House of Jaguar by Mike Bond

Author:Mike Bond
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mike Bond
Published: 2020-09-26T21:01:05+00:00

34

HE WOKE IN a strange peace. A familiar sun spread diamond patterns across the ceiling. The rustle of surf drifted through the open window. The carpet was soft underfoot. He went down to the kitchen, the terracotta tiles cold, put water in the espresso machine, found coffee beans in the refrigerator, thawed a can of orange juice in the microwave, drank it, took a mug of espresso upstairs, set it on the sink and stood in the shower. Hot. Cold. Hot. Freezing cold.

The neighbor’s poodle was barking. He finished the espresso, filled the mug with water, opened the bathroom window; the dog heard him and sprinted for its doghouse but the water hit it as it reached the door.

He grinned at himself in the half-steamed mirror, looked again, shocked by his rangy thin frame, the bony chest, skinny thighs with the long skinny pecker hanging down, the white puffy shrapnel stars across the gut and ribs … Touch them, honey, feel the metal move … The right arm looked funny, too thin, the discolored bullet scar like a hole left by a burning spike.

He rolled two joints, lit one and put the other in his right shirt pocket. He removed the innersole from one running shoe, took a razor-slim knife from the drawer of his bedside table, slipped it into the shoe and replaced the innersole. He found thirty-seven dollars and some credit cards in a drawer, and went down to the garage. You did right to come back, he told himself. This is the life for you.

The battery was dead and he pushed the car up the driveway and down the street, running alongside, jumped in to pop the clutch in second. It caught, spitting black exhaust, the engine running ragged all the way across Golden Gate Park and up past the Haight and over the top of Divisadero. By the time he drove out along Castro to Noe Valley it was running smooth, the streets half-bright with sun through the fog.

Number 729 Diamond was a tall narrow Victorian house with leaded glass and three-color trim. He picked the Chronicle off the bottom step, rang the bell. There was city scum on the Welcome mat. She smiled as she opened the door then her face turned hard and pale.

“Let me in, Diana.”

“Oh Christ, oh please. You can’t mean it.”

He brushed past her down the hall into the parlor with its couches and doilies, its jade-colored marble mantel with the black marble clock, soft reflections of ferns and wall fabrics, the distant KGO – “your Bay Area news station” – she’s like a lily, he thought, tall and pale and ready to bow at the first touch. “Don’t give me that, Diana. You guys were split, you’ve got a new old man.”

“How did you kill him?”

“We crashed. Hit a pine bough coming in. He never knew.”

“You bastard. You fucking lousy pilot. You’d risk anyone to make more money.”

“It was his life, Diana. His business. I didn’t ask him.”

“You don’t have to ask people.

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