producers."

"That start you drinking?"

"I used to tell myself it did," Jesse said.

"But it didn't. I always liked to drink."

"But you have it under control now."

"Most of the time," Jesse said.

"You over the first wife?"

"No."

"You still love her?"

"Maybe."

"That must make it hard to commit to other women."

Jesse smiled.

"Not for the short term."

Marcy smiled with him in the pale darkness.

"I've never met a man who couldn't commit for the short term," she said.

She sipped her wine. He drank some beer. Below them the ceaseless ocean moved hypnotically against the begrudging rocks.

"And I've met a lot," she said.

Jesse waited. It was her turn.

"You're honest," Marcy said.

"Most men wouldn't have told me about the ex-wife and would have sworn they'd love me forever."

"So they could get you into bed," Jesse said.

"Yep."

"Doesn't mean I don't want that," Jesse said.

"No, I'm sure it doesn't," Marcy said.

"But if I were husband hunting, and using my bed as bait, you'd have just blown the lay."

"Instead of vice versa," Jesse said.

Marcy laughed. And Jesse liked the way she laughed and joined in, and they both laughed as much for the pleasure of laughing together as for the bite of Jesse's wit.

"We'll see about vice versa," Marcy said.

"You looking for a husband?" Jesse said.

"No. I was married," she said.

"At eighteen. I got two kids in college. Girl at Colby. Boy at Wesleyan."

"Lot of money," Jesse said.

"Their father can afford it."

"He supports them?"

"As always. I raised them. He paid for it. He's always been good that way."

"What way wasn't he good?"

"He was, is, a doctor. Very successful. A neurosurgeon. And he fucked every nurse that would hold still for twenty seconds."

"Like all the jokes," Jesse said.

"Like all the jokes," Marcy said.

"He's not a bad man. He's generous, and he's a good father in his way. But where his penis leads, he follows."

"When'd you get divorced?" "

"Ten years ago."

"You over it?"

"Yes."

"Want to get married again?"

"No" *" Jesse finished the last of his beer and set it on the table beside him.

"Well," he said.

"Hello."

"Hi."

They both laughed again. Marcy drank some wine.

"Here's the deal," she said.

"I like men. I like wine. I like sex.

Right now I'm having a nice time and I hope to have an even nicer one. I am not going to fall in love with you, and I don't think you'll fall in love with me. And, assuming you're interested, we can have some nice uncomplicated sex with nothing at stake. And we can be each other's friend."

Jesse leaned back in his chair and looked at her and said, "Works for me."

He kept looking at her in the semi-lucent darkness. She was quiet for a while as he did so, and then she said, "Assessing the goods?"

"No, well maybe. I was just thinking how clear you are."

"I had a good shrink," Marcy said.

"The shrink had a good patient," Jesse said.

"Also true," Marcy said.

She stood and walked to the railing of her deck and placed her hips against it and sipped her drink.

"The trouble with being clear is that it makes the transitions a little awkward," she said.

"I'm going to take a shower. Would you care to join me?"

"Sure," Jesse said.

NINETEEN.

"I need a boom guy," Macklin said.

He was leaning on a railing on the Baltimore waterfront looking across at the aquarium, talking to a tall, bony redhaired man named Fran.

"Uh-huh?" Fran said.

Fran wore small, round, gold-rimmed glasses. His wiry red hair was long and pulled back in a ponytail. He had on a short-sleeved green shirt and khaki pants and Hush Puppies. His bare arms were heavily freckled. He had a gold earring.

"You are the best around."

"True," Fran said.

"What'd you have in mind?"

"I need a bridge blown."

"Legally?"

"

"Course not."

"What else?"

"Other things. I'll tell you when you need to know."

"Maybe I need to know to decide if I want the job."

"Job's worth more than a million."

"Total?"

"Each."

A water taxi pulled up to the dock below them and some tourists got out and headed up the stairs toward Harbor Place.

"Each is good," Fran said.

"Who's in it?"

"So far, Crow, JD, Faye, and me," Macklin said.

"She waited for you."

"Yes."

Fran nodded.

"Where's this going to go down?" he said.

Macklin smiled and shook his head.

"Keep thinking about the million," Macklin said.

"It's what you need to know."

"You wouldn't have Crow if you didn't think it would take some doing," Fran said.

"Better to have him and not need him," Macklin said, "than need him and not have him."

"Maybe," Fran said.

"How many guys you need all together?"

"One more after you," Macklin said.

"I'm married now," Fran said.

"Congratulations."

"Four kids."

"How about that," Macklin said.

"I been legit since I got out. Working for the city, mostly slum clearance."

"Making the big buck?"

"Not this big," Fran said.

"How long will it take?"

"You'll probably be gone a week, ten days."

"Ten days?"

"It's a big job. You'll need some time."

"Ten days," Fran said, "I could blow up Baltimore."

"You have to look at the site," Macklin said.

"Decide what you need. Then you have to get it. And install it. It'll take some time.

You can't get away ten days for a million bucks?"

"Old lady'll croak," Fran said.

"I tell her I'm leaving her alone with four kids for ten days."

"You'll have to deal with your wife," Macklin said.

The two of them were silent then, their forearms resting on the railing, the littered sea water washing tamely against the pier. The harbor was busy with small boats and behind them Harbor Place was raucous with teenagers.

"Okay," Fran said finally.

"I'll deal with her."

Macklin smiled and put out his hand. Fran shook it slowly.

"I'll be in touch," Macklin said.

TWENTY.

Surveillance was easy enough. Stay out of sight and watch. He'd done a lot of it in L.A. and the greatest enemy was boredom.

Tonight in the Back Bay, outside Jenn's apartment, there was no boredom. He'd found space to park on a hydrant in view of her front door. And he sat in his car in the dark with a feeling of such complex intensity that he didn't understand it. He knew that he felt anticipation and anger nd excitement, which was at least partly sexual. He also felt calmness and curiosity and hope and guilt and something like strength.

Too hard for me, he said to himself and settled back against the car seat. He didn't let the motor run because that was a dead giveaway to surveillance, a car parked with its motor on. He didn't play the radio. He simply sat and waited. People moved along the sidewalk past his parked car. There was money in the Back Bay and the four-story brick town houses along Beacon Street were full of young, well-dressed, good-looking men and women. It was evening and many of them were coming home from dinner or movies or working late. Dogs were being walked, and elegantly dressed women in high heels were carrying plastic bags to clean up after them.

Dog shit does not respect social status, Jesse thought.

He looked at his watch. Nine-thirty. If she'd left the station by seven and gone to dinner with somebody, she'd be coming home now. Unless she was spending the night somewhere else. He took in some air and let it out slowly with his lips pursed in a kind of silent whistle.

He felt the comfortable weight of his gun near his right hip. If she were with another guy, he could kill him. He could feel the release it would bring him. He could imagine the near ejaculatory surge of relief he would get, and he rolled the thought around in his mind passionately. And then what. Now that I've croaked your boyfriend, honey, let's you and me get together? That wouldn't work.

It would also get him jailed. Even police chiefs weren't permitted to kill people for dating their ex-wives. He could probably do it secretively and get away with it. But how many would he have to kill off? And mightn't Jenn get a bit suspicious when her dates kept getting clipped? And how often could he get away with it? Cops normally looked for the disgruntled lover when some men get killed that are dating the same women. He gave it up slowly, knowing he'd never really thought he could. So why was he here? He shrugged in the darkness. Better to know than not know.

Jenn turned the corner at Dartmouth Street and walked down Beacon Street beside a short man. They were holding hands. Jesse knew Jenn's walk in the dimness before he could recognize any feature. As they got closer, Jesse recognized the evening news anchor, Tony Salt. He was much shorter than he appeared on the tube.

Shorter than Jenn. But he had a large head and a strong chin and deep masculine smile lines around his mouth. His walk seemed stilted, and Jesse realized that Tony Salt was teetering on high heeled cowboy boots. Christ, in his bare feet he can walk under bar stools, Jesse thought.

They were walking close together and their shoulders brushed often. Jenn was talking in that brilliant, animated way she had when she seemed to put her whole self into whatever she was saying. Tony Salt was listening and nodding and laughing often. They walked past Jesse sitting in the darkness and turned into Jenn's doorway. Jesse's concentration was so intense that he didn't realize he had drawn his gun until he clanked it gently against his steering wheel, as he turned in the seat. He rested the gun on the back of the seat, and, knowing he wouldn't shoot, he aimed it carefully at Tony Salt's back and sighted carefully at the spot between Tony Salt's shoulder blades that sat invitingly, and looked a yard wide, on top of the front sight. He held the aim as Jenn fumbled for her keys at the door. Jenn could never find her keys quickly, and when she did find them she never recognized one key from another, so more time ensued while she tried several in the lock before she got the right one. Jesse had always found it endearing that she couldn't find her keys and, indeed, often lost them. Goddesses had no time for keys. Tony Salt stood close to her while she worked on the keys.

Jesse knew he was so close that their bodies would be touching every time either of them moved. Jesse could feel how shallow his breathing was. Given the intensity of his feeling, it was surprising that the gun hand was perfectly steady. He squinted a little. He knew it was too far and too dark, but it was as if he could see the weave in the back of Tony Salt's thousand-dollar jacket. Jenn found the right key, and the door opened. She turned and gave Tony Salt a light kiss and stepped through the door. He followed her. With the door still open, they stopped in the lighted hallway and turned the easy kiss into a long embrace, Jenn slouching a little so that she wouldn't have to actually bend down to kiss Tony Salt. Jesse could see Tony Salt's hand move down to Jenn's butt. He had on a big ring that caught the hall light and flashed like Elliott Krueger's ring.

Then they broke the clinch.

The door shut.

"Bang," Jesse said.

TWENTY-ONE.

"You're the last piece," Macklin said to Freddie Costa.

They were sitting in Macklin's Mercedes in the parking lot near the wharf office on the town pier in Mattapoisett, about ninety minutes south of Boston.

"You need a Northshore guy," Costa said.

"Knows the waters. I never even been up there."

"I don't have a Northshore guy," Macklin said.

"You didn't know the waters in the Mekong, did you? Besides you're the best sailor I know who's dishonest."

"Thanks," Costa said.

"Then if I'm gonna do it, I gotta have time to go up there, cruise around, look at charts. Not only around Paradise but all over that part of the coast."

"Sure," Macklin said.

"That's why I'm talking to you early, give you time to plan."

"It'll cost money," Costa said.

"You got to spend money to make money," Macklin said.

"I gotta buy fuel. I got boat payments. I gotta leave my ex with some."

"Haven't you got anything ahead?"

Costa laughed.

"You talking to me about ahead?"

Macklin shrugged.

"Okay," he said.

"I haven't got too much ahead myself."

"Can't help you without something up-front," Costa said.

Macklin was silent. The harbor around the pier was mostly small sailboats. Some were at their moorings. Their masts bare, the boats tugging gently at the tether. Some were under sail, the mooring marked by the small boat they had rowed out to it. Two kids were fishing off the end of one of the two stone piers. A big old Chris-Craft with gleaming mahogany trim was refueling in the slip between the piers.

"Whatta they catching?" Macklin said.

"The kids? Scup if they're lucky. Blowfish, mostly."

"They good to eat?"

"Scup is, but not the blowfish. Kids like to haul them in, get them to inflate, and skip them on the water."

"There's a good time," Macklin said.

"You know what kids are like."

"No," Macklin said.

"I don't."

They were quiet. A rowboat pulled in to the pebbled beach to their right, and two men got out in knee-deep water and dragged the boat up onto the landing area above high tide. The men left the rowboat there and took the oars. The Chris-Craft finished refueling and began to inch out of the slip.

"Okay," Macklin said finally.

"I got five grand I can spot you."

"Cash," Costa said.

"Whaddya think? I'm going to write you a check?"

"I don't like to leave nothing to chance," Costa said.

"I could enter the notation: advance on robbery loot," Macklin said.

"You got it on you?"

"No."

"When do I get it?"

"You drive the boat up..." Macklin said. Costa began shaking his head before Macklin finished his sentence.

"And I'll pay you when you get there."

"Me and the boat stay right here," Costa said.

"Until I get the five."

Macklin had known Costa a long time. He was just as he looked. He was squat and strong with thick hands and dark skin that had cured darker in a lifetime on the water, and he didn't change his mind. Once his mind was set, he plowed right through anything in his way-including the law. Costa wasn't scared of Macklin. Costa probably wasn't even scared of Crow. You had the choice of his way or kill him, and Macklin wasn't prepared to kill him yet.

"I'll be here Monday noon," Macklin said.

"With the cash?"

"With the cash."

"Good," Costa said.

"When can you get up there?"

"To Paradise?"

"Yeah."

"You gimme the cash Monday noon, I'll leave Tuesday morning. Go through the canal."

"Good," Macklin said.

Costa nodded. He got out of the car and closed the door. Macklin put the Mercedes in gear, backed up, U-turned, and drove away.

In the rearview mirror he could see that Costa hadn't moved.

TWENTY-TWO.

Copley Place was a high-end, upscale, vertical mall in the middle of Boston. It looked like every other high-end, upscale, vertical mall Jesse had ever seen. When you were in Copley Place, Jesse thought, you could be anywhere in western civilization. He had been in Copley Place for three hours, trailing behind Jenn, carrying bags, feeling like a husband, and rather liking it. But he knew he would have to tell her the secret thing he had done, and he was afraid. Usually Jesse could put the fear away, know it was there, but function around it. This fear nearly paralyzed him.

"You must be making the big buck," Jesse said.

They were sitting beside the waterfall near the top of the escalator in the middle of the second floor.

"I get a clothing allowance," Jenn said.

"And I haven't spent it all yet. Are you bored?"

"No" Jesse said.

"I like to be with you."

Jenn smiled. But the smile was automatic, Jesse thought. She was looking at the display in a window down the mall.

"What do you think of that little suit?" Jenn said, "With the chalk stripe."

"It would look good on you." Jesse took a breath.

"I followed you the other night when you were out with Tony Salt."

Jenn kept looking at the chalk-striped suit for a moment, and then slowly she turned her head toward him.

"You followed us?"

"Actually I staked out your apartment. I saw you come home with him. I saw him go in."

"And?"

"He spent the night."

Jenn sat back against the bench and kept looking at him.

"Jesse," she said finally, "how... how goddamn dare you?"

Jesse clenched himself and held tight.

"I don't know," Jesse said.

"I'm ashamed of it."

His voice was steady. Jenn continued to look at him. A woman brought her two small children to the waterfall and let them throw pennies in it. Then she moved on. The kids didn't want to leave.

There was an argument. The kids cried. The woman finally dragged them away.

"You... have... the... right," Jesse said slowly, "to... date who... you wish and... spend the night with... who you wish."

"Yes,"Jennsaid. "Ido."

"I don't know why I did that," Jesse said.

"I don't know why you're telling me," Jenn said.

"Because it's the truth."

"Do I have to know all the truth?"

"I don't know," Jesse said, "but I have to tell you all the truth."

Jenn smiled.

"Well, at least you know it's about you and not about me," she said.

Jesse stared at the artificial waterfall cascading discreetly into the artificial pool.

"I won't do it again," Jesse said.

Jenn could see the way his jaw muscles bunched at the hinges.

"Tell the truth?"

Jesse shook his head.

"I have to do that," he said.

"I won't spy on you again."

"Why do you have to tell me the truth, even if it's a bad truth?" i Jesse shook his head as if to clear it. Jenn remembered his doggedness. It was a good quality sometimes, she thought, but not always. yJenn asked again.

"Where does it say you have to always tell me the truth?"

"No secrets," Jesse said.

His voice sounded as if it were being forced through too narrow an opening. God, this is hard on him, Jenn thought. She leaned over and patted his forearm.

"It's hard, Jesse," she said.

"You're fighting the booze, you're fighting this. It's hard."

"I don't win this fight, I may not win the booze fight," Jesse said and wished he hadn't as soon as he heard it.

"I know, but I can't help you with that," Jenn said.

"I can't be with you so that you won't drink."

"It was the wrong thing to say. Following you was the wrong thing to do." Jesse laughed angrily.

"I'm on a roll."

"It's not that bad," Jenn said.

"It was the wrong thing to do," Jesse said.

"Of course it was, but it hasn't changed anything. I'm not going to give up on this because you once acted like a jerk."

Jesse nodded.

"You don't act like a jerk too often anymore," Jenn said.

Jesse grinned at her without any happiness in the grin.

"I'm not sure I like the 'anymore' part," he said.

"How about, you never act like a jerk when you're working," Jenn said.

Jesse nodded.

"It's why I work," he said.

TWENTY-THREE.

When Macklin came in the front door, Faye jumped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist. She was wearing a silk robe and nothing else.

"Whoa," Macklin said.

"Let me at least get the door closed."

He held her easily.

With her face a half inch from his Faye said, "Welcome home. Wanna fuck?"

"Well, yes," Macklin said, "as a matter of fact I do."

She pressed her mouth against his and held it there while he carried her to the bedroom and put her on the bed. She held on even after he put her down.

"Faye," he said as he pulled away from her.

"I need to get my clothes off."

"Well, be quick about it," Faye said as she untied her robe.

She was very inventive and experimental. She liked to try different positions. Whenever she heard of a new sexual trick or an innovative device, she was eager to try it. There was something joyous in her sexuality. Macklin always thought of her as laughing while they had sex, though he knew she didn't really. When they were through, they lay together on her bed and stared at their reflection in the mirrored ceiling.

"That calm you down for a while?" Macklin said.

"For a while," Faye said.

"You hungry?"

"For cris sake Faye," Macklin said.

"One appetite at a time. Let me sort of rest up."

"I've got supper ready whenever you want it."

"You serve a nice hors d'ouevre," Macklin said.

"You get the people you want?"

"Yeah, Crow was the most important one. Now I got JD for wiring, and Fran for explosives, and Freddie Costa for the boat."

"That means a five-way split," Faye said.

"Unless some of them drop out," Macklin said.

Faye met his eyes in the mirrored ceiling.

"You think that could happen?"

Macklin smiled and shrugged at her.

"Could," he said.

Still looking at him in the ceiling, Faye said, "You're a heartless bastard, Jimmy."

"Not all the time," Macklin said and patted her thigh.

"No," Faye said.

"Not all the time."

She put her head against his shoulder, and they were quiet together. Faye knew that it wasn't quite right, what he'd said about "not all the time." He loved her, within his limits, but Jimmy wasn't capable of a lot of feeling. What he could feel most sharply, she knew, was excitement and boredom, and his life was mostly seeking one to avoid the other. It was why jail was so hard on him.

She knew that she didn't know what he did to fight boredom in jail, but she knew Jimmy and what excited him was risk. She knew that the odds were good that he'd risk too much someday. And, she knew that he would be unfaithful. It had nothing in his emotional world to do with loving her or not. It had to do with opportunity and conquest. She hated knowing it, but she was a woman who had learned early in life that things were so whether she wanted them to be so or not. And she knew that she loved him and that he would never leave her, and she would take what there was and make as much of it as she could. Looking up at the two of them lying naked on her bed, Faye thought that probably that was what life was, taking what you could get and making the most of it.