A Killer's Kiss by William Lashner Page B

that arose from my unique lifestyle.”
    “It’s always handy to have a urologist on call.”
    “Indeed it is. He will be missed. In fact, we should drink toast to him right now.”
    I lifted my beer. “To Dr. Wren Denniston, that son of a bitch.”
    “Yes,” he said, lifting his own beer in response. “To that glorious son of a bitch.”
    He downed his beer in a quick series of swallows, slammed the glass on the table, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, snapped his fingers for another round.
    “In fact, Victor,” he said. “You might find this peculiar, but we talked about you last time we spoke.”
    “Me?”
    “Yes, you.” Trocek swirled a tentacle of squid in black ink and deposited it in his mouth. A squirt of the ink stayed on his thick lower lip, dripping into his beard. “He asked me to kill you.”
    “What?”
    “Kill you.”
    “Come again?”
    “Should I shout it?”
    “No, that’s fine.” I felt my nerves fly loose, like a flock of startled swallows, and then settle again. I looked quickly around the restaurant, leaned forward, lowered my voice. “Me?”
    “You.”
    “Gad.”
    “Yes.”
    “Why?”
    “It seemed Wren somehow discovered that his dear Julia was seeing someone behind his back. Meetings at coffee shop and hotel bar. Tell me, Victor, does anyplace ooze wanton and anonymous sex more than hotel bar? And then he discovered that the someone his wife was seeing in hotel bar was you.”
    “We’re just friends.”
    “Which was why you were parked on her street this very afternoon, staring at her house with longing eyes.”
    “How did Wren find out? Did he tell you?”
    “I think he had spy on her.”
    “And what did you tell him?”
    “It was hard to turn offer down. First, the money was good. And second, Sandro so likes the work. I have very little scruples, it’s major part of my charm, but killing you seemed overreaction. As friend, I strongly advised him to forget about it.”
    “Thank you.”
    “You’re welcome. But Wren was just talking anyway. He was always great talker. Not great doer, actually. Aside from the wrestling and stealing his wife from you, he was pretty much failure. Not much of doctor, not so successful in business. And even in wrestling, a monster from Iowa broke his back and ended career, so that did not work out either. Leaving Julia as his only real achievement. And then you come along, trying to snatch her back. You can see from where was born his upset. I told him to get grip. It was just wife, not like it was mistress cheating on him. Now, that would be serious. That is worth sending Sandro. Were you sleeping with his mistress, too?”
    “I wasn’t sleeping with anyone.”
    “Now you are not being serious with me. But still I found it curious that day after he told me he wanted you murdered, he ended up dead.”
    “Curious?”
    Trocek jabbed at a shrimp, dipped it into the butter sauce until it was covered with bits of garlic, delicately placed it between his teeth, and chewed slowly. “It’s like ambrosia, isn’t it?”
    “The shrimp?”
    “No, not shrimp, though that, too, is quite good. I was in love once. I was young, she was younger. I’ve never recovered. I spend my life now trying to recapture feeling. It’s never quite same, though, is it? Ultimately a quest doomed to failure. It can never be same because we are no longer same. But the moments of anticipation, the fleeting sensations as you slowly peel off herclothes and think that maybe, this time, it will stir you equally. Well, that delicious moment of anticipation is what I live for now. It is worth everything.”
    “I think you have the wrong idea.”
    “I would kill for it.”
    “I didn’t.”
    “But would you, Victor? That’s the question.”
    “Why is that the question?”
    “How far would you go to recapture love?”
    “Is this rhetorical?”
    “I’m looking for Miles Cave,” he said. “Do you know him?”
    “No,” I said.
    “We were in business