Page 59 of Edge of Ruin
“Gloat?” John cut off the guy’s babbling. “Why would he gloat?”
Wilder made an impatient sound. “Oh, he and Viv are old friends,” he said. “I think Siebling wanted to rub it in about her new boyfriend. As if I gave a shit who that stupid, no-talent bitch fucks. She could do dogs and pigs for all I care.”
New boyfriend? Fucking dogs and pigs? A hot, red glow began to obscure John’s vision. His hands clenched. Boyfriend. So, it was true. Vivien, too. A slut, just like her slut sisters. He pictured her writhing and begging, taking it in every hole. And, all the while, laughing at him. Mocking him.
Brian had shrunk back against the door, hands up, and his voice was a breathless babble that John cut off. “What’s the name of the new boyfriend?”
“Like I know, or care,” Wilder said. “Some big redneck farmer clod.”
John immediately pictured the raw-boned, thick-necked guy, naked but for a John Deere cap, fucking Vivien from behind. She was bent over a bale of hay, squealing with delight at each savage poke, and looking up at John, that pink mouth open and panting, eyes bright with lust and malicious glee. Calling John a tub of lard. A big, dumb fuck.
Punish. He had to punish someone. Had to calm the screaming inside him. The wild hurricane wind. It wanted something. Tidal waves, atom bombs rigged to blow, hammers crushing. Had to be appeased.
Punish. Now.
“You must have Siebling’s number in your office files,” he said. Wilder looked blank. “I, ah, don’t think so.”
“But you’re not sure, hmm?” John picked up the bunch of keys and shoved them into Wilder’s limp hand. “Let’s go check.”
“I really ... uh ... I don’t think that would be a good?—”
“Let’s ... go … check!” John hissed the last word, a sharp, silibant punch that made Wilder cringe against the door.
“Ah, um, whatever.” Wilder unlocked the door with hands that shook. “But I’m sure it’s useless.”
“We’ll see,” John said. Blood roared in his ears.
The place was dark, but Wilder flipped an all the big hanging banks of lights that hung from the high ceiling. He muttered as John followed him through the main gallery. They passed tables, one of which had several bottles half full of white and red wine, and trays of food with silver brocade cloth napkins flung over them.
Wilder’s nervous prattle came briefly into focus, like a radio tuning into an elusive frequency. “... useless cunt didn’t even finish cleaning up the food,” he said. “I’m kicking her scrawny little Italian ass tomorrow. If we get rats, it’s her fault.”
He started up the staircase, shooting nervous little looks over his shoulder. As if he thought John was going to play grab-ass with him.
But Wilder’s ass did not appeal to him. And it would take a lot more than that to calm the screaming, the pounding, the roar inside him. It was like a hurricane.
He followed Wilder all the way around the upper balcony level of the gallery, to the lavish office in the back. Wilder unlocked the door, and pushed it open, blocking the door with his body. “Ah, one moment,” he said. “Wait here. I’ll check that address for you.”
Not in this universe, you little squeaking shitbird. John smiled and followed him in.
Wilder rolled his eyes and scurried to his desk. He clicked and tapped on the laptop and shook his head. Too quickly.
“Sorry, no Rafael Siebling here,” he said. “Can’t help you.”
“Look again,” John said.
The guy looked miffed. As if he were way too important to perform such a basic, simple favor for John as looking in an address file. As if he were better than John.
He was giving him that look. The look that said, “You big, dumb fuck.”
John began walking toward the desk. Wilder turned gray. Then he scrambled to punch Siebling’s name into the search engine.
“Ah! Here it is!” His voice sounded passionately relieved. “I don’t have his personal number, but here is his gallery’s home site. I’ll just print out this page for you.”
The printer’s buttons lit up. It hummed and then spat out a sheet of paper. Wilder grabbed it and handed it to John with a teeth-clenched smile. “See? Address, phone number, email, and website address. So glad to be of help. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another appointment that I’m already late for.”
John glanced at his watch. 2:39 A.M. “At this hour? No shit.”
Wilder yanked the door open. “Don’t want to keep her waiting. You know. Women.” That genial tone, that world-weary smile irritated the shit out of John. Condescending to him. You big, dumb fuck.
