按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
ed medicine and washed it down with Bombay gin。 Some nights she was the happiest person on the planet； a joy to behold。 And some nights she was a skank monster； violent and paranoid and gun…crazy。 Twilly had never known a woman so fond of handguns。 Lucy owned several； mostly semi…automatics。 〃My father was a policeman；〃 she would say by way of explanation。 Whenever Twilly came across one of Lucy's firearms； he would secretly take it from the house and throw it down a nearby manhole。 But she always seemed to have another at the ready； where she hid all those guns was a mystery。 Sometimes she shot at the telephone； sometimes it was the television。 Once she shot the bagel toaster while Twilly was fixing breakfast。 Another time she shot out her personal puter because one of her drug connections had e…mailed to say he was out of Percocet。 That was the same afternoon she ran next door and shot her neighbor's scarlet macaw for squawking during her naptime （Lucy needed lots of naps）。 The police took Lucy downtown but no charges were filed； since she promptly reimbursed the grief…stricken bird owner and agreed to undergo counseling。 There the therapists found Lucy to be a model of stability…engaging and self…aware and repentant。 Happy； too。 One of the happiest patients they'd ever seen。 But of course they didn't have to live with her。
To Lucy's credit； she never purposely tried to shoot Twilly； although on several occasions she nearly hit him by accident。 For all her vast gun…handling experience； she was a surprisingly lousy shot。 Yet during fourteen hair…raising weeks under the same roof； Twilly's fear of taking a bullet was outweighed by his neck…nuzzling lust。 It was； he realized later； another appalling example of his own deficient judgment。
Twilly never knew which Lucy was ing through the front door until he leaned down to kiss her neck； which was the first thing he always did。 If it was Happy Lucy； she would sigh and press close against him。 If it was Bipolar Lucy； she would shove him away and beeline for the medicine cabinet； and then the gin。 Later a loaded handgun or two might appear。 Most boyfriends would have wisely bolted after the first drunken shooting episode； but Twilly stayed。 He was infatuated with the Happy Lucy。 He truly believed he could mend her。 Whenever Bipolar Lucy surfaced； Twilly declined to do the sensible thing； which was run like a scalded gerbil。 Instead he hovered at the scene； endeavoring to soothe and coax and municate。 He was always trying to talk Lucy down； he dearly wanted to be the one to catch her when she fell。 And that's how he nearly died。
Lucy worked at an acupuncture clinic； keeping the books。 One day the doctor caught her in an error…a minor mathematical transposition that resulted in a 3。60 overstatement of the accounts receivable。 The doctor made a remark that Lucy deemed unfairly harsh； and she arrived home in a moist…eyed fury that told Twilly she'd stopped for cocktails and toot along the way。 For once he knew better than to attempt a neck nuzzle。 Lucy disappeared into the bathroom and emerged five minutes later； naked； with an empty pharmacy bottle clenched in her teeth and a 9…mm Beretta in her right hand。 Twilly； who remembered she was left…handed； prudently stepped back while she did her Elvis routine； shooting up the TV and the stereo and even the Mr。 Coffee。 Many rounds were required； due to Lucy's poor marksmanship； yet there was little risk of anyone calling the police。 Lucy considerately used a muzzle suppressor to mute the gunshots。 Twilly made a practice of counting； so he'd know when the clip was empty。 His near…fatal mistake that night was assuming Lucy was too fucked up to reload。 After she'd exhausted herself and collapsed in bed； Twilly waited patiently for her ragged and fitful snoring。 Then he slipped beneath the sheets； enfolded her in his arms and held her as still as a baby for a long time。 Soon her breathing became soft and regular。 Through his shirt Twilly could feel the steel coldness of the Beretta； which Lucy continued to clutch with both hands between her breasts。 The snout of the silencer pressed ominously against Twilly's ribs； but he wasn't afraid。 He thought the gun was empty； he clearly remembered Lucy pulling the trigger over and over until the only noise from the gun was a dull click。 He didn't know about the spare clip that she'd stashed inside a tampon box under the bathroom sink。
So on Twilly's part it was carelessness； embracing an unconscious dope…addled psychotic without first confiscating her weapon。 His second mistake was succumbing at the worst possible moment to raw desire。 By chance Twilly had aligned his forting hug of Lucy in such a way that his chin came to rest on one of her shoulders。 He calculated that a slight turn of the head could put his lips in direct contact with her bare silken neck； and this proved blissfully true。
And perhaps if Twilly had stopped there…perhaps if he'd been content with a chaste and feathery peck…then he wouldn't have ended up on a stretcher in the emergency room。 But Lucy's neck was a truly glorious sight and； gun or no gun； Twilly could not resist kissing it。 The sensation （or possibly it was the sound of ardent smacking） jarred Lucy from her turbulent； gargoyle…filled stupor。 She stiffened in Twilly's arms； opened one bloodshot eye and emitted a hollow startled cry。 Then she pulled the trigger； and drifted back to sleep。
The bullet furrowed along Twilly's chest； rattling across his rib cage as if it were a washboard； then exiting above the collarbone。 So copious and darkly hued was the seepage of blood that Twilly feared he might be mortally wounded。 He snatched the top sheet off the bed （rearranging the zonked Lucy） and knotted it around his thorax； a full body tourniquet。 Then he drove to the nearest hospital； informing the doctors that he'd accidentally shot himself while cleaning a pistol。 X rays showed that Lucy's slug had missed puncturing a jugular vein…and likely killing Twilly Spree…by scarcely two inches。
She hadn't meant to shoot him； she was scared； that's all； and too ripped to recognize him。
Twilly never told Lucy what she'd done。 He did not return to the house； and never saw her again。 More than a year had passed since the shooting； and during that time Twilly had avoided all lip…to…neck contact； the experience being indelibly connected to the muffled thump of a Beretta。 Even in the throes of lovemaking； he remained scrupulous about the location of his kisses； and banished all thoughts of delicious forays into the nape region。
Until he met Desie。 Twilly wanted very much to see the intriguing Mrs。 Stoat again； despite the imminent risk of arrest and imprisonment。 He wanted not only to be near her but to apologize for leaving the glass eyeballs lying around for McGuinn to swallow； wanted her to know how remorseful he felt。
The dog was the connection； the link to Desie。 Having the dog beside him buoyed Twilly's spirits and gave him something resembling hope。 So what if Desie was married to an irredeemably soulless pig？ Everybody makes mistakes； Twilly thought。 Look at me。
McGuinn instantly knew something was wrong…he could smell it in the car。 His nose twitched a