The Art of Deception

A New View of Things

Matthews had been to one or two parties in LaMoia’s loft apartment, huge affairs, teeming masses, noisy, with music blaring.

Empty, it looked less like a bachelor’s pad than she’d expected.

The collection of modest, mostly mismatched furniture was complemented by the dramatic lighting-nothing but funnel lights on brightly colored wires. The focus of the area was the large, well-equipped kitchen and what was obviously a stunning view of Elliott Bay, for it looked so even at night.

“Wow,” she said.

“Yeah, I know.” Ever the modest one. He shut and locked the metal door with three locks. Like her and the houseboat, he’d bought his place for a song. He, at a time when the neighborhood had been a needle park and the mayor had been offering tax incentives. Riding the wave of “Californication” and the SoDo neighborhood’s gentrification (back when there had been a Kingdome), he now found himself with a piece of a trendy location rejuvenated by the construction of the Safe and the new football stadium. Like her own houseboat, the loft was now worth a small ransom, and like her, LaMoia would one day cash in on his good fortune and ride into the sunset in one of his trademark Camaros.

Blue sighed from the couch and thumped his tail on the cushion. LaMoia scolded the dog for being on the furniture but then greeted him warmly when the dog bothered to say hello. A weekend architect, LaMoia had constructed a few walls into the enormous space, dividing it nicely, but leaving much of it open.

Off the central living/dining area and kitchen was a master bedroom and a bath to the south that he showed her with pride, pointing out several details like high-speed Internet connection.

To the north of the kitchen was an office with a single twin bed as a couch and a guest bath across a wide hallway. He placed her bag in the office, left her for a minute or more, and returned with a red beach towel, making apologies for his linen.

The towel proved heavier than expected, and before she un-folded it he said, “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

“Understood.”

“The registration comes back expired. Previously owned by a man who smoked too much and died behind the wheel of a Ford Pinto.”

“I’ll return it the minute they lift my leave.”

“Just so we’re clear: I was not the officer who responded to that wreck. I’m clean. You can’t harm me with that, no matter what happens.”

“Got it.”

“The other thing in there,” he said, without naming the Taser stun gun she would later find, “is the same kinda story. Consider it a gift. No strings attached.”

“It’s all a gift, John. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”

“Yeah … well …” LaMoia at a lack for words? No quick quip? “We could watch some TV,” he suggested.

“It’s past two in the morning.”

“Wind down.”

The dog nuzzled him, wanting bed as badly as she did.

“Listen,” he said, “there’s wine, beer, pop. Food. Help yourself to whatever you want. Mi casa, su casa.”

“I figured you for an empty fridge.”

“You figured wrong.”

“Meals out at diners.”

“I can see I’ve got an image problem.”

“You are not telling me you’re a cook.”

“Chef,” he said. “When it’s a guy, it’s a chef.”

“And you’re a chef?” she asked, disbelieving.

“Hell, no. A grill meister and a takeout king. Any food you want, any country, any flavor, and I can have it here in a half hour.”

“That’s a real talent, a culinary art form.”

“Exactly. Me and the kitchen phone. It’s all technique.”

“Good night, John,” she said, thanking him again.

“Happy to have you.”

The dog moved in with her sometime before sunrise, warming her feet and taking up too much of the small bed. She woke with four hours of sleep, ravenously hungry, staring out at the beauty of Elliott Bay and the lush green islands beyond, a world unaware of her problems-the exact perspective she needed at that moment. She popped open the window and drank in the sea air. It had a taste to it that she associated with this city.

LaMoia snored loudly from the far room, his Don Juan image unraveling with each breath. She smiled privately and shook off the fatigue, scratched Blue behind the ears where he liked it, and prepared herself for a shower, thinking that on this morning things were okay, going on good, and that a cup of tea and a bagel wouldn’t hurt anything at all.