BLOOD ON THE MOON
165
You may have an attorney present and you will receive full pay until our investigation is settled.”
Lloyd dropped the phone to the bed. So it ends, he thought. The final decision: They couldn’t and wouldn’t believe him, so they had to silence him. The final irony: They didn’t love him the way he had loved them. The fulfillment of his Irish Protestant ethos would cost him his badge. Noticing a small backyard through the bedroom window, Lloyd walked outside. Rows of daisies growing out of loosely packed dirt and a makeshift clothesline greeted him. He knelt down and plucked a daisy, then smelled it and ground it under his heel. Teddy Verplanck would probably not give up without a fight. He would have to kill him, which would mean never knowing why. Some sort of explanation from Whitey Haines had to be his first step, and if Verplanck took it into his mind to kill or flee while he was drumming a confession out of Haines he—
The sound of weeping interrupted Lloyd’s thoughts. He walked back into the bedroom. Kathleen was standing over her bed, replacing the glass encased flowers in the oakwood box. She brushed tears out of her eyes as she worked, not even noticing his presence. Lloyd stared at her face; it was the most grief-stricken visage he had ever seen.
He walked to her side. Kathleen shrieked when his shadow eclipsed her. Her hands flew to her face and she started to back away; then recognition hit and she threw herself into Lloyd’s arms. “There was a burglar,” she whimpered. “He wanted to hurt my special things.”
Lloyd held Kathleen tightly; it felt like grasping the loose ends of a trance. He rocked her head back and forth until she murmured, “My Baris- tonians,” and shook herself free of his embrace and reached for the yearbooks scattered on the floor. Her desperate ruffling of pages angered Lloyd, and he said, “You could have gotten duplicates. It wouldn’t have been much trouble. But you’re going to have to rid yourself of them. They’re killing you. Can’t you see that?”
Kathleen came all the way out of her trance. “What are you talking about?” she said, looking up at Lloyd. “Are . . . Are you the one who broke in and hurt my things? My flowers? Are you?” Lloyd reached for her hands, but she yanked them away. “Tell me, goddamnit!”
“Yes,” Lloyd said.
Kathleen looked at her yearbooks, then back at Lloyd. “You animal,” she hissed. “You want to hurt me through my precious things.” She clenched her hands into fists and hurled them at him. Lloyd let the ineffectual blows 166
L.A. NOIR
glance off his chest and shoulders. When she saw that she was inflicting no damage, Kathleen grabbed a brick bookend and flung it at his head. The edge caught Lloyd’s neck. Kathleen gasped and recoiled from the act. Lloyd wiped off a trickle of blood and held it up for her to see. “I’m proud of you,” he said. “Do you want to be with me?”
Kathleen looked into his eyes and saw madness and power and harrowing need. Not knowing what to say, she took his hand. He cradled her to him and closed the door and turned off the light.
They undressed in the semidarkness. Kathleen kept her back to Lloyd. She pulled off her dress and stepped out of her pantyhose, afraid that another look at his eyes would prevent her from consummating this rite of passage. When they were nude they fell onto the bed and into each other’s arms. They embraced fiercely, joined at odd places, her chin locked in his breastbone, his feet twisted into her ankles, her wrists bearing into his bloody neck. Soon they were coiled into one force and the pressure of their interlocking limbs forced them to separate as they began to go numb and lightheaded. In perfect synchronization they created a space between themselves, offering the most tentative of overtures to close that gap, a stroking of arms and shoulder blades and stomachs; caresses so light that soon they ceased to touch flesh and the space between them became the object of their love.
Lloyd began to see pure white light in the space, growing in and around and out of Kathleen. He drifted into the permutations of that light, and all the forms that came to him spoke of joy and kindness. He was still adrift when he felt Kathleen’s hand between his legs, urging him to grow hard and fill the light-hallowed void between their bodies. Brief panic set in, but when she whispered, “Please, I need you,” he followed her lead and violated the light and entered her and moved inside her until the light dissipated and they coiled and peaked together and he knew that it was blood he expelled; and then awful noise wrenched him from her, and she said very softly as he twisted into the bedcovers, “Hush, darling. Hush. It’s just the stereo next door. It’s not here. I’m here.”
Lloyd dug into the pillows until he found silence. He felt Kathleen’s hands stroking his back and turned around to face her. Her head was surrounded by floating amber halos. He reached up and stroked her hair, and the halos scattered into light. He watched them disappear and said, “I . . . I think I came blood.”
Kathleen laughed. “No, it’s just my period. Do you mind?”