Part 11 (1/2)

”How you doing?” Barrett asked.

”I'm Mister Wonderful,” I said.

They looked at one another and smiled.

”Well, maybe you'll be doing better when you look at this,” Barrett said.

He handed me the photograph of Gail Harden. Hanging around. Still dead.

”Yeah, what of it?”

”It's a fake,” Strong said. ”Well done, but a fake. Been Photoshopped.”

”Really?”

”Yeah, really. What's more, there's no record of any Gail Harden committing suicide in Minnesota during the past three years. The whole thing was a hoax.”

”Take a close look at the photo.”

I did.

”What do you see?”

”I still see Gail Harden hanging . . . very dead.”

”No, you see Nicole Harden hanging there. Wearing a blond wig.”

”No,” I said. ”I slept with Gail Harden and I'd know . . .”

”That's right,” Barrett said. ”You remember anything about her?”

”She had a very . . . shy kiss.”

”She coulda faked that,” Strong said. ”What about her body? Any distinguis.h.i.+ng marks?”

I thought for a second, then: ”A cat. She had a cat face tattooed on the inside of her left thigh.”

”Right, and what about Nicole? She have one, too?”

”I don't know 'cause she made me take my clothes off first.”

The two detectives looked at one another and smiled.

”Of course she did. She didn't want you to see her naked. They couldn't have pulled the 'dead sister' act on you if you had seen the cat on her thigh.”

I stared down at my feet. There was so much I wanted to tell them, but they wouldn't have listened.

Finally, I looked up.

”But why?” I said. ”Why did they go to all that trouble?”

They looked at one another and shrugged.

”A game,” Strong said. ”Basically, the two of them are con artists, set up lonely guys, steal all their money. But these two, when they pick out a mark, they like to make it a little more dramatic.

Like it's a movie. Or reality TV. It's no fun unless the vic really suffers. You know what I mean?”

”Yeah,” I said. ”I know, all right. I know just what you mean.”

”Yeah,” Barrett said. ”You know the show they had on a few years back where the guy thinks he's an action hero in a movie but everybody else knows he's a schmuck? That kind of thing. No offense intended.”

I laughed at that, and felt small, the incredible shrinking schmuck.

”We're getting more bizarre crimes than ever these days,”

Strong said. ”It's not enough to rob and beat a guy, you gotta f.u.c.k with his mind, too. Everybody wants to direct.”

”Oh,” I said, realizing how lame it sounded.

”So make sure you change your locks and watch out for strange women wearing wigs,” Barrett said.

”You bet,” I replied. ”Thanks for coming by.”

”Bet that's a load off your mind,” Strong said.

”Yeah, it sure is.”

”You want a ride somewhere?” Strong asked.

”No thanks. I'll walk.”

I climbed out of their car, gave a little wave goodbye, and headed down the block. They made a U-turn and cruised up West End.

I had only walked about two blocks when I started laughing. They were good guys, if a little rude. They'd probably seen the desperation on my face, noticed that in the past week I'd lost so much weight that my pants fell down on my hips, like I was some cholo wannabe. They could tell by the hollow look in my eyes. They knew how to read the signs. That was their job.

So they'd cooked up that story about how Gail Harden was really Nicole, how Ron and Nicole were just f.u.c.king with me because they were evil gamesmen. How it was all an offshoot of reality TV. But in the end, n.o.body was really hurt.

Hey, no harm, no foul, right?

But I knew better. They'd have to do a lot better than that.