“Hey, that reminds me.” Loren snaps his fingers and turns to Sammie. “I go visit your old buddy Seever sometimes—he loves to run his mouth, and there’s not very many people who go see him these days. He’s got this list of visitors, you know, Seever had to okay it, the judge had to approve. They can’t just let anyone in to visit that jerk-off. I’m on it. Hoskins is too. His wife, his lawyer. And you’re on it. Samantha Peterson. Now, why would you be on the list, even after all these years?”
“I don’t know,” Sammie says. But she does have a good idea—it was Dan Corbin who called Seever’s lawyer and got her put on the visitor list years before, thinking that she’d go out and visit, get a few quotes directly from Seever. It’d been a hassle to do, Dan had made sure to tell her. Lots of red tape, documents to sign. But she could never bring herself to visit, didn’t think she could stomach it. She hadn’t realized she was still on the list, but it’s something she can use to her advantage. Pay Seever a visit, get a direct quote from him. Access to Seever could open up all kinds of doors.
“From the way Seever was talking about you, I think he was hoping you’d come by for a conjugal visit.”
“Shut up,” she says, meaning to sound vicious, but instead her voice is too high pitched, they can probably hear the lie in her voice. She looks down, fiddles with her car key.
“Sounds like you and Seever had some good times,” Loren says. He isn’t going to let this pass, he’s going to keep picking at it like a scab. God, she hates him, standing there in his Seever getup, grinning like a fool. “He’s got some good memories of you saved up in his spank bank.”
“I didn’t think Seever would give you the time of day anymore,” Hoskins says to Loren. “And now you’re visiting him out at the prison?”
A slow smile blooms on Loren’s face.
“We’re good friends,” he says. “We have ourselves some nice, long chats. He’ll talk to anyone who’ll listen these days. About what he did, what he’d like to do. About her.”
“Stop,” Sammie says.
“Does it turn you on to see me looking like this?” Loren says, brushing off his shoulder. “Is that why you’re blushing? Getting all hot and bothered at the sight of your old fuck buddy?”
Sammie looks at him, horrified, and he drops a wink, slow and somehow indecent.
“What the hell is going on?” Hoskins asks, looking back and forth between the two of them. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, you didn’t know?” Loren asks. “I can’t believe she never told you. Of course, you might’ve thought twice about banging her if you’d known.”
“Known what?”
“Well, Jacky Seever knows Sammie pretty well. Biblically, you might say.”
“What?” Hoskins says, but she can already see the realization dawning on his face, slowly creeping in. He looks the way people do when they get bad news, when they’re told someone they love has died. The knowledge comes slowly, and then all at once, like an avalanche pouring down the side of a mountain.
“Seever and Sammie used to come together to perform acts of sexual congress. They were boinking. Shagging. Fucking. Whatever you want to call it.”
“Is that true?” Hoskins asks, looking at her, and it doesn’t matter what she says, he already believes it. And the worst of it isn’t the truth—it’s the look on Hoskins’s face, the horror of the truth. She cringes away from the way he’s staring at her—like she’s dog shit stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
“It was a long time ago,” she says weakly. “When I worked for him.”
“Don’t worry, Paulie,” Loren says. “She was boning Seever long before you came around. But I’ve heard that when you have sex with someone, it’s like you’re going to bed with everyone they’ve ever fucked. Isn’t that gross? Imagine rolling around with Seever’s naked body pressed up against you. God, that makes my stomach turn.”
“Black told me to come here and help, not to listen to your shit,” Hoskins says, pushing past her and Loren, heading for the back of the house. “I’ll meet you inside.”
There are others back there, she can hear their voices, low and hushed, because it’s dark outside, it’s getting late, and they’re trying to be mindful of the neighbors, even in the face of a murder investigation.
“Don’t worry. Paulie’s a big boy,” Loren says, watching Hoskins walk away. “He’ll get over it.”
“You’re such a bastard,” she says.
“And you shouldn’t be here.”
“Why’re you dressed up like Seever?” Sammie asks. “What’s going on?”
Loren looks down, as if he’d forgotten about the suit he was wearing.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he says, pulling the silver watch from its pocket and swinging it jauntily on the chain. “Maybe you would like a ride on the ol’ baloney-pony, so I can pass the story on to Seever? Let him do some vicarious living before he meets his maker?”
“Go to hell.”
“And you should go home.”
“I came to talk to Hoskins. I’m not leaving until I do.”