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Two years of marriage and Lenny Ovitz was thinking of tying a different kind of knot — the one around his sweet angel’s neck. Not something most guys think about back when they’re saying their vows.
His Galaxie 500 sat parked the next street over, Lenny kept eyes across the tiny park, past the kids’ swings and slide between him and their house, hoping to catch her coming out. Finger and thumb spinning his wedding band around the ring finger, replaying the rabbi’s words: “Behold, you are consecrated to me with this ring …”
Talking to a sleazy lawyer about a divorce, Paulina was wanting to take Lenny to the cleaners, and he was guessing she had another man in the shadows. The reason he was parked there, hoping to catch her. Saying to himself, “Yeah, and I’m the bad guy.”
It crossed his mind to save the time in court and the money on a lawyer. Be easier to just fix her: a car coming out of nowhere, or a mugging gone wrong. Or work up an alibi, then face her himself with his .32 and do it straight up. Yeah, he could do it, then sit shiva, put in the seven days. Move back into the house, lug the old recliner from the rafters, put it back in front of the Zenith, pull the side handle and up’d go his feet. Then hit the Bakelite buttons on the clicker.
No dividing the assets, and no hearing her kvetch how the chair’s green vinyl didn’t go with the room, or pointing her finger at the circles he left on the coffee table. The porch light came on, something she did every time she left the house, and he lifted the Minolta by the strap, focused the telephoto and watched her through the lens.
Setting the camera on the passenger seat, feeling irked for wasting his time, guessing by the outfit she was heading to the club to play her goddamn tennis. The ladies’ club champ two years running — the woman with too much time on her hands — and Lenny paying the crazy membership fees so she could play with club pros who looked like Manuel Santana.
Starting his engine, he eased the Galaxie away. Thinking of her with some other guy, something that pissed him off. He’d been thinking if he could prove it, it would come in handy in the divorce proceedings. Now, he figured he’d skip all that, but he wanted to hear her deny it. Maybe he’d catch her, show her the snapshot, then plug her and maybe Manuel too.
Putting it from his mind, thinking he had time for a couple of collections before meeting his partner, Gabe Zoller, at the tenements near St. James Town, the new dumping ground for the poor. The slum block the two of them had bought, catching wind that the city was going to rezone for high-rises — Paulina not knowing anything about it — Lenny thinking of his own future, the extortion business not what it used to be.