Free The Man Who Lived by Night by David Handler Page A

Bears T-shirt and absolutely nothing else. Her breasts strained against the T-shirt.
    “A match,” she said, with admirable calm. She showed me the unlit cigarette that was between her fingers. In her other hand was a book of matches. “I was looking for a match, you see. Couldn’t find one anywhere. Very sorry if I woke you.”
    “That’s okay. Only, you didn’t find those matches in here. I don’t smoke.”
    “They were over by the fireplace.”
    “And you’re not,” I pointed out.
    “I wasn’t stealing!”
    “I didn’t say you were. Want to tell me what you were doing in my things?”
    She lit her cigarette, came over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. Lulu sniffed disagreeably at her, jumped down and waddled into the sitting room.
    “I don’t think she likes me,” Violet said, watching her go.
    “Nothing personal. She just gets possessive.”
    “I couldn’t sleep, y’know? And I was a bit curious about you.”
    I smiled. “Okay.”
    “May I have a drink?”
    “Help yourself.”
    “You?”
    “Had plenty tonight, thanks.”
    I watched her pad into the sitting room in her nondecent T-shirt. I watched her come back, too, stirring a whiskey and soda with her index finger, which she sucked on when she was finished using it. She sat back down on the bed and took a sip of her drink. She took another sip. Then she leaned back on her elbows, crossed her bare, impossibly long legs and admired her naked foot. It was a lovely foot, slender and high-arched. She began to swing it up and down, up and …
    “What would you like to know about me?” I asked.
    “Whether you like me,” she replied, looking me straight in the eye.
    “You’re right out of my moistest fantasies. Such as they are.”
    She tasted the whiskey on her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I could get in there with you.”
    “Are you always this shy?”
    “Tris wouldn’t mind y’know. Really.”
    “I’m married,” I said. “Somewhat.”
    “Oh.” She shrugged. “We wouldn’t have to do anything, actually, except sleep. It’s so much nicer sleeping with someone else, isn’t it?”
    She wasn’t wrong. Or difficult or demanding. Or Merilee. Always, it came back to Merilee.
    “Thanks, anyway. Why don’t you sleep with Tris? He should be turning in soon—it’s nearly dawn.”
    Her eyes widened. “There’s a naughty name for that, isn’t there?”
    “Statutory rape?”
    “Incest, silly. You did know he’s m’daddy, didn’t you?”

CHAPTER FIVE
    (Tape #4 with Tristam Scarr. Recorded in his chamber Nov. 24. Wears same clothes as three days before. Does not appear to have bathed, shaved or slept since then. Room is considerably darker than before. Has turned off several lamps. Wears dark glasses.)
    H OAG : I MET YOUR daughter, Violet. She’s lovely.
    Scarr: Careful of her, mate.
    Hoag: Oh?
    Scarr: She likes to nick things. What they call a … a …
    Hoag: Thief?
    Scarr: Kleptomaniac. Don’t doubt she’s a nymphomaniac as well. And an overall maniac. Just like her jolly old mum.
    Hoag: Who is … ?
    Scarr: Tulip.
    Hoag: Ah. The floral motif should have been a giveaway.
    Scarr: They haven’t gotten along, she and Tu, since Tu found his holiness. Tries to impose her beliefs on the girl. And raises bloody hell over her things being mussed with. So I let Vi crash here, if she’s into it.
    Hoag: She seems very mature for her age.
    Scarr: She’s fifteen, if that’s what you’re wondering. Why, did you climb into her nickers? It’s cool with me if you did. I can’t exactly tell her not to do the things I did, can I? It’d be bleedin’ bullshit. (pause) Did you?
    Hoag: I’ve spoken with Jack a couple of times. I wouldn’t exactly say he’s hostile, but, well, he is hostile.
    Scarr: He’s fucking jealous is all.
    Hoag: I wondered if it was something else. Something he didn’t want coming out.
    Scarr: Such as?
    Hoag: I was hoping you’d tell me.
    Scarr: I’m not tracking, Hogarth.
    Hoag: The man’s