City of the Sun by David Levien Page B

completely.
    “I may seem like a regular guy,” Behr said evenly, “but it’s a mask.”
    He sat and looked at the couple looking at him, appraising him anew.
    “I’m gonna get back to work.” Behr stood up from the table and left them sitting there.
     
     
    Behr slid behind the wheel and caught a flash of his face in the rearview. How much truth had he just told? More than he’d been prepared to, but not all of it. Tension knotted in his shoulders. He felt sweat running down his sides. It had come to this. How many cases had he been fired off by meddling employers? Most were domestics. Once he started to turn up information, they’d want to come with him on surveillance or to confront their cheating spouse. Behr was clear on that never happening right at the top when he took the cases. Every one of them agreed to the provision, then 90 percent of them reneged when the information came through. This was different. If the average client was ripped apart by a husband or wife nailing a neighbor, or having a workplace affair, or going gay, then this case would have nuclear-level fallout. What he found, no matter how vague, had the potential to destroy whatever was left of the parents. But the truth of it was that Behr didn’t work alone to keep his clients out of the line of fire — for him it was penitence. His own conscience bore a debt against him, long from being paid, for what had happened to his own son.
    Behr felt worse than bad about it all; he felt like shit. He could Jack Daniel’s it away, a bottle and a half’s worth. But he didn’t do that to himself anymore. Usually he’d drive over to City Club and pound iron until his arms hung limp and lactic acid burned in his chest. Tonight he drove straight for Crawfordsville Road. The Golden Lady.
    “What was that about?” Carol asked when they’d gotten in the car, the first time either had spoken since Behr had left them in the restaurant.
    “Nothing,” Paul said, jerking the car into drive. He felt stupid, exposed in front of his wife. When he’d rehearsed it in his head on the way to Cur-ley’s, and then again seconds before he spoke it, things had gone differently. In Paul’s version, Behr didn’t welcome him on as a partner exactly, but he was supposed to have nodded and agreed. But the guy had been a piece of granite, unwilling to even go into detail. Paul considered calling him and leaving word that he was fired right on his answering machine. He drove, his eyes set on the road, his mind swirling with information and ideas. Could he get Pomeroy to have the cops go house to house on Tibbs, checking for suspicious behavior? Could he go himself, storm the doors one by one and search attics and basements and crawl spaces for Jamie? A shrinking feeling of limitation slowly returned. His limbs went weak and he knew he wasn’t going to fire Behr.
     
SIXTEEN
     
    RENO REMSEN MOVED ONSTAGE to the second song of her three-song set, “Round and Round” by Ratt. The blue spots caught her smooth skin. She glowed. She swung on the pole and dodged wadded-up singletons and fivers that flew at her from the rail. Her real name was Meredith. Her thighs were round and undimpled in the low light and smoky air. Her tit job was decent and she had a mane of black hair. She was everything you came to see in a place like this. But she was no Michelle Ginelle, the one Tad was in love with. That was clear even from the second-story balcony where he sat. Michelle called herself Brandi, with an
i
, and always hit the stage to “Cherry Pie.” Turned out Michelle had the night off tonight unexpectedly. It was just as well since he couldn’t radiate for her much right now. He liked to put on his smile and place a knowing sparkle in his eyes for her. That took energy and he was too worn out. He’d been smoking a lot and not sleeping. The cristy was fine when he was high, but it became a dragon in his head, roaring out of the darkness, when he tried to sleep. It came