“Oh, God, that man is beyond annoying,” Marissa said to Xan. “Can you believe he told the police to talk to you? What is wrong with him?” They were on Xan’s couch, in the middle of the afternoon. He was holding her hand, caressing the inside of her wrist with his fingertips.
“Why would he tell the police to talk to me? I mean, I was with you when you talked to that cop, and if the cop wanted to ask me anything he would’ve asked me right then.”
“I know,” Marissa said. “But I have to admit it, it scares me.”
“Scares you how?”
“I think my dad’s getting desperate. Why else would he bring you, of all people, into it? Next thing he’ll be telling the police to talk to my freaking grandmother.”
“So you think he’s trying to take the blame away from himself?”
“Exactly. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to handle this- if my father really killed my mother.”
“Shh, don’t worry, you’ll get through it,” Xan said, squeezing her hand.
“I don’t want to see him again,” she said. “The sound of his voice just… just disgusts me.”
“Does he know where I live?” Xan asked.
“My father? I’m not sure. Why?”
“I just wonder if he gave the police my address, that’s all.”
“I didn’t tell him,” Marissa said, “but I guess the police will find you anyway. I’m so sorry my father’s dragging you into this, after all you’ve done for me, just being here for me. You’ve been so great.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Xan said, “You’re the only thing I’m concerned about. Is your phone off?”
Marissa nodded.
“Good,” he said. “Keep it off. You don’t need any more stressful phone calls today.” He kissed her gently on the cheek and then said, “How about something to drink? Water, Diet Coke?”
“Diet Coke would be great.”
He kissed her on the cheek again and then went to the kitchen area. She remained on the couch, ruminating about the phone call with her father, and then her gaze drifted toward the easel and one of Xan’s latest paintings. It was a large, abstract piece, and he’d used only red paint. He’d done a few other similar ones and had hung them on the wall. Maybe it was because he’d arranged the paintings in a group, but they really seemed to make a statement. For the first time she thought he actually had potential as an artist.
“I love your new paintings,” she said.
“Really?” he said as he poured the soda into a glass.
“Yeah, especially the one you’re working on now. It has so much emotion and passion. When did you paint these?”
“A couple of nights ago, before your mom’s funeral. Yeah, I’m pretty happy with them too. I guess I was just inspired.”
“Inspired by what?”
“I guess by what happened to your mom. It’s been very intense.”
Marissa was looking at the painting on the easel, noticing the deep shade of red. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” she said. “I mean, the way something awful can bring out art, the way art comes out of tragedy… I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m such a total mess right now.”
“Here you go,” Xan said, handing her the soda and then sitting back down next to her.
She took a long sip, then said, “I don’t know why everybody’s picking on you when you’re so great.”
“Who’s everybody?” Xan asked.
“Well, you said my grandma was giving you the evil eye, right?”
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t say she was picking on me. You said it was because I’m not Jewish, right?”
“Yeah, but still. And then there’s what Darren said at the funeral.”
“What did he say?”
“I didn’t tell you?”
Xan shook his head.
“Oh,” Marissa said. “I was such a mess that day I didn’t know where I was half the time. But, yeah, he came up to me, I think in the chapel, before the ser – vice started and paid his respects, you know, told me how sorry he was. I don’t think you were there. I think you were with my father.”
“And then he said something?” Johnny asked.
“Yeah, but don’t get upset or anything. It was just Darren being Darren. He can be so annoying sometimes. Anyway, he said something to me like ‘So you’re still with that crazy guy, huh?’ Or, no, maybe it was like ‘You’re still with that lunatic, right?’ If I wasn’t so upset, already, grieving, I would’ve gotten really pissed off. I mean, first of all, there I was at a funeral, my mother’s funeral, so why is he talking about you at all? It’s so disrespectful. And I knew he was just saying it because he was jealous, because I haven’t talked to him in days but he read on my blog and heard from other people about how into you I am.”
“So what did you say to him?”
“I don’t remember really,” Marissa said. “Something like ‘What’re you talking about?’ And he was like ‘You want to know what he said to me the other night?’ He being you. So then he said it was when he kept bothering me at the bar and you went over to talk to him, you know, the night we met. He said you said to him that if you did I live?” Xan asked.
“My father? I’m not sure. Why?”
“I just wonder if he gave the police my address, that’s all.”
“I didn’t tell him,” Marissa said, “but I guess the police will find you anyway. I’m so sorry my father’s dragging you into this, after all you’ve done for me, just being here for me. You’ve been so great.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Xan said, “You’re the only thing I’m concerned about. Is your phone off?”
Marissa nodded.
“Good,” he said. “Keep it off. You don’t need any more stressful phone calls today.” He kissed her gently on the cheek and then said, “How about something to drink? Water, Diet Coke?”
“Diet Coke would be great.”
He kissed her on the cheek again and then went to the kitchen area. She remained on the couch, ruminating about the phone call with her father, and then her gaze drifted toward the easel and one of Xan’s latest paintings. It was a large, abstract piece, and he’d used only red paint. He’d done a few other similar ones and had hung them on the wall. Maybe it was because he’d arranged the paintings in a group, but they really seemed to make a statement. For the first time she thought he actually had potential as an artist.
“I love your new paintings,” she said.
“Really?” he said as he poured the soda into a glass.
“Yeah, especially the one you’re working on now. It has so much emotion and passion. When did you paint these?”
“A couple of nights ago, before your mom’s funeral. Yeah, I’m pretty happy with them too. I guess I was just inspired.”
“Inspired by what?”
“I guess by what happened to your mom. It’s been very intense.”
Marissa was looking at the painting on the easel, noticing the deep shade of red. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” she said. “I mean, the way something awful can bring out art, the way art comes out of tragedy… I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m such a total mess right now.”
“Here you go,” Xan said, handing her the soda and then sitting back down next to her.
She took a long sip, then said, “I don’t know why everybody’s picking on you when you’re so great.”
“Who’s everybody?” Xan asked.
“Well, you said my grandma was giving you the evil eye, right?”
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t say she was picking on me. You said it was because I’m not Jewish, right?”
“Yeah, but still. And then there’s what Darren said at the funeral.”
“What did he say?”
“I didn’t tell you?”
Xan shook his head.
“Oh,” Marissa said. “I was such a mess that day I didn’t know where I was half the time. But, yeah, he came up to me, I think in the chapel, before the ser – vice started and paid his respects, you know, told me how sorry he was. I don’t think you were there. I think you were with my father.”
“And then he said something?” Johnny asked.
“Yeah, but don’t get upset or anything. It was just Darren being Darren. He can be so annoying sometimes. Anyway, he said something to me like ‘So you’re still with that crazy guy, huh?’ Or, no, maybe it was like ‘You’re still with that lunatic, right?’ If I wasn’t so upset, already, grieving, I would’ve gotten really pissed off. I mean, first of all, there I was at a funeral, my mother’s funeral, so why is he talking about you at all? It’s so disrespectful. And I knew he was just saying it because he was jealous, because I haven’t talked to him in days but he read on my blog and heard from other people about how into you I am.”
“So what did you say to him?”
“I don’t remember really,” Marissa said. “Something like ‘What’re you talking about?’ And he was like ‘You want to know what he said to me the other night?’ He being you. So then he said it was when he kept bothering me at the bar and you went over to talk to him, you know, the night we met. He said you said to him that if you didn’t leave me alone you were going to cut off his dick and feed it to him.”
Marissa smiled, trying to show how ridiculous she thought the whole thing was, but Xan remained deadpan and said, “You didn’t believe him, did you?”
“Of course I didn’t believe it. I knew he was just saying it to upset me, but that makes it even more disturbing because he was trying to upset me at my mother’s funeral.”
“What I told him was that he was causing a scene and he should leave the club before the bouncer kicked him out.”
“Yeah, I know, I figured you said something totally innocuous like that. But can you believe how pathetic Darren is that he’d actually make something like that up?… Is it hot in here?”
“I don’t think so,” Xan said. “Have some more soda.”
Marissa drank some more, then said, “I feel a little dizzy.”
“Want me to open a window?”
“Yeah, can you? Maybe it’s talking about Darren, it’s getting me sick.” Xan opened one of the windows. The breeze felt good.
“I’m sorry if I upset you,” Marissa said. “I knew it was ridiculous, but I just wanted to tell you.”
“I’m not upset at all.” He sat back down next to her. “Feeling any better?”
“No, not really. I didn’t eat yet today, that’s probably it.”
“Drink some more soda, that’ll help.”
She took a few sips, then said, “It’s so weird.”
“What is?”
“I don’t know.” She felt very disoriented. “Just how my father and Darren are picking on you, of all people. You’re the best thing in my life right now. Honestly… I don’t know what I’d do without you… Wow, I feel really dizzy.”
“Here,” he said. “Lean on me.”
It was hard to see clearly. She wasn’t sure where she was.
She was looking at a painting. It was very red.
Everything had been going great for Johnny until that damn dog started barking at him. He couldn’t believe it when he left the house with Marissa and saw the woman walking the mutt. She had to be walking it right then? What were the odds? He was hoping the dog wouldn’t notice him, but no luck there. As soon he saw Johnny, he went after him, like he wanted to bite his head off.
The woman struggled, pulling on the leash with both hands like she was trying to win a game of tug- of- war. Walking away down the sidewalk, Marissa said to Johnny, “That was so weird. I’ve known Blackie for years and I’ve never seen him get like that before.”
“I know, it’s always been that way for me with dogs,” Johnny said, trying to make it into a joke. “I think they think I smell like a cat or something.” He was hoping that Marissa would forget about the whole damn dog thing and that no one else would make any connection about it either.
But what was that old saying, bad things come in threes? Well, number two was when she got the phone call from her father. She went into the kitchen area to talk to him, but Johnny, sitting on his couch, heard the whole conversation- well, her part of it, anyway- and it was enough to tell him that something else had gone wrong. Her father wouldn’t have gotten suspicious about him for no reason, and it sounded like the police believed her father, which was even worse. Johnny wondered if there was something he’d overlooked, some evidence he’d left behind or something.
Johnny wasn’t about to take any chances. He wasn’t going to just hang out in his apartment and hope the cops didn’t show up to bust him. No, Johnny wasn’t a gambling man, especially when it came to the safety of his own ass. He knew he wasn’t above screwing up and getting caught, and he was smart enough to know that sometimes shit happens that you can’t control, which was why he always had a backup plan- and not just a plan B. He had plans C, D, E, and F, too.
It was a good sign that Marissa hadn’t told her father where Johnny lived. The name Xan Evonov wouldn’t help the cops out, and it would probably take days for them to figure out that his real name was Johnny Long; by then he’d be long gone, living under a new name, somewhere far away from New York. Although he would have to give up the fantasy of living in the Blooms’ house, he could still get all the money and still watch Adam Bloom die in pain. Hey, like Meatloaf says, “Two out of three ain’t bad.”
When Marissa ended the call with her father, Johnny made sure she’d turned her phone off. It was an iPhone, and he knew those had GPS. He didn’t know how badly the cops wanted to talk to him, but he didn’t want to take any chances that they’d try to track him down by tracing Marissa’s phone. Next, he needed to subdue Marissa, so when he poured her a glass of Coke he slipped a roofie into it. Johnny occasionally had to drug the women he hustled, so he always had plenty of Rohypnol and chloroform on hand. He only used drugs to rob women, though, never to rape them. Every woman Johnny had ever seduced had gone to bed with him willingly. Johnny knew that rape was the worst thing you could possibly due to a person; murder was a favor compared to rape. When you kill somebody, they’re gone, they’re done feeling pain. But when you rape somebody, the pain goes on and on. Besides, he didn’t want to scar his record as a Casanova. Someday, when somebody wrote a book about him, or they made a movie, or movies, when Johnny Long became a legend, he didn’t want to be like those athletes who were caught using ste roids. He didn’t want there to be any doubts about his achievements.
When Marissa passed out, Johnny carried her to his bed and tied her up and taped her mouth shut. Yeah, he had the rope and tape ready- you always had to be prepared. He made sure her nose wasn’t covered by the tape and she was breathing. He needed to keep her alive, for a little while anyway.
He went out, stole a Toyota, and parked it in front of his building. He’d been gone less than an hour, and Marissa was still unconscious. He went around his apartment and packed a backpack with clothes, toiletries, and whatever else he could fit into it. He was bummed that he’d have to leave his Bloodworks behind. He hoped when the landlord cleaned out the place he was smart enough to save the paintings, or at least give them to some gallery or art dealer. When Johnny Long became the world’s most famous Casanova, how much would those pictures go for? A few hundred thousand each? More? Yeah, probably.
When it got dark out, Johnny untied Marissa and removed the tape from her mouth, she moaned when he did this but remained unconscious. Then he walked her- well,really carried her- out of the apartment and down the stairs to the street. It was perfect because if anyone noticed it would look like she was drunk and he was helping her get home.
He had her in the car, ready to go, but he couldn’t bear to leave the paintings. He rushed back up and took all six of the Bloodworks. They wouldn’t fit in the trunk but were just barely able to fit in the backseat area, thank God. He couldn’t think of anything else he needed and, with Marissa passed out next to him, he headed happily out of the city.