Maybe

42

“WE’RE GOING GAMBLING?” Miranda says. “At this hour?”

It’s early morning. Although Bob Koltech is waiting at General Aviation to fly us to Highland, Illinois, I suddenly ask the limo driver to swing by Caesers Palace for a few minutes, causing Miranda to wonder if I’ve been hit by the gambling bug.

I hold up my phone and say, “I just got a text message from Kimberly. She and her boyfriend broke up last night, and she spent the night at Caesers.”

“Well, she’s young,” Miranda says. “They’ll probably be back in each others’ arms by midnight.”

“I hope not.”

She arches an eyebrow. “You don’t approve?”

I smile. Miranda couldn’t, and shouldn’t know that Kimberly killed her boyfriend last night. She might jump to the conclusion we have a dysfunctional family.

“I like the kid just fine,” I say. “I don’t approve of his job.”

She smiles. “The kid?”

“Chuck.”

“And what’s Chuck’s job?”

“He’s a pre-rapture pet salesman.”

Miranda laughs.

“What?”

“I don’t approve of the kid, either!” she says.

We get to Caesers and I go up to Kimberly’s room alone.

First thing she says is, “Are you going to give me a lecture?”

“Of course not.”

“Really, Father?”

“Well, a short one.”

She sighs, and motions me to enter her hotel room.

“I have a major history with Sam Case,” I say. “That’s how he found and targeted you.”

“I know. Sam told me everything before he died.”

“By everything, you mean?”

“He said you stole his wife and ruined his business. Is that true?”

I try to think of a nicer way to put it, but I think she’s already put it the nicest way possible.

“I’ll take your silence as a yes,” she says.

“I ruined his business,” I said, “but his business was illegal.”

“Oh, please.”

I shrug.

“And the wife? Can I assume she forced herself on you?”

“Not at first,” I say. “But regardless, he had no right to punish me by manipulating you into becoming a killer.”

“Sam didn’t do that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sam only found me a few weeks ago. Some other guy started the whole gain-my-trust-and-turn-me-into-a-killer thing. Then he turned it over to Sam.”

“What other guy?”

“Sam called him Darwin.” She looks at me. “Are you okay?”

I nod.

“So what’s the lecture part?” she says. “I should’ve called you first?”

“No. I understand why you didn’t.”

“Then what’s the lecture about?”

“Sam stole my identity. Probably had a broader plan to clean out my bank accounts some day. But anyway, he checked into the hotel under my name. Which means-”

“Shit. I killed him in your hotel room and walked away.”

She frowns. “I suck at this.”

“No. You’re amazing at this. You just need some training.”

She looks up at me. “So…I can still work with you?”

“For me. Not with me.”

She smiles.

I say, “Are you okay?”

“You’re asking because of the way I cut him up?”

“Yup.”

“I never used a knife before. The knife made it so…uh…”

She’s searching for the word. I provide it.

“Personal.”

“Yes, exactly! The knife made it so personal. It was hard, cutting through the tendons, and when all that stringy stuff scraped and clicked, it was completely unexpected.”

“Maybe we’ll ask Santa to get you a sharper knife.”

“Good, ’cause it took forever to saw through the muscle fibers. And who’d have known how much blood would spurt? And how far?”

“You knew, because you didn’t get it on your clothes.”

“Right. But still, it was really gruesome.”

“And?”

“I keep reliving it, over and over, in my mind. The look of terror on his face. The helplessness in his eyes.”

“And?”

“And every time I re-live it, I feel better about what I did to him.”

“That’s what we call a good kill, honey.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”