Free Abattoir by Christopher Leppek, Emanuel Isler Page B

direction.
    Where there were people, there would be food. And how are you going to find it, hmmmm? Beg? Steal? Rummage through trash cans?
    For all his financial acumen, for all the business skills he’d spent a lifetime honing, today Stuart Brown found himself as confused and helpless as an infant.
     
     

8
     
    There must have been thousands of grams of cholesterol in the feast before him.
    Janice had gone all out to impress this Friday night, planning the dinner with impeccable taste and richness—mussels on the shell in a rich butter garlic sauce, fois gras and beef tenderloin. It was presented with silver, linen and crystal, the latter containing a rare vintage French Bordeaux.
    Bill Sloane silently counted calories in his head. He’d been to his cardiologist once again, just that afternoon. As always, the doctor had assured him that his cholesterol levels and blood pressure were fine, exceptional in fact.
    He believed none of it, of course.
    Janice’s appearance reflected the elegant presentation. Her hair was freshly coifed at the finest salon in the city, her makeup impeccable. She wore a designer slit skirt that revealed a generous length of thigh; the diamond necklace he’d given her on their fifth anniversary; the black satin pumps that never failed to seduce him.
    “It’s wonderful, darling,” he said, sipping the wine. “We could have gone out and . . . ”
    She flashed a kitten smile and put a finger to his lips.
    “Tonight, sweetheart, you’re dining at the best place in town.”
    “And with the sexiest lady in town . . . ”
    “I want tonight to be perfect, Bill. In every way.”
    He smiled, retrieving a mussel from its shell. It was delicious, but as it slipped down his throat, he wondered how many minutes on the treadmill it would take to wear it off.
    Janice enjoyed watching him indulge himself. She was happy, for the moment at least. Bill was here, enjoying himself; they had the whole night ahead of them. All to themselves.
    The moment was shattered by the shrill beep of Bill’s cell phone.
    “I’m sorry, darling . . . ” he pulled out the device, flipping it open. He quickly read the text message, deleted it, and returned it to his coat pocket.
    He made no mention of the call, resuming his meal.
    Janice let it slide for a few minutes, but that was all.
    “Who was that, Bill? Who would be texting you at . . . ” She glanced at her watch. “ . . . eight thirty p.m. on a Friday evening? A client, perhaps? A legal assistant . . . ?”
    Bill recognized the tone. The soft, purry questions were only the start. He knew the pattern of her progression only too well.
    “Nothing to be concerned about,” he smiled, putting his fork back onto the plate.
    “But I am concerned, Bill.” Her tone went up a notch. “Why can’t you tell me who it was?”
    Janice glanced at her empty glass and began to pour herself more wine. She changed her mind and went instead for the decanter in the cabinet. It held scotch. She filled a tumbler with the golden fluid and downed half in one gulp.
    “Who was it, Bill?”
    He knew she wouldn’t believe it. She never believed it, but he answered anyway.
    “It was a text message from my doctor, Janice. My cardiologist. That’s all.”
    “Oh, your cardiologist again. He sure seems to call you a lot, doesn’t he?”
    “You know I’ve been going weekly. You know I’m worried.”
    “Yeah, you’re worried.” She took another slug of her drink.
    “But I’m the one who should be worried, shouldn’t I? How do you do it, Bill? How do manage to disguise those incoming messages and phone calls? Do you have some sort of secret code or something?”
    “Janice, you’re getting . . . ”
    “Don’t say it again! I’m not hysterical, Bill! I just deserve the truth. I should be worth at least that much to you, or am I just a piece of shit that you’re tired of?”
    “Janice, please . . . ”
    She didn’t hear the rest of his sentence. It amazed her how goddamn