Murder is an Art Read Free Page B

have been driven to murder because of low self-esteem.”
    Troy grimaced. “I think he was a garage mechanic or something. He might have gotten his hands dirty, but he probably made more money in a week than I do in a month. Anyway, he came home early, and—”
    â€œI don’t think mechanics ever get off work early,” Gary Borden said.
    Gary taught psychology. He, or at least his wardrobe, had never emerged from the 1970s. He wore Buddy Holly glasses and dressed like a member of the cast of The Bob Newhart Show, the one where Bob played a psychologist. The lapels of his sports jackets stretched nearly to his armpits, and his ties were almost as wide. He liked to joke that he was related to Bob’s neighbor Howard.
    â€œWhen I take a car in to get it fixed,” Gary went on, “I sometimes get a call to come by and pick it up at six-thirty or seven in the evening. Those guys put in long hours.”
    â€œWho cares what kind of job he had or what kind of hours he put in?” Troy asked. “The thing is that whatever he did, he got off early, he went home, and he caught his wife in the bedroom with this guy. Pulled him right off her and beat him to a bloody pulp with his bare hands.”
    Sally could almost picture it, Jorge standing there in greasy coveralls, his big hands like mallets, grease in the creases of his skin and under his fingernails. He was silently looking down at the battered body of the man who had been making illicit love to his wife. She wondered if he felt remorse.
    â€œThe wife called 911 while it was going on,” Troy said. “But by the time the cops got there, it was too late.”
    â€œThe cops always show up too late,” Gary said.
    Vera had a different slant on things. “I thought that in Texas, it was perfectly all right to kill your wife’s lover if you caught them in the act. A typical example of how males manipulate the law, in my opinion.”
    â€œIt’s not all right,” Gary said. “I mean, it’s definitely against the law. But I’ve heard you usually get no-billed by the grand jury. Anyway, that’s not the story I heard about Jorge.”
    â€œThen you heard wrong,” Troy said.
    Troy liked gossip, but he always liked to think that his version of events was the correct one, whether it was or not. He didn’t like to be contradicted.
    â€œTell us what you heard,” Sally said, always ready to get a new slant on things involving Jorge. She was intimidated by him, but she had to admit that he was interesting.
    â€œI heard he killed some kid with a baseball bat,” Gary said.
    â€œAn aluminum bat or a wooden one?” Troy asked, possibly in revenge.
    Gary looked thoughtful, the way he might if some student in his class had raised his hand in the middle of a discussion of cognitive dissonance to ask when the winter break began.
    â€œGee, that’s a very good question, Troy. I never thought about it before. It was probably wood, but it might have been aluminum. Either way, the results were the same.”
    â€œSo tell us the story,” Vera said. She didn’t like interruptions unless she was the one doing the interrupting.
    â€œIt happened when he was just a kid,” Gary said. “In San Antonio; some kind of gang-related thing. Some other kid had raped Jorge’s sister—”
    â€œTypical of a male gang member’s aggression and hostility toward women,” Vera said.
    â€œSure,” Gary agreed. “Anyway, the cops couldn’t pin it on him. He got some of the other gang members to swear he was playing cards with them when it happened, and it came down to her word against his and eight or ten other guys’. Jorge started in on the witnesses first, beating them up and making them promise they’d recant. When the rapist heard about it, he went after Jorge with a gun.”
    â€œGun versus bat for the honor of a woman,” Troy said.