“I let a guy hit me so I could beat him up,” said Bob. He sneaked a glance at her, as though checking to see how she took this.
“I see. And what happened to him?”
“I think they took him to the hospital. If my colleagues hadn’t stopped me, I believe I might even have killed him.”
“Jesus. What had he done?”
“He complained that I’d fucked his wife.”
Liza didn’t respond.
“I have an anger management problem,” said Bob. “And I have…other problems too.”
“O…K…” she said, drawing out the syllables.
“Here is when I ask if you’d like to meet for a coffee one day,” he said. “And you should answer no.”
“Then I say no.”
He nodded. “Smart girl. Sleep tight.”
“You too.” She opened the car door. Was about to step out. Stopped. “Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“You shouldn’t try to just fuck her out of your head. Your ex, I mean.”
He licked his lips, as though tasting the thought. “You sure about that?”
“Yes. You shouldn’t drag other people down with you when you’re sinking.”
She could see he was about to say something, try to be funny. But then it was as though he felt a sudden jolt and his face twisted in pain. That was definitely not something he used on women, and she felt an urge to reach out and stroke the bruise on his forehead. Instead she climbed out of the car. Then turned back to look inside.
“Thanks for the ride, Bob.”
“Well, thankyou.See you soon.”
“Okay. But not…”
“Not?”
“I meant what I said about not meeting for a coffee. All right? I don’t want any campaign.”
He gave a big smile. “I hear you, Liza.”
She shut the door and headed toward the house. Knew he was watching her. Then she heard the car drive off.
12
Hanson, October 2016
After saying goodnight to Kjos, Olav Hanson crossed the parking lot. Looked at his watch, a present from a time long gone. Already he regretted drinking those three beers. Or had it been four? In the first place there was the risk of being stopped, and he knew that one day he would meet some eager young policeman who would not be influenced by the fact that the man in the car he stopped was a fellow officer. There was a new generation coming up now, one that didn’t respect the old rules. In the second place, Violet would moan. Women were like dogs, the smaller they were, the more noise they made. But then Violet was one of the reasons he needed these few hours to himself after work, either in a bar or down by the river with his fishing rod. How had he ended up with her? Shouldn’t he have seen the warning signs when she said straight out that she wouldn’t have Sean—Olav’s adult son from his first marriage—in the house? She hadn’t been willingto listen to Olav’s explanation that Sean had certain difficulties, she made him choose, her or his son, no discussion. So he’d made his choice. The wrong one. The way he’d gotten it wrong twice, with two different women. As he walked Olav had to laugh. Bad choices, wasn’t that the story of his life? With the start in life he had, he should have owned the world by now. If not for a bad knee and a wrong choice made over thirty years ago now. He’d never been caught, but there had been rumors back then. Enough that it was convenient to hop over him the next time a pawn was due for promotion.
Then, of course, it was more opportune to give a leg up to someone like Kay Myers. Female, black, probably lesbian too—the bosses could tick all the diversity boxes there. Diversity,my ass,meaning that now white heterosexual men had to work twice as hard to achieve the same results. But that wasn’t what had tripped up Olav Hanson, he’d done that himself. And everything was due to a single moment of weakness, one single bad decision he’d made thirty years earlier. Did he regret it? Of course he did, but once you’ve let the genie out of the bottle…Sure, he’d gotten out before the train really left the tracks. And in days to come there would be times when he regretted that too. Regretted not going down in style. Instead, the daily regret and the humiliation of suspicion and the bitterness consumed him, reducing the giant he’d once been to a man even a hag like his wife thought she could talk down to.
Olav pulled out the keys to the Ford Mustang. Not that they would help him find a car that was so old you still had to use a key to lock it and start it. Back when he’d bought it and paid in cash it had been a beauty. Back in the days when he could pay for dinners and vacations, and Violet thought he was a helluva guy.
A figure ghosted out from between two cars.
