Merry didn’t miss Jones’s reaction.
“I see. You think you’re targeting the weak,” he whispered disturbingly.
“As an officer of the law,” Jones fired back, “you are aware that the study of the criminal mind is essential to understanding it, so that future incidences can either be avoided or the perpetrator can be tracked and caught before he or she causes too much damage.”
“So,” Merry took his hands off his hips and folded his arms on his chest, “you’re writin’ a criminology textbook?”
“No,” Jones bit off. “I have a contract with a traditional publisher.”
“Which means you’re cashin’ in on your FBI trainin’ to make money off of misery,” Merry deduced.
At that, Jones thankfully decided he was done.
I knew this when he stepped away from Merry and muttered, “I see that I’ll need to find alternative avenues to understanding Lowe’s psyche.”
“How’s this? The man was jacked,” Merry told him.
At these words, Jones’s face screwed up in a weird way that didn’t seem right to me.
But Merry wasn’t done talking, and as he kept going, Jones’s face shifted back to annoyance before I could figure it out.
“And that shit was textbook. There wasn’t anything new there, and you’ve got to have studied him so you know that’s the straight up truth. What you intend to do is not a service to the community, man. Be honest with yourself. And you fuck with people’s lives that they pieced together after that maniac ripped them apart, be honest with them that you’re doin’ this for cash in your pocket, book tours, and in hopes of seein’ your name on a film credit.”
That took Jones from annoyed and frustrated to pissed.
“Small-town cop who thinks he knows it all but doesn’t know dick. I’ll confirm you don’t know dick since you sure as fuck do not know me,” he clipped.
That didn’t sound very FBI-like.
Then again, what did I know? I’d only met a couple of them and, thankfully, our associations were brief.
“Small-town cop in the ’burg rocked by Dennis Lowe’s lunacy, and we’ve seen a lot of assholes like you,” Merry returned. “You’re standing outside the home of a woman Lowe fucked with that you underestimated, ’cause I’m tellin’ you now, you’re actually lucky you’re dealin’ with me. If I let her loose on you, she’d grind you to nothing. And that woman is my woman. So do not stand outside my woman’s home and tell me what I don’t know. I know you. I can see right through you. And all I see is ugliness and greed.”
“This conversation is over,” Jones murmured, beginning to move down the walk.
“It’s about fuckin’ time,” Merry decreed.
Jones kept walking, but he looked over his shoulder to hurl, “Small-town cop, small mind, and too stupid to know it doesn’t make him smart to have the last word.”
To my shock, at that biting retort, Merry busted out laughing.
Then I got it.
Jones didn’t leave the last word to Merry. He took it. Which meant he’d called his own damned self stupid.
I grinned.
Merry stopped laughing and stood, arms still on his chest, watching Jones walk to his rental car at the curb.
I stayed inside the door as Merry and I both watched Jones get in it, start it up, and drive away.
Merry turned his head to watch it go down the street.
I kept waiting.
Then he dropped his head and shifted to move up the steps of my stoop toward me.
I opened the door and opened my mouth to share with him how totally awesome he was, but I didn’t get a word out before he lifted his head, looked at me and I saw the ice still in his eyes.
I held the door, unable to move until he put his hand on it and kept moving toward me, which meant I had to move out of his way.
The storm whispered then banged and Merry locked it.
Then he slammed my front door, and locked that.
But he slammed it, the unexpected noise sounding loud in my silent living room, making me jump then slowly, step by step, retreat.
He again turned eyes of blue ice to me.
“That happen to you a lot?” he asked.
His conversational tone didn’t fool me, so I kept retreating.
“Stop moving,” he ordered.
I stopped moving.
“That happen to you a lot, Cher?” he pushed.
I opened my mouth, but my movement was again slowed by his vibe filling the air so full, it weighed on me.
Suddenly, he leaned forward and roared, “That happen to you a lot?”
“Not so much anymore, Merry,” I answered.
“Not so much anymore,” he repeated after me.
“Sometimes,” I shared carefully.
“Ethan open the door to that shit?” he asked.
“No,” I answered and thankfully did not lie.
“They call?” he kept at me.
Slowly, I nodded but added verbally, “Not so much anymore with that either.”
“Then, they don’t get what they want ’cause you shut them down, they come to the door?”
“Yeah, but not so much,” I reiterated. “Not anymore. Swear, Merry.”
“Think they’re targeting the weak,” he stated.
“Maybe it starts like that, but if they make it to my door, I handle it and educate them different.”
“You handle it,” Merry again repeated after me.
“Merry,” I whispered.
At the sound of his name, suddenly and without warning, he charged me. Automatically, I retreated and had to do it fast, so I tripped over my feet. Thankfully, that happened in a strategic place, so when I started to fall back, my shoulders slammed against the wall instead of me landing on my ass.