Chapter Thirty-Five

"What do you think?" Joe asked. "Should we try the apartments first, or the club?"

Brent looked at his watch. "It's lunchtime, so let's try the club. Those topless bars usually have free buffet and I don't know if I trust eating anything from Cece after what you found out last night. Besides, I don't want to go through another scene like we did trying to get in to see Sylvia."

"Why not? Are you running low on pants?"

"Just running low on patience. Petra was able to do a pretty good patch job on the pants, by the way. You'd hardly know I ripped them."

"That's good, since you felt ethically bound to return the ones Cece gave you."

"Actually," Brent said, "I figured since I was keeping the sweater..."

Joe shook his head. "No wonder you were able to justify sleeping with my wife, if that's your attitude about things."

Brent's ears flushed red. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do," Joe said. "It's okay, by the way. I'm getting used to it. I don't want to kill you any more, just maybe knock some sense into you, or at least call you on your bullshit until you learn to cut the crap."

Brent folded his arms across his chest and looked out the window.

"You know, you'd be a real interesting character if you weren't such a hypocrite," Joe went on.

"Just go on and insult me. You've done it so often, it doesn't even bother me any more."

"What I'm talking about," Joe said with exaggerated patience, "Is the act you put on. Always trying to come off like you're Mr. Straight-Arrow or something. But it turns out you've got all kinds of abnormal skeletons in your closet. Your friend Sylvia, for instance. I think you like having slummy friends. You figure it gives you bragging rights that you're really not the spoiled rich kid you are. Too bad you're too high and mighty to admit it."

"Don't be ridiculous. Besides, Sylvia and Gerry are hardly friends of mine, in case you didn't notice how they treated me back there."

"Uh-huh. And the way you got us in there was something else, confusing the guard, jumping the fence, threatening Sylvia..."

"I didn't hear you trying to stop me."

"And how about the way you treated Cece? I didn't know what to think when you started threatening to tie her up and gag her. You scared that poor lady to death."

"You know I wasn't going to actually do it," Brent said. "Scaring her was the whole point. It was the only way we were going to get her to talk. It's not like you weren't willing to play along."

"It seemed to be working."

"So you admit you're no saint yourself." Brent scowled. "Besides, you're the one who stole all that cocaine and broke into that apartment. Talk about calling the kettle black."

"Yeah, but at least I don't claim to be anything other than what I am." Joe slowed down for a red light. "I'm just an inner-city kid who went to juvie for a few years and managed to make good in spite of it." The light changed and he hit the gas. "You, on the other hand, try to bill yourself as some kind of holy martyr." Joe turned in his seat. "I don't buy it, you know. Not for a minute."

"Don't buy what?" Brent waved an arm. "Why does everyone think I put on some kind of martyr act? I love Elise, okay? I know she's your wife, and I'm sorry for everything that happened, but I really care about her happiness. Why is that so hard to believe?"

"Maybe because it's so obvious you just wanted to go to bed with her," Joe said, turning back around and moving forward again into traffic. "Don't tell me you would've had the same feelings for her if she'd been ugly."

Brent opened his mouth to reply, but then clamped his jaw shut and threw himself back against the seat cushion. "Look, I won't deny I wanted her that way, because I did. But I would've loved her for herself no matter what she looked like."

Joe let out a bitter laugh. "Who do you think you're kidding? You wanted to get into her pants, and that was it. She was probably the only girl you wanted in school but couldn't have, so you couldn't let yourself give up." Joe slowed down for another light. "The only thing worse than someone who lies to other people is someone who lies to himself."

"Look, will you just drive? When are we going to get to this Sirens place, anyway?"
Joe started. "You know, I don't even know where we're going. I mean, I've got a pretty good idea, but I'm not sure."

"Well this has been a waste of our time," Brent said. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started tapping on it. "We're not too far away," he finally said. "It used to be a legit nightclub called Vitus. It's off the interstate feeder near Genesius Street."

Joe nodded, made the block and rejoined traffic going the other way. After a little while, he said, "I'm sorry I jumped your shit back there."

"Anything you have to say to me, I probably deserve. I think you've got me pegged wrong, though."

"No, I don't think so," Joe said. "I've got no business dogging you about it, though."

"Whatever." Brent leaned forward in his seat, scanning the road. "There it is," he finally said, pointing. "Kinda sleazy looking, don't you think?"

"What'd you expect from a topless joint?"

"Well, you know, some are more upscale than others."

"They're all just titty bars to me."

"Looks like they're going after the working class or worse at this place," Brent said, gazing in revulsion at the profusion of neon and dangling, blinking lights. "Too bad. Lamia could be a little rough around the edges back in the day, but at least she had class. If she's working at a place like this, the drugs must've taken over."

They pulled into a parking spot and Brent jumped out, slammed the door hard and stood for a moment gazing at the neon sign of a buxom mermaid. “I can’t believe we’ve come to this.”

Joe snorted. “It’s no worse than Sylvia’s place, or the waiting room at St. Jude’s.” He dropped his keys in his pocket and began walking toward the door. “You really can’t handle the seamier side of life, can you? You like things lavish, all nice and pretty, like at Cece’s.”

“Nothing wrong with liking nice things,” Brent countered. “So what if I have good taste?”

“There’s nothing wrong with having good taste, as you call it,” Joe said. “There is something wrong with getting on your high horse about it, though. People do the best they can.”