Dead Silver

38

There was more action on another front-the drama between Darcy and Seth Fraker wasn't over. She was still furious at Madbird, blaming him for the breakup and barely speaking to him. But she needed to vent, and both Hannah and Pam Bryce were adept at drawing her out; they quietly kept him in the loop, and I gleaned bits from him when we talked.

The affair had devolved into a familiar sort of aftermath, a running dogfight of sniping, recriminations, and pleas. Apparently, most of that was coming from Darcy-Fraker really did want out. As coldly as he had dropped her, at least he couldn't be accused of continuing to string her along.

More troubling, she wasn't just hurt. Her anger was escalating, and taking on an unattractive aspect. She had decided that Fraker owed her; on an emotional level, she had a case. But she'd started hinting none too vaguely that she was talking money. Whether this was for revenge or what she'd been playing for all along wasn't clear and didn't matter. It was edging into blackmail. Fraker had stopped taking her phone calls. She had started following him to confront him. He had threatened a restraining order and stalking charges. She was ready to tell the world the seamy truth about the golden-boy-happily-married-pillar-of-morality. And so on.

Madbird was back in a quandary. He couldn't stop Darcy from what she was doing. There was nothing illegal about Fraker's callousness; coming down on him in any serious way would only get Madbird thrown in jail. He'd already made Fraker nervous, and with any luck that would hold him in check. But the well-founded rumors that Hannah had heard about Fraker's unpleasantness toward women added to the mix. Once again, Madbird could only wait around worrying-not something he was good at.

Then a Sunday afternoon came along that was balmy enough so I couldn't stand just hanging around. Even though I didn't have any errands, I headed for town. I took it slow and for some time I cruised nowhere in particular, enjoying the drive and the weather, looking at things in a way that I hadn't for a long time. The air smelled good and people seemed happy. It was a nice interlude from the hovering trouble.

Toward dusk, I turned homeward, making my usual pass by Renee's house, then deciding to treat myself to a fancy dinner. I stopped at a supermarket and bought a good-sized chunk of wild salmon, linguini and Parmesan cheese, sourdough bread, an avocado, and vinaigrette dressing. Then I figured that as long as I was burning up a paycheck I hadn't earned, I might as well also pick up a bottle of Powers, so I swung into an establishment called Wild Bill's, toward the eastern edge of town.

Wild Bill's wasn't a place I frequented; it was newish, a combination liquor store-bar-casino with a faux western decor and a well-groomed clientele. But it was convenient, and I stopped there occasionally when other places were closed or I was short on time.

There were close to twenty vehicles in the parking lot, including several big pickup trucks. If I recognized one of them as being Seth Fraker's, it didn't register consciously.

But as I went into the liquor store, I passed an open doorway to the barroom and glimpsed him at a table in there with a couple of other people.

I would have ignored him and just bought my whiskey, except that he was laughing and I caught the flash of those perfect white teeth.

I walked through the doorway and down to an empty section of the bar, making eye contact with Fraker long enough to see his laugh freeze. Then I turned my back to him and ordered a Maker's Mark, intending to have only the one drink, and leave. All I wanted was to piss on his parade.

But a minute later he came over and leaned against the bar beside me, swilling his own drink a little too close to my face-not exactly belligerent, but letting me know who was top dog. He was unsteady and his breath smelled heavily of gin. No doubt it was Bombay Sapphire.

"Look, I've got nothing against you personally," he said. "But I'm sick of this loony tunes bullshit. She better back off, and I strongly advise you not to get in the middle of it."

"I'm not here on Darcy's account or anybody else's," I said. "Believe that or not, I couldn't care less. But as long as I've got the chance, let me ask you-you have any idea how she feels, the way you treated her?"

I assumed he'd get defensive in a nasty way. Instead, he scrunched up his face like a kid about to start blubbering.

"You have any idea how I feel because I can't help being like that? How much I hate myself for it?"

I almost laughed in disbelief. "You should get an Oscar for keeping your pain so well hidden."

"You don't know anything about it," he muttered. "You're an arrogant prick."

He raised his drink as if he was going to drain it. Then, without warning, he sloshed it into my face.

My open right hand came across the bar in a sharp hook and slapped the glass out of his grip. It bounced on the floor like a baseball, a hard one-hopper, bursting into a spray of shards.

The other customers in the room went still, leaving only the sound of the video poker machines bleeping and burbling their jingles in the next room.

Fraker stared, stunned, at his empty hand, then looked up warily at me and started edging backwards.

"Yeah, I am an arrogant prick," I said. "But I never gave myself the limp-dick excuse that I couldn't help it."

The bartender, a young woman who clearly wasn't accustomed to this kind of thing, had gone as silent as the customers. I pulled out the change left from the twenty-dollar bill I'd bought my drink with and dropped it on the bar.

"Sorry about that," I said to her. "Here's for your trouble."

I drove home braced for the wail of sirens in my ears and the flash of police lights in my rearview mirrors. They'd have had plenty of excuse to run me in; on top of everything else, I reeked worse of Fraker's gin than he had. But nothing happened, and by the time I got to Canyon Ferry, I couldn't help smiling. I'd broken my resolution about physical confrontations, but in a way I could easily live with. I'd come home without my whiskey, but no amount of booze could touch the way that slap had felt-fast, hard, and right on the money-or the look on his face.

This day was already one I would cherish in memory, and a couple of hours later it got impossibly better.

I was in my cabin, with water starting to heat for the linguini and the salmon marinating in a teriyaki barbecue sauce, ready to grill, when I heard the faint sound of an engine. That was highly unusual. There was almost no traffic up here anyway, let alone on a Sunday evening.

I opened the door and watched the approaching headlights. The vehicle was a small, dark-colored station wagon-just like Renee's forest green Outback.

I strode to my gate, not daring to believe it, and half-terrified that if it was her, that might mean something was wrong. But she got out of the car and stepped into my embrace, seeming weary but fine.

After a minute or so, she said, "Remember when Gary asked me to think back about when I spent time with my father and Astrid?"

"Yeah?"

"He was right-I started digging around in my head, and found something. Can I stay here a while?"

"As long as you can stand it," I said. "Come on, you're just in time for dinner."

I put my arm around her and walked her to the cabin.