The Last Tomorrow

THIRTY-SEVEN

1

Eugene leans hard into a turn, swinging onto Sunset Boulevard, and speeds his way west toward Schwab’s Pharmacy. He squints ahead at the palm trees lining either side of the street, narrow trunks bending into the air topped with sagging fronds both brown and green. Behind them, a sky the color of faded denim in which a few wispy clouds blow past slow as they disintegrate.

He still doesn’t know what to do. He only knows what not to. He simply can’t go along with Evelyn’s plan. He’d never walk away alive. The police need someone to pin those murders on and he is that someone. He can blather all he wants and they’ll simply think he’s trying to talk his way out of the rap. It’s what a guilty man would do. But if he manages to pin the murder on Louis Lynch, he’s no longer of use to James Manning. Instead he’s a threat, he knows too much, and there’s only one way to ensure that guys who know too much don’t say too much: fill their mouths with dirt.

If he knew he could trust Evelyn he would tell her his concerns. Maybe together they’d be able to work something out. But he doesn’t know he can trust her. Just the opposite. He’s almost certain he can’t. He wants to, his heart wants him to, but hearts are stupid. And love is a liar.

For now he must keep his thoughts to himself. He must start planning what he’s going to do. In the back of his mind, in the darkness beyond the light of conscious thought, just beyond the edge at which that lamp’s glow fades, something is pulling itself from the mud, an idea, but he doesn’t yet know what it looks like. He can merely sense that it’s there, picking itself up, taking shape.

He pulls to a stop at the curb behind the Schwab’s delivery motorcycle. He steps off the bike, toes down the kickstand, and walks across the wide sidewalk to the front door. He pushes through.

Just inside the doorway he lights a cigarette, picks a bit of tobacco from the end of his tongue, and scans the anonymous faces lining the counter. He and Evelyn see one another at the same moment. She raises her hand in a wave, a touch of a smile on her gash-red lips. He nods, takes a drag from his cigarette, and makes his way toward her, reminding himself that she betrayed him, that she can’t be trusted, that she’s a serpent and has proven it by striking once already. But as he approaches her his palms begin to sweat. His mouth goes dry.

2

Evelyn watches Eugene walk toward her, a smile touching her lips as he approaches, but despite the smile this is serious business. Doing this will put Daddy at risk. She came out to the West Coast to take care of some trouble, but instead she’s here creating it. And the most horrible thing is, she doesn’t care. She should care, it’s her job to care, but she doesn’t. She can’t. For the first time in her life something other than her mind is guiding her, and she’s going to let it.

And despite the fact she’s creating trouble for Daddy, she’s fairly certain he’ll be fine. He can walk through a fire and come out the other side unharmed.

He certainly won’t go to prison.

They’ll arrest Lou and question him about why he killed Teddy Stuart. They may even bloody him up some. But Lou won’t talk. He’s a professional.

Not that he’d have a chance to open his mouth if he wanted to. He’d be dead before he could put his hand on the bible. He’d be dead before he got anywhere near a courtroom. It’d be another suspicious death in a string of them, but Daddy’s had suspicious deaths dragging behind him like anchors for thirty years. There’s no reason to think this would be the one whose weight would finally stop him.

And this will get Lou out of her way. For six years they’ve been in conflict with one another. This will put an end to it. A definitive one.

For the first time in her life something other than her mind is guiding her, and so far as she can tell, it’s wiser than she is.

Eugene sits down on the stool beside her.

‘Evelyn.’

‘Gene,’ she says, ‘I’m glad you came.’

He doesn’t respond. He simply takes a drag from his cigarette and nods without taking his eyes off the napkin dispenser sitting on the counter in front of him. His eyes are bloodshot, his shoulders slumped.

‘You look tired.’

‘Trouble sleeping.’

‘Me too. I kept thinking about you.’

A barmaid walks over and asks them what they’ll have. Evelyn orders a turkey sandwich on rye. Eugene asks for coffee.

After the barmaid leaves Eugene says, ‘Do you have the key?’

‘And the knife.’

She reaches into her purse, removes them, and hands them to Eugene. When their fingers touch he finally looks at her, finally makes eye contact, and he holds it for longer than is comfortable. He seems to be looking directly into her.

Then he breaks away, glancing down at the objects she’s handing him.

‘Thanks.’

‘Be sure to wipe your prints from the knife. And wear gloves when you go into Lou’s room. There can’t be any evidence that you were there.’

He nods.

‘What time will you have him out?’

‘We’re having drinks at eight o’clock. Told him we needed to discuss business.’

‘This knife,’ he says, ‘you were supposed to use it to frame me?’

‘I was supposed to plant it in your apartment.’

‘But you didn’t.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘You still did plenty.’

‘I’m sorry for that, Gene.’

‘I know.’

The barmaid returns with Evelyn’s sandwich and Eugene’s coffee, the coffee spilling over the edge of the white cup and into the saucer when she sets it down.

Evelyn pulls the top slice of bread from her sandwich and sprinkles salt and pepper onto the mayonnaise smeared across it before setting it back down. Then she wipes her hands of rye seeds and stares at her plate, not the least bit hungry.

Eugene sips his coffee black, grimaces, and gets to his feet.

‘I’m gonna go.’

Evelyn reaches out and puts her hand over his hand.

‘Gene.’

He looks at her.

‘Do you think there’s any chance for us after this?’

He doesn’t answer for a long time. Then: ‘I don’t know.’

3

He walks back out into the daylight, squints at the blue sky, takes a final drag from his cigarette. He holds it pinched between finger and thumb a moment, looking at it thoughtfully, then flicks it out into the street. He tried not to show it, but seeing her did something to him. It always does. But he knows he must be careful.

He walks to his motorcycle and kicks it to life.

He straddles the bike, knocks the kickstand out of the way with his heel, pulls out into the street. The afternoon air feels good rushing against his face.

He needs to buy a pair of gloves.