Archive for the ‘Post 3.1’ Category

Saturday, March 24, 11:42 p.m.

In my haste to flee Jack’s house, I scrawl my cell phone number on one of my business cards, thrust it at his crazy, bleeding daughter, and flee. I never expect to hear from him again, though I still have his driver’s license, keys, and cigarettes.

Jack calls my cell phone late that night. Very late.

“Hello?” I answer.



“Hey. It’s me.”

I do not feel that Jack and I, after one whole interview—albeit a drunken one on his part—are on an “it’s me” basis.

Nevertheless, I know that it’s him the instant I hear his alcohol-addled voice.

“Hi, Jack. Where were you this afternoon?”

“Starbucks. In Ballard.”

“How original.”


“Lucy said you were getting coffee.”

“I was. At Starbucks.”

“For an hour and a half,” I accuse wife-ishly, though I’m not his wife.

“Harry Dekins asked me,” he says.

Ah, Harry Dekins, the quotable coroner!

“Nice,” I say. “So, you want your car keys and stuff back?”

“Can we talk? Like the other night?

“Like the other night?”

Jack lets out a long sigh that vibrates my cell phone against my ear.

“Please,” he says. “Just for a couple minutes.”

“Okay,” I say, sitting on the uncomfortable futon in the uncomfortable ground floor of my home. My husband is upstairs, where it’s warm and well furnished. He’s killing trolls or something in World of Warcraft, fancy gamer headphones covering his ears and rendering him deaf.

“What do you want to talk about?” I say.

Jack sighs again, blowing my impatience away.

“I don’t know,” he says.

“Are you drunk right now?” I say.

“I’ve had a little bit.”

“How much?”

“A couple screwdrivers.”


“Mostly vodka. Less screw,” he says.

“Do you mind if I tape this?” I say. “For both of our protection?”

“Why? This is a social call.”

“Not for me,” I say.

“Why not?”

“Jack, we’re not social that way. We don’t know each other. I’m turning on my recorder. Okay? Jack? Okay?”