Down Don't Bother Me (9780062362209) by Jason Miller Page B

planning to walk off with that,” she said.
    I handed it to her. “It is awfully fluffy,” I said. “The ones we have at home are like sandpaper.”
    â€œEverybody’s got a problem.”
    â€œJust one? That sounds so nice. Hey, one thing . . .”
    â€œDon’t bother.”
    I ignored her. “Dwayne Mays. I ran out of questions before I could get his address.”
    â€œI don’t care,” she said. “Besides, you can get the address anywhere.”
    She was right about that. But I waited, looking at her. Truth was, I was starting to like her. I know that sounds weird, but it was true. She was the kind of person, when you met them, all you wanted to do was drown them in the nearest body of water, but then six weeks later you were BFFs. She wasn’t bad looking, either, in a hard-bitten kindof way. She reminded me a bit of a dispatcher I’d had a fling with once, a tough bird who could drink just about any man under the table and who was so good with a knife she could shave the hairs off a flea’s nuts without waking the dog.
    At last, Susan sighed. Her wrinkled eyes flooded with the day’s dark light. She said, “Crainville. North of town. He rented a place there.” She gave me the address. “But if you go, beware.”
    â€œToo much curb appeal?”
    â€œYou’re not funny.”
    â€œI’m not paid to be.”
    â€œThere’s no other way to say it: The place is a rat trap. Actually, I’m not even sure I can imagine rats living there,” she said.
    â€œSo you’ve seen it?”
    She sneered. “Clean your thoughts. I went there with Beckett sometimes, or dropped off negatives when Beckett couldn’t get free.”
    â€œYou mean photo negatives? I thought they did all that with computers these days.”
    She said, “Beckett couldn’t stand them. He thought that digital cameras were ruining the art. Or”—she waved a contemptuous hand and changed her voice to what I guessed was an imitation of Beckett—“ diluting it. Something like that. He insisted on using film. Dwayne transferred everything to a computer.”
    â€œThis Mr. Beckett sounds like an interesting fella.”
    â€œIf by interesting you mean patronizing misogynist , then yeah. He was interesting.”
    â€œYou’ve got quite a vocabulary for someone who opens doors for a living,” I said.
    â€œAnd what do you do for dollars? You work in a hole, right?”
    â€œTouché,” I said. “So, if I’m hearing you correctly, the name Guy Beckett doesn’t lift your heart.”
    â€œNo, it does not. My gorge maybe.”
    I raised my chin back toward the house. “He didn’t hit her,” I said. “Her father would have him cut into pieces and melted the bones in a coking furnace. Drinking? Or drugs?”
    â€œNo more than the usual.”
    â€œI’m thinking it’s women, then.”
    â€œIt’s women,” she said. “Beckett has a weakness.”
    â€œA lot of men do.”
    â€œNot like him,” she said. “He’d stack ’em five high at a time.”
    â€œHe ever make a grab at you?”
    â€œIf he did, he didn’t do it more than once. But everyone else was fair game. And this was a guy with some hustle. Book clubs, church groups. Name it. He’d join anything if there were women there. Even our local environmental club. Crab Orchard Friends, something like that.”
    â€œSaving the earth is not his thing, I guess?”
    â€œNot his thing. Guy Beckett cares about Guy Beckett and his needs, period, full stop.”
    â€œAnd what do you care about?”
    â€œMore or less the same thing. But at least I’m honest about it.”
    â€œAnd here your mistress thinks you’re loyal to her.”
    She glared at me. If she could, she would have unhinged her jaw and swallowed me whole.
    â€œThis is loyalty. This