"Who the fuck are you?" he asked.
I knew the warden was listening. The warden had agreed to let me speak to Ira, anything to make this problem go away. And Ira, with his hell bent desire to kill his wife, was proving to be a huge problem for the prison.
"My name's Samantha Moon, and I'm a private investigator. I've been hired to protect your ex-wife."
"Protect her from what?"
"You."
I sometimes get psychic hits, and I got one now. I saw waves of darkness radiating from Ira. Wave after black wave. The man felt polluted. I sensed something hovering around him, something alive and something alien. I sensed this thing had its hooks in Ira. What this thing was, I didn't know. After all, it was only an impression I was getting, a feeling. Something I sensed but didn't really see. Anyway, this something was black and ancient and full of hate and vitriol, psychically hanging on to Ira's back, digging its supernatural claws deep within the man. I sensed that Ira had let this dark energy into his life through a lifetime of fear and hate and jealousy. And I knew, without a doubt, that whatever this thing was that had its hooks in Ira, it would never, ever let him go without a phenomenal fight. Whatever clung to Ira would cling to him until his death, and perhaps even beyond, a cancer of the worst kind.
These were all psychic hits. Impressions. Gut feelings. I get these often. Sometimes they're important, sometimes they're a waste of time. But I've learned that I should trust such feelings. And I trusted these.
A smirk touched Ira's lips. And something ancient and dark swept just behind his eyes. Whether or not Ira was possessed by something, I couldn't say for sure. But something foul and alive was eating him away from the inside out.
He asked, "So what are you, a body guard or something?"
"Or something."
He laughed, but his was a dry, raspy, dead sound. "Okay, fine, whatever. So who hired you?"
"That's none of your business."
He quit smiling and something passed behind his eyes again, a flitting shadow. Whether or not it was really there, I didn't know. And whether or not I was making it up, I didn't know, either. But there was something off about the guy. Something off, and something wrong. The moment passed and he smiled again. Amazingly, he had a hell of a smile. Perfect teeth. Okay, now I could see how he might have been engaging to a young girl fresh out of high school, which was when Monica had first met him.
"So what the fuck do you want?" he asked.
"Gee, you have such a wonderful way with words, Ira," I said. "It's almost poetic. Maybe you should write a book of poetry in prison, rather than obsessing about your ex-wife. Call it, I don't know, Poetry From the Pen or, let's see, Lock-down Limericks."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"I don't know," I said. "It was a poetry/prison riff. Not my best work, but not my worst either."
He looked at his phone as if there was something wrong with it.
"Lady, either tell me what the fuck you want or get the fuck out of here."
"Okay, now there's a slap in the face for you," I said. "Dismissed by a scumbag who has nothing better to do than to play with his willy."
"Fuck off, bitch."
And as he moved to stand, I said, "Leave Monica alone, Ira."
A long shot, of course, since I suspected Ira Lang spent most of his waking hours obsessing over his wife's frustrating lack of dying. And playing with his willy.
He sat back down slowly. As he did so, he adjusted his grip on the phone, wrapping his surprisingly long fingers tightly around the receiver. His movements were all slow and deliberate, as if he had practiced them beforehand. He now placed the phone carefully against his ear and looked at me for a long, long time. I think I was supposed to be afraid. I think I was supposed to shrink away in fear. Perhaps he thought I would swallow nervously and look away. I didn't swallow, and I didn't look away. I also had the distinct feeling he was memorizing every square inch of my face.
"You want me to leave my wife alone?" he said evenly into the phone. He didn't take his eyes off me.
"Your ex-wife, and yes."
"Why would I do that?"
"Because I said so."
He stared at me blankly, and then laughed. A single burst of sound into the phone. He laughed again, longer this time.
"You're funny."
"When I want to be."
"You've got balls coming in here," he said. "I'll give you that much."
"The world's worst compliment to a woman."
"What?"
"Never mind. So will you leave her alone?"
He stared at me some more. I heard guards talking to each other out in the hallway. Ira and I were alone in the visiting room, since it was after hours and I had been given special access. A clock ticked behind me. Somewhere I thought I heard someone scream, but that could have just been my imagination. Or my hypersensitive hearing.
Ira cocked his head a little, and then said, "It's too late."
"Too late for what?"
"Never mind that. The bitch shouldn't have left me. I told her to never leave me."
"Gee, you're such a sweetheart, Ira. How could anyone ever leave you?"
He barely heard me. Or heard what he wanted to hear. "Exactly. I gave her everything. The ungrateful bitch never had to work a day in her life."
"People leave each other every day, Ira. It happens."
"Not to me it don't."
Ira had gotten himself worked up. I knew this because the skin along his slightly misshapen forehead had flushed a little, and he was holding the phone so tight that his knuckles looked like some weird prehistoric spine running along the back of the receiver.
Breathing harder, he said, "I will do everything within my power to make sure the bitch dies. No one leaves me. Ever."
I realized this was going nowhere fast. I honestly hadn't expected anything different, but it had been worth a shot.
"I beg to differ," I said, gathering my stuff together.
"You beg to differ what?"
"Monica very much left you, just as I'm doing now."
"I'm going to remember you, cunt."
"Lucky me."
I was about to hang up when he added, perhaps fatally, "And not just you, Samantha Moon, private investigator and bodyguard. Everyone you know and love. You have kids?"
I heard the sound of boots moving along the hallway outside. Apparently, someone listening to us had heard enough. I took in some air and closed my eyes and did all I could to control myself.