He took the glass. His prints wouldn’t matter. In fact, all the better that they show up on a glass. Nice, companionable drink with a friend. Not trying to hide a thing.
“So, what’s wrong with your father?”
“He’s an anal-retentive, stiff-necked, disapproving asshole.”
“A little harsh, seeing as he’s dying.”
“What?” Trevor cursed himself as he remembered. “Being dead doesn’t change what he is. I’m not playing the hypocrite over it. Sorry he’s sick and all that, but I’ve got to live my own life. Old man’s already had his, such as it is.”
“Jesus.” With a half laugh, Dix drank. “That’s cold. I’ve got issues with my father. Hell, who doesn’t? But I can’t imagine just shrugging it off if I knew he was going to kick. Pretty young for taking the slide, isn’t he?” He squinted as he tried to remember. “Can’t have hit even seventy yet. Guy’s just cruising into his prime.”
“He hasn’t ever been prime.” Because it amused him, Trevor spun out the tale. Lying was nearly as fun as cheating, and cheating came very close to stealing. Killing didn’t give quite the same rush. It was so damn messy. It was more of a needs-to-be-done kind of chore. But he was beginning to believe he’d enjoy ending Dix.
“Some genetic deal,” he decided. “His mother passed it to him. Son of a bitch probably passed it to me. Some brain virus or happy shit. He’ll go loony before he kicks. We’ll have to put him away in some plush cage for mental defectives.”
“God, Trevor, that’s really rough.” A glimmer of the man Samantha Gannon had enjoyed eked through the haze of gin. “I’m sorry. Really sorry. Look, forget the money. I didn’t know it was something like this. I wouldn’t feel right taking money for the loan when you’ve got all this on your head. Just to keep it clean, I’ll draw up a paper, a receipt, but I can’t take any money for it.”
“That’s big of you, Chad.” It got better and better. “I don’t want to trade on sympathy.”
“Look, forget it. Your father’s got a sentimental attachment to the piece, I get that. I’m the same way myself. I couldn’t enjoy owning it if I thought about him being upset, under the circumstances, that it was sold off. When, ah, the rest of the collection comes to you, and you want to unload any of it, just keep me in mind.”
“That’s a promise. Hate to cut this short, but I really should get moving.”
“Oh, sure.” Dix drained the last of his drink, set the glass aside. “Come on back to the display room. You know, the reason I took this apartment was for this room. The space, the light. Samantha used to say I was obsessed.”
“She’s your ex, what do you care what she used to say?”
“Miss her sometimes. Haven’t found anyone else who interests me half as much as she did. Talk about obsessions.” He stopped, blocking the doorway. “She got so wrapped up in that book she couldn’t think about anything else. Didn’t want to go out, barely noticed if I was around. And what’s the big deal? Just a rehash of family stories, and that bullshit about diamonds. Who cares? Could it be more yesterday?”
Yes, Trevor thought, it would be a pleasure to kill this tedious moron. “You never know what’ll juice the unwashed masses.”
“You’re telling me. The thing’s selling like it was the new Word of the Lord. You were pretty interested,” he remembered. “Did you ever read that copy I passed you?”
“Scanned through it.” Another reason to snip this thread, he reminded himself. And quickly. “It wasn’t as compelling as I’d thought it would be. Like you said, it’s yesterday. I’m a little pressed for time now, Chad.”
“Sorry, sidetracked.” He turned toward the wide etched-glass door. Through it Trevor could see the floating shelves, the glossy black cabinets all lined or filled with antique toys and games. “Keep it locked and passcoded. Don’t trust the cleaning service.”
The lock light continued to blink red, and the computer’s voice informed him he’d entered an incorrect passcode.
“That’s what I get on three martinis. Hold on a sec.”
He reentered while Trevor stood vibrating behind him. He’d spotted the shining yellow bulldozer, parked blade-up on a wide, floating shelf.
“You’re going to need a box for it,” Dix commented as he rekeyed. “I keep some stored in the utility closet off the kitchen. Some padding there, too.”
He paused, leaned on the glass door until Trevor imagined bashing his head