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But I was just getting started.
“I was trying to solve her murder, and you fucking paid off the cops to make sure no one ever found out who killed her!”
He shook his head violently. “No – NO – only to make sure we were kept out of it – ”
“Because your precious little club was more important than an innocent woman’s life!”
“She wasn’t some innocent angel!” Jack roared. “She was a fucking drug addict and a snitch for the DEA!”
“Well,” I said coldly, “you’re a snitch now, too, so I guess you have something in common.”
He looked at me like he wanted to kill me.
What he did next was almost as bad.
“She was high the last two months of her life, Fiona!” he shouted. “She quit dancing for Lou, so God knows where she got the money. Blowjobs for twenty bucks apiece? Selling her ass on the street? We didn’t know. We figured that’s why she was snitching – for the money. She probably owed her coke dealer, wasn’t able to pay him, and he killed her! Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Silent tears ran down my cheeks. To hear Ali described that way – the ugly, awful viciousness of what he was saying, smearing her like that –
But not all of it was said in anger. His last few words were filled with a kind of desperation – like Why are you making me do this?
He shouldn’t have said it. After all the motherfucker had done, he should have had the decency not to say those things.
But the most awful part of it was, he was probably telling the truth.
I broke down crying.
“Fiona,” he said gently, walking towards me –
“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” I screamed.
He stopped and just looked at me, his face filled with pain.
“You know what’s fucking hilarious?” I seethed, tears still streaming down my face. “You were so goddamn furious that I came here and tried to solve her murder, and didn’t tell you any of it… but YOU paid off the fucking cops so they didn’t do their job, which is why I had to come here in the first place. So all of the shit that’s been raining down on your head, every single thing you blamed me for? It’s your own fucking fault, you hypocritical son of a bitch.”
He just stood there looking at me.
“…maybe you’re right,” he said quietly.
“Of course I’m right, you fucking asshole!”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I sneered. “For destroying my life? For fucking me last night when you knew? I never would have touched you if I’d known what you did. Never.”
I’d hurt him. I could tell by the way his face twitched.
“I should have told you,” he said, his voice weary.
“And you didn’t because you’re a fucking coward.”
He looked at me for a moment… and then he nodded his head slowly. “You’re right.”
“And you fucking blamed – blamed me – for – for – ”
I couldn’t speak because of my sobbing.
He reached out for me again, but I jerked away. “Don’t TOUCH me!”
