Secret Prey

. . .’’ The half a glass of vodka was brightening the world, right along with the phone calls. ‘‘We’ve got some planning to do.’’
    O’DELL CAME AND WENT.
    Bone came and went.
    McDonald went up to the bedroom, found a bottle of scotch he’d hidden in the closet, ripped off the top and took a long pull. ‘‘Jesus fuckin’ Christ,’’ he bellowed. ‘‘What’s wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong?’’
    Audrey cowered in the doorway. ‘‘Are they right? Are they right, Wilson?’’ She’d been back to the lazy Susan, this time for a full glass of the vodka.
    ‘‘That motherfucking Brandt, that traitor,’’ McDonald screamed. He took another long pull at the bottle, two swallows, three, four. When he took the bottle down, he seemed stunned. ‘‘How could the fuckers do that?’’
    And suddenly he was blubbering, his face red as a stop sign, the bottle hanging by his side.
    ‘‘Call your father,’’ Audrey offered. ‘‘Maybe he—’’
    ‘‘Fuck that old asshole,’’ McDonald screamed. ‘‘I’m dying. I’m fucking dying.’’ He began pulling at his shirt and when it came off, threw it in a wad on the floor. Audrey retreated to the hall, saw him trot into the bathroom, heard the water start in the oversized tub. A moment later, his trousers flew out the door, followed by his shorts.
    ‘‘Wilson, we really don’t have time for this. We’ve got to get ourselves together. Just because they said—’’
    ‘‘They were right, you stupid fuckin’ cow,’’ McDonald screamed. And he ran out of the bathroom, nude now, his penis bobbing up and down like a crab apple on a windy day. ‘‘I’m gone. I’m out of it. I’m dead in the fuckin’ water . . .’’
    He spun around, looking for booze, found it in his hand. He was already drunk: he’d finished half a fifth downstairs before he ran up to get the new bottle. Audrey, desperate, tried to rein him in. O’Dell and Bone couldn’t be right. The job couldn’t be gone. He couldn’t be out of it.
    ‘‘Maybe O’Dell’s offer, the chairmanship . . .’’
    ‘‘I’d be out of there in a month,’’ he shouted. ‘‘I’d be nothing . . .’’
    ‘‘Wilson, I think if we—’’
    ‘‘And you, you bitch.’’ McDonald turned, his small eyes going flat as he moved toward her. ‘‘You sure as shit didn’t do anything to help. We’ve got some planning to do ,’’ he mimicked, quoting her from early in the evening. ‘‘ We’ve got yellow pads to fill up . . . And then they waltz in and tell me I’m done.’’
    ‘‘They’re wrong.’’
    ‘‘Shut up,’’ he bellowed, and he hit her, open-handed. The blow picked her up, smashed her head against the doorjamb, and she went down, dazed, tried to crawl away. ‘‘You fuckin’ come back here, you’re gonna answer for this.’’ He kicked her in the buttock, and she went down on her stomach. He stopped, nearly fell, caught himself, grabbed one of her feet and dragged her toward the bedroom.
    ‘‘Wilson,’’ she screamed. She rolled and tried to hold on to the carpet, then the doorjamb. ‘‘Don’t, please don’t.’’ Tried to distract him ‘‘Wilson, we’ve got to work.’’
    ‘‘Shut up,’’ he screamed again, and he dropped her foot and grabbed the front of her blouse. Made powerful by the booze, he picked her bodily off the floor and hurled her at a wall. She hit with a flat smack and went down again. ‘‘Crazy fuckin’ bitch . . .’’ he mumbled, and he took another pull at the bottle. ‘‘When I get fuckin’ finished with you, you won’t be able to fuckin’ crawl . . .’’

TWELVE

    VERY EARLY IN THE MORNING. COLD, DAMP, WITH THE sense that frost was sparkling off exposed skin.
    Loring wore a suit that was almost exactly lime green, with a yellow silk shirt and tan alligator shoes, and a beige ankle-length plains duster, worn open. On someone else, the outfit might have looked strange. On Loring, who was slightly larger than a Buick, it was frightening.
    ‘‘Now just take it easy in there,’’ Loring rasped. ‘‘ Everything is cool with everybody.’’
    They were in an alley on the south side, walking toward a clapboard garage with silvered windows. ‘‘Whose garage?’’ Lucas asked.
    ‘‘A friend of Cotina’s. The guy’s straight, they rode together before Cotina got wild. He’s the only guy in Minneapolis that Cotina knew who’d loan them a spot to meet with the cops.’’
    ‘‘Could’ve