Free The Best American Mystery Stories 2016 by Elizabeth George Page A

me.”
    Kate stared at him for several seconds. “That’s not what you said, Todd.”
    â€œYeah, it is,” Loomis said. He despised his imagination; it was a retarded psychopath. “I’m sorry, sweetie. It is what I said. About the balloons. It was a strange experience. I don’t know if I can explain it, really.”
    Kate inspected her buttered ankles. The room smelled like a Caribbean island they would never visit for ethical reasons. “Why are you smoking again?”
    â€œI’m not smoking. I had one cigarette. It was a long day.”
    â€œWhat with the balloons and all?”
    Kate was being an asshole, but only because he had been an asshole first. This was their dynamic.
    â€œHey. Remember those thank-you cards? For Izzy’s party?”
    Kate closed her eyes in forbearance. “We settled that. She’ll make homemade cards next time and put them in school cubbies.”
    â€œRight. No. Of course. That’s a great plan. I meant the ones for the party we just had.”
    â€œDo we have to go over this right now?”
    â€œNo. We don’t
have
to.”
    â€œGood.”
    Izzy appeared in the doorway. “Why are you guys fighting?”
    â€œWe’re not fighting,” Loomis said.
    â€œYes, you are. I heard you.”
    â€œNobody’s fighting, sweetie. I promise you.”
    â€œYou better not be,” she said.
    Kate rose from the bed and hug-steered their daughter back toward her room. She was a tough kid, beating boys in soccer and letting them know about it. But she was in a fragile phase. Kate said it was because her best friend, Maya, had moved away after her parents split. Loomis was putting his money on early puberty and bracing himself.
    Later, in the dark, Loomis said, “I just wondered if those cards ever got sent out. Because I’d be cool with that. I’d even send them out myself. I feel like I might have overreacted before.”
    â€œAre you trying to apologize for throwing the cards in the garbage?”
    â€œMore or less.”
    â€œWhich is it?”
    â€œI’m apologizing.”
    He reached out and touched his wife’s hip.
    She hummed noncommittally. “I already sent them out.”
    Â 
    After lunch Loomis did a cigarette consult with Bobito the Security Guard.
    â€œHold up, chief,” Bobito said. “Someone stepping up on you with heat? In
my
parking lot? That shit is gangfucked.”
    â€œPretty gangfucked,” Loomis agreed.
    â€œThat shit is raped, man. What was they hassling you about?”
    â€œSome fight I had with my wife.”
    Bobito rapped his skull (shaved, bluish) with his knuckles; this was how he applauded. “Oh, shit. You got a pig on the side, chief? That what this is about? I ain’t making value judgments, man. Shit. I fucked half the bitches in this building on my fianceé’s
fu
ton.”
    â€œThere were two of them,” Loomis explained. “Sort of
Godfather
types. Like the movie.”
    â€œâ€Šâ€˜Take the cannoli,’ ” Bobito said. “That shit is classic.”
    â€œOne had a huge scar on his cheek.”
    â€œNaw. That’s a fake. Ain’t nobody profiling you with some scar.”
    â€œIt looked real.”
    â€œThat’s how you
know
it’s fake.” Bobito scratched his neck tattoo with a scythelike pinkie nail. “I’ll make sure they’re not creeping round here. That’s the easy part, chief. What I’d be asking is who hired them.”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œMos def. Villains gotta make rent in a recession too, bro. Now along comes the Internet, Angie’s List, all that direct-sales shit. It’s got so easy to bring heat a fucking bonobo could do it.” Bobito held his cigarette like a dart and poked out little rings of wisdom. “You gotta think about your enemies, chief. ’Cause they’re sure as shit thinking about you.”
    Bobito