Conflict of Interest

Chapter Twenty Three

Kim

I thought he was talking to Carrie.

That was why I didn't even respond to the "Hey, honey, what do you drink?" that he called out within seconds of us walking into the too-dark, too-loud dive. I was used to going places with Carrie and watching her get stared at, hearing men make sexual comments at her. The only reason I noticed them so vividly was because more often than not, when I'm hanging out with someone who looks like her, it's hard for me to resist doing some of the same exact things.

But when I turned around to wonder out loud why she wasn't responding, that was when I realized she wasn't next to me anymore. 

"Hello?" he asked impatiently. "Did you come here to drink or to look around the room?"

"Who, me?"

"Who else?"

I looked at Clapp, then back around, and dismissed myself with a, "Sorry, I need to find my friend."

I found her talking to some strangers in the corner, of mixed age and gender, and could only stare at the enigma that was Carrie Everett for a good twenty seconds before coming up with an all-encompassing, "What are you doing?"

"Trying to have sex," she stated as a matter of fact, turning from them back to me and starting to walk away. "But all the women here are straight and all the men are gay."

"Are you insane?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"You know you have a girlfriend, right?"

She shrugged, falling into step next to me as we approached the bar yet again. "Life is short. Today was a testament to that."

"So you're going to cheat on Carver because a murder case has you shaken up," I diagnosed. "That sounds healthy."

"That's not what I said," she argued. "And it's not true. And furthermore, what do you care? You hate Jennifer."

"I don't hate her," I muttered. "But what I did hate was dealing with you the last time you cheated on her and regretted it. And I do hate trying not to bring it up with her when we argue."

"Pardon?"

"Well, it's like the perfect bargaining chip," I tried explaining. "When she's pissing me off, how easy would it be to just say 'Well your girlfriend kissed me,' and shut her up?"

"Very," she agreed. "But it would be just as easy for me to end your life and make it look like an accident."

"You have a really scary sense of humor sometimes, you know that?"

"Humor?"

"Okay, ladies," Clapp called us to order now that we'd sufficiently come within earshot. "Can we postpone this for another time?"

"Yeah, whatever," I said flatly. "Call the bartender."

This time when he came back, he was polishing a wine glass and looking at me with that same stupid expression.

"At the risk of sounding repetitive," he began, "Are you going to drink something?"

"Not tonight," I passed up, showing my badge. "If you want to do this quietly, we can walk to the back and have some privacy."

He stared at the badge and all of a sudden looked nervous, not that that was anything new, suspect or not. "What's this about?"

"What's your name?"

"Clayton," he answered, the playfulness gone from his voice. "Clayton Walsh."

"Okay, Clayton Walsh, we could use a second of your time."