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"How do you feel?"
I nipped down yet another double scotch and reached for a refill. My Bobby was
struggling hard to keep up. I was sweating like a sow, and feeling the chill
in the winds off the Bay. "A little cold," I said. "It's windy. You want to go
inside?"
I tried to put an appropriate leer in my voice.
She nodded. "Of course. I don't want you to get sick."
"No, me neither," I said.
Inside meant only one thing. I wondered how she would do it.
#
I took both her and the bottle to bed.
"Do you have to do that while we -- "
"I like to drink. Do you mind?"
"Yes!"
"Sorry." I placed the bottle on a nightstand where it was handy. Then I rolled
over and put my arms around her. It was almost the hardest thing I've done in
my life. Almost. The next thing would be the hardest.
I was in her when she came into me. It was very neatly done. Even though I was
expecting something, it took me by surprise. Our sweaty tangle winked out and
I stood in a different place.
It was a tall room with broad, open doorways at one end. Long, silky curtains
swirled in a soft breeze. I
smelled magnolias, and wondered whose memory this was.
There was a great faceted chandelier overhead. It glowed softly and cast a
thousand shadows. Mirrors lined the walls, doors into forever.
He turned from the windows and walked over to me.
Tall man with hunter's eyes, the eyes of a wolf or a hawk. Dark hair combed
straight back. Good shoulders. He walked with a heavy inevitability, graceful
and ponderous. He was comfortable with his body, with his life. With his
unmeasurable power.
He smiled. "You've Changed," he said.
"You noticed?"
"Of course. Did you think you could hide it from me?"
I shrugged.
He moved closer. "Have you figured it out yet?"
I nodded. "I think so. I was awfully stupid, wasn't I?"
"Not really. It was difficult if you weren't a Changer. You adapted quickly.
It was a surprise."
I remembered our first meeting. "Did you plan for me? Is that why you crashed
the limo there?"
His eyebrows rose. "Plan for you? Of course not. You showed up. I decided you
would do as well as anybody."
So he'd just played it by ear. Arrogant. But then, he would be arrogant. "What
happened to Oscar
Verrazano?"
He paused. "Who?"
"You lie. The chauffeur. What happened to him?"
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He shook his head slightly, puzzled. "He died. In the wreck."
I sighed. "No, he didn't. I don't know when he died, or if he did, but it
wasn't in the wreck. How did you get his template? Did he help you? Work with
you?"
"You know quite a bit, don't you?" An ugly sheen ghosted across his face. "But
how do you know it?"
I sighed. "I don't know this. That's why I'm asking. As for the rest, it
didn't take that much. Not after I
thought about it. You gave me a Bobby. Drank with me, had sex with me. A
Changer, and me a bum.
There had to be a reason. Then I Changed and got on the Net. Read the family
history. Why would
Marie want me? And want me Changed? No reason. Unless she wasn't Marie. I
learned that was possible. But if Marie wasn't Marie, then who was she? The
best candidate was somebody close to her.
Real close. And guess who that was?" I paused. "It's funny. I couldn't have
figured it out without being
Changed and getting on the Net. Learning what Changers could really do.
Changers change, Teddy. The templates are mental and physical. Once I realized
that, the rest was easy." I stared at him. "You couldn't get what you wanted
without Changing me. So you cut your own filthy throat. Don't you think that's
kind of funny?"
"Ah. Cut my throat, Chandler? I think not. But you want answers?" His voice
was thick with scorn. "Why not? You won't be telling anybody. I had
Verrazano's template made through the Net, of course.
Through his hardwiring. And yes, he helped."
I quit feeling sorry for Oscar Verrazano, wherever he was. Probably living in
luxury on a tropical island somewhere. Or buried under it. Teddy could afford
either one. "Why, Teddy? Do you miss her that
much?"
And then his urbane mask collapsed, and the madness behind it peeked out
slyly. His voice seemed to stretch, and tiny whining sounds vibrated along it.
"She wanted it to end. After sixty years she wanted it to end. I loved her,
Chandler. You could never understand."
"No, I suppose I couldn't. I did a little research. It has been that long,
hasn't it? Since her mother left you.
The scandal. Child molestation, wasn't it? But you managed to hush it up.
Jesus, Teddy, she was only twelve years old. You never even gave her a
chance."
"She loved me!"
"Oh, I'm sure little Marie did. All little girls love their fathers. But she
finally stopped, didn't she? And so you killed her. You're a sick mess, aren't
you?"
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