Rabid by T K Kenyon Page A

clothes.
    He held the closet door open. His blue eyes bugged out. “Even if salmon do that, we’re not fish.”
    Her head rocked forward and her eyebrows cocked. “Of course we are, Conroy. We’re nothing but bald monkeys, and we’re nothing but hairy fish.”
    He held her clothes apart and glared at her. “But you’re not going to have kids. So you have no purpose, under your own theory.”
    “On the contrary, I can do whatever the hell I want to.” She slid shut the closet door, and she mumbled against the wood, “I’m free. Not even evolution can trap me.”
     
    ~~~~~
     
    Conroy waited in the dark of Leila’s closet. Light slid through the cracks between the closet door and the jamb, just enough so he could faintly see her clothes hanging around him. Her clothes smelled like floral laundry detergent.
    One pair of blue jeans was hanging by his left side, and he traced the crotch of her jeans with his finger, slowly, then rubbed the bulky seam, imagining Leila’s soft clit inside.
    Outside the door, Leila whispered, “Lock up when you leave, but give us a five minute head start.” Her footsteps clinked away. There were greetings of two female voices, some very European moist lip sounds, and the front door closed.
    The apartment was quiet, and Conroy found a slippery black blouse of hers hanging beside him. He ran his hands inside the material, where her small breasts would be, pinched the fabric that would rub her nipples.
    He could hardly wait until she wore that black, silky blouse.
     
    ~~~~~
     
    Saturday afternoon, Dante opened his office door to let Conroy Sloan enter. Bev waited outside.
    Mr. Sloan crossed to his chair and lowered himself into it. Traces of sober consideration or light fatigue softened his usual twitchiness. Perhaps he was ready to truly confess.
    Cordially, Dante asked Sloan, “You have informed the woman?”
    Sloan sighed and reached behind him. He tugged a bloated wallet from his hip pocket, sorted through its contents, and handed Dante a folded piece of paper.
     
    The email:
    Re: an apology
    > Dear Peggy,
    > I apologize for what I have to say to you, and for what I have to do. I’m sorry, but it is
    > best if we end the affair. > You knew that our affair wasn’t meant to be anything other than some fun.
    > I apologize if I hurt you, if I led you to believe that our relationship was anything
    > other than it was, or if you believed so anyway. > I’m sorry.
    > Conroy
     
    Dante was stunned by the callousness. “You sent the woman an email ?”
    “Well, yes,” Sloan said.
    Dante shook his head. The woman, Peggy, was reduced to a recipient, which was indicative of Conroy’s view of her. Dante asked, “When did you send this?”
    “Thursday,” Sloan said.
    “And she replied?” He could see from the brackets that this section was cut from her reply.
    “Friday morning.”
    “Where is her reply?”
    Sloan blinked slowly, delaying. He said, “I deleted it.”
    How like Sloan to tap the delete button so that her objections were erased. “And it said?”
    Sloan bobbed his leg. “That she understood and that we could still be friends. She was very nice, very understanding.”
    That answer was obviously a fabrication. The physical twitches were indicative of unease. The rest of Sloan’s answers were, most likely and rather troublingly, true. At the very least, Dante could not allow Sloan to confess while he continued to lie about the woman’s reply. “Tell me what her email really said.”
    The smug curve in Sloan’s expression drew taut. “What do you mean?”
    Sloan had never been called to account for his lies before. This must be a troubling week for him, the discovery of his affair, calling to account for his actions, and the ease with which Dante saw through his lies. “Your explanation of what this woman, Peggy, said in her email is false.”
    “You don’t know that!” Sloan’s voice rose, indignant.
    Dante’s work afforded him many opportunities to see such