Read Online Come Out Tonight by Bonnie Rozanski - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bonnie Rozanski
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apartment?”
“Yeah, could you?”
Sherry was nodding, so I went down the hall to the bedroom, but I left the door open. If he was going to make me hide in my own apartment, I sure as hell was going to listen in.
“Sherry,” I heard, then some mumbling. Then, “But it was your idea...” Then more mumbling. This wasn’t going to work. I opened the door all the way and pushed my head through.
“But you can’t,” I heard Ryan say. “It’s professional suicide. You know what the Institute thinks of your going to the media.”
“You heard about the politician who crashed his car into a barrier?”
“No, but...”
“They did their best to hush it up. He had taken Somnolux. No other drugs, he said.”
“Oh, I know who you’re talking about. The guy who had just come out of a drug treatment center. You can’t blame that on Somnolux.”
“Ryan, you know there’s more. Those dissociative disorders....It’s got to be studied at least.”
“Look. You know I sympathize with your position...”
“You? Hah. You’re with the Institute all the way. I wonder, Ryan, if they haven’t given you a cut of the profits, the way you always side with them....”
“Um, no way. I never...”
“They have! They bought you!”
“Sherry, listen to me.” There was a long pause. Then he continued, lower. I had trouble hearing him, so I crept further out into the hall. “They haven’t bought me. I’m on your side. I’m just saying that if you go to the press, you may never work again. Do you understand me?”
“Did they tell you to say that?”
“No. And what’s more, it’s not just you. You’re going to ruin it for me, too.”
“Ah, it’s you you’re worried about...”
“...And I won’t let you do that...”
There was long intake of breath, then a hoot of laughter from Sherry.
“Is that a threat, Ryan? Is that a threat? Well, you can tell your...puppet master that I don’t care if they fire me. I’ll do what I have to do. Now get the hell out!”
There was the scraping of chair bottoms and footsteps crossing the room. I backed up, grabbed the door and pulled it closed. By the time I heard the door slam, I was lying on the bed, feet crossed, studying the Op-Ed page of the Times . The bedroom door opened slowly, and Sherry came in, pale and trembling. She sank down on the bed, her back to me, shoulders hunched. I crept over to her side of the bed and put my arms around her. I didn’t bother to ask any questions; I had heard the whole thing already. And that was two days before the morning I found Sherry lying on the floor, half-dead.
DONNA
Jackman called again to ask if there were any new leads. I said not much, again. He became incensed, asking what I do all day. “What I do all day?” I shouted into the phone. “How about six current cases and a desk full of paperwork?” I almost asked him what he was doing all day – or all night was more to the point – since I had seen him buzzed into that brownstone on East 63 rd , but I restrained myself from mentioning it. Never give out information if you can help it, is my detective’s motto. Anyway, I wondered whether Jackman was pulling the wool over my eyes, trying to put me on the defensive by calling and accusing me.
Meanwhile, however, he was actually saying something interesting. “What did you say?” I broke in.
“About what you do all day?” he said.
“No, no. The thing after that.”
“About Sherry telling me early in the week that her parents were coming for her birthday?”
“Yeah, that. When was her birthday?”
“Uh. The day before she was attacked. That is, if she was attacked in the early hours of the next day. Because if she was attacked before midnight, that would mean she was attacked on her birthday. I mean…”
“April 30 was her birthday,” I
“Yeah, could you?”
Sherry was nodding, so I went down the hall to the bedroom, but I left the door open. If he was going to make me hide in my own apartment, I sure as hell was going to listen in.
“Sherry,” I heard, then some mumbling. Then, “But it was your idea...” Then more mumbling. This wasn’t going to work. I opened the door all the way and pushed my head through.
“But you can’t,” I heard Ryan say. “It’s professional suicide. You know what the Institute thinks of your going to the media.”
“You heard about the politician who crashed his car into a barrier?”
“No, but...”
“They did their best to hush it up. He had taken Somnolux. No other drugs, he said.”
“Oh, I know who you’re talking about. The guy who had just come out of a drug treatment center. You can’t blame that on Somnolux.”
“Ryan, you know there’s more. Those dissociative disorders....It’s got to be studied at least.”
“Look. You know I sympathize with your position...”
“You? Hah. You’re with the Institute all the way. I wonder, Ryan, if they haven’t given you a cut of the profits, the way you always side with them....”
“Um, no way. I never...”
“They have! They bought you!”
“Sherry, listen to me.” There was a long pause. Then he continued, lower. I had trouble hearing him, so I crept further out into the hall. “They haven’t bought me. I’m on your side. I’m just saying that if you go to the press, you may never work again. Do you understand me?”
“Did they tell you to say that?”
“No. And what’s more, it’s not just you. You’re going to ruin it for me, too.”
“Ah, it’s you you’re worried about...”
“...And I won’t let you do that...”
There was long intake of breath, then a hoot of laughter from Sherry.
“Is that a threat, Ryan? Is that a threat? Well, you can tell your...puppet master that I don’t care if they fire me. I’ll do what I have to do. Now get the hell out!”
There was the scraping of chair bottoms and footsteps crossing the room. I backed up, grabbed the door and pulled it closed. By the time I heard the door slam, I was lying on the bed, feet crossed, studying the Op-Ed page of the Times . The bedroom door opened slowly, and Sherry came in, pale and trembling. She sank down on the bed, her back to me, shoulders hunched. I crept over to her side of the bed and put my arms around her. I didn’t bother to ask any questions; I had heard the whole thing already. And that was two days before the morning I found Sherry lying on the floor, half-dead.
DONNA
Jackman called again to ask if there were any new leads. I said not much, again. He became incensed, asking what I do all day. “What I do all day?” I shouted into the phone. “How about six current cases and a desk full of paperwork?” I almost asked him what he was doing all day – or all night was more to the point – since I had seen him buzzed into that brownstone on East 63 rd , but I restrained myself from mentioning it. Never give out information if you can help it, is my detective’s motto. Anyway, I wondered whether Jackman was pulling the wool over my eyes, trying to put me on the defensive by calling and accusing me.
Meanwhile, however, he was actually saying something interesting. “What did you say?” I broke in.
“About what you do all day?” he said.
“No, no. The thing after that.”
“About Sherry telling me early in the week that her parents were coming for her birthday?”
“Yeah, that. When was her birthday?”
“Uh. The day before she was attacked. That is, if she was attacked in the early hours of the next day. Because if she was attacked before midnight, that would mean she was attacked on her birthday. I mean…”
“April 30 was her birthday,” I
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