The Mentor

by Rebecca Forster

  “...and call the office. I’ve got to get to get back to work.”

  Eli tugged on the briefcase, “I took the liberty of talking to Edie.”

  “She a personal friend, too?”

  Eli shook his head. “Naw, but it’s not exactly a secret that you two are working together. She said she’d see you in the morning.” He smiled. When she didn’t, he kept smiling. “You know, there are worse places to be stuck than an FBI office. Especially with an agent who’s ready to do your bidding. You know, I can get anywhere with my nifty official badge.”

  “Right.” Lauren winced as she finally pulled the briefcase out of his hand.

  “Okay. So there are better people to help you out than me.”

  This time Lauren did smile. “Look, it’s not that I don’t appreciate what you did. I couldn’t have picked a better place to get nailed than in front of the Federal Building.”

  “Or a better time. If I hadn’t needed my daily candy fix, I wouldn’t have been crossing that street.”

  Lauren looked askance. It was hard to argue with that. A friendly face and a strong voice to deal with the cops, a stronger arm to take her away were all better than standing dazed in the middle of Wilshire while angry motorists craned their necks for the pleasure of giving her dirty looks. He was right. Seeing him was like seeing a hero.

  “M&Ms, huh?”

  She was walking slowly to the door now. Beyond it, agents, secretaries, probably an informant or two, went about their business. They had given her a passing glance when Eli first brought her up and through the secured doors but that was it. The FBI, as Lauren well knew, didn’t pay any attention to anyone until they decided you were interesting. Then you couldn’t shake them if your life depended on it. Sometimes it did.

  “Look, I appreciate the help, but I’m really better...” Her knees shook and one crumpled. Eli was smooth. He didn’t hurry. He just steadied her by the elbow, his other hand taking the briefcase back like she’d passed him the ball on a crowded playing field.

  “I know. You’re tough. There are dragons to slay. But I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He leaned close and she smelled only man. No sweet aftershave like Allan was partial to, no pomade that Wilson liked, nothing except the scent of skin. “You can’t slay a dragon if you can’t hold the lance. Did you eat before the accident?”

  She shook her head and couldn’t help leaning into him. “I had part of a smoothie.”

  “Doesn’t count and don’t think you can shake me. I’m just protecting my butt. I don’t want to be dragged into court for negligence. What happens if your head falls off? They’d probably tell me I’m liable because I didn’t listen when you said you had a headache.” Lauren laughed. “Now, do you want me to take you to the hospital, your doctor, or a place you can just sit down and have a bite?” Ten minutes later they were seated in a dark corner of La Grange Restaurant, a little French place with a fixed price menu and no other patrons at three in the afternoon.

  “Boy, he wasn’t kidding, was he? I mean about being sore.”

  “Wait until tomorrow,” Eli laughed and moved around his brandy snifter. Three in the afternoon wasn’t exactly the time he felt like a drink, but Lauren refused to have one unless he joined her. She took a sip and let her head fall back on the padded bench.

  “I don’t even want to think about tomorrow. I’ve got so much to do, and I need to be sharp. I don’t know if I can even think straight if it gets any worse than this.”

  “Do you want to call someone? Allan Lassiter? Judge Caufeld? Lassiter’s closest in Century City.”

  Lauren’s eyes were brandy bright, cut with a world-weariness he didn’t think odd given what he knew about her.

  “You’ve done your homework. Kind of sad when you only have two people in this world who you can call in an emergency.”

  “Better than not having anyone.” There was something in his voice that made Lauren realize, of the two of them, she was probably the luckier.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” There was no self-pity in him. “Time gets away, so do people.”

  “It sure seems to.”

  “So, who will it be? I’ve got a dime.” He grinned; Lauren liked it.

  “There aren’t any pay phones anymore.”

  She lifted her head and her glass. The brandy burned. Water came next. She wanted a bath. She wanted to know if her car was all right. She wanted to call Wilson but decided against it, knowing that was too ridiculous. If there was trouble, Wilson would be the first at her side. Still, she would let her snit go on a while longer. Righteousness could be satisfying even if right had nothing to do with anything. She’d already disrupted Allan’s day, so she crossed him off the list. Besides, Eli seemed to like being with her. She’d rather look at him looking at her, than look at Allan, who would have a hard time hiding the fact that he was always anxious to be somewhere else.

  “Darn, forgot about that.” When she didn’t move, he curled one leg up on the booth and put a hand under his head. “So, aren’t you a little out of your territory? I mean you live downtown, you work downtown, and the Stewarts come from Riverside. Don’t tell me you’re a closet Westsider?”

  Lauren snorted, almost laughing, “Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t be caught dead being that chic. I was out here seeing someone. It was personal.”

  “Oh.” Eli nodded. Part of his lower lip disappeared between his teeth. How delicate and quaint. She knew what he was thinking.

  “Okay. You’ve got me. I was down here having a quickie at lunch with a married man who also happens to be an informant on the case I’m working on.” Lauren looked at Eli. Eli looked back and took his lumps well. He raised his glass to her without a word. “You deserved that. You may have been investigating the judge, but you don’t have me all figured out. You probably haven’t even got him all figured out.”

  “Darn, you mean I still have work to do?”

  “Probably more than a bit,” Lauren laughed.

  “You forget that I’ve been doing some deep background investigating...”

  “On Wilson Caufeld,” she reminded him.

  “On everything about Wilson Caufeld and you’re pretty much joined right at his hip,” Eli reminded her.

  “Yeah? So that means you had to look into my life, too?”

  “Let’s just say I know some things.”

  “Like what?” Lauren was flirting. It was actually fun, until she moved, and a knifelike pain shot up between her shoulder blades. He raised his arm, mindful not to touch her unless it was absolutely necessary.

  “Careful. You got whacked pretty good out there. Maybe I better take you home even though I wish you’d see a doctor.”

  She shook her head, not ready for the rat race quite yet. “No, why don’t you tell me what you know first. Then I’ll figure out if I want you to know where I live?”

  Amused, Eli hailed the waitress. “I already know where you live,” he said then ordered two bowls of French onion soup.

  “You are twenty-seven years old, your mother died when you were fifteen. She named Wilson Caufeld as your guardian—”

  “Do you know how my mother died? Do you know why my mother died?” Lauren interrupted. She hadn’t meant to ask that. She especially didn’t mean to challenge him.

  “Yes. I do.” There was no sympathy in his answer; there was no apology either. He recited her history like a well-prepared student trying to impress the teacher. “She killed herself. You found the body, and her suicide was a direct result of an FBI investigation into allegations of wrongdoing on her part that would have removed her from the bench. Criminal action would have been brought if the allegations proved true.”

  “And no one ever proved a thing, did they?” Lauren was cool but the pain was no longer limited to her body.

  Eli nodded once. His eyes never left hers. If asked, she couldn’t tell you what color they were because her own were glazed with an anger she’d never quite been able to control. Eli, on t
he other hand, was extraordinarily controlled.

  “And if you want to talk about that right now, I’ll be happy to oblige.” He leaned close so that she could hear him but no one else could even if there was anyone else about. “But that’s the sort of thing people talk about when they know each other very well. You’ve got to get past the first layer. Even then, that’s something you may not want to talk about until we are old and fast friends. So, since I had nothing to do with that investigation, since it happened a while back and since I’d like to get to know you a whole lot better, why don’t we skip it for now? Given all this, I’d suggest we kind of go back a few steps. If you don’t want to do that, I’ll just leave you as that old footnote on Caufeld’s file and take off.”

  The waitress was back with crocks of soup. Eli leaned away, thanked her as she served and never took his eyes off Lauren. He wasn’t exactly smiling; he wasn’t exactly trying machismo on for size. Eli knocked the wind out of her sails by suggesting she put away her arsenal of affronts. No one had ever told her she could really talk about her mother, not even Wilson. This was new and weird. It had never occurred to Lauren that she actually had a choice in the way she dealt with her history until Eli allowed her to do just that. When he lifted his spoon, Lauren did the same. The soup was delicious and her puzzlement taxing. Lauren put her spoon down.

  “I don’t know that I want to know you that well.”

  “Okay, that’s fair.” He reached for a basket and held it up to her. “Bread?”

  Lauren shook her head. “But, then again, maybe I do.”

  “Then that would be better than fair.”

  He grinned without any of Allan’s overcompensation. There was no wariness that often accompanied a man’s smile, nor was there any suggestion that time was being calculated until he could move forward to whatever his objective: professional, personal, or sexual advancement.

  So Eli Warner was a good guy. That’s why he was doing background checks at his age instead of handling more notable field work. That’s probably why she liked him. He was an agent; he just didn’t seem to be of the FBI.

  “Your soup’s getting cold.” Lauren pointed to his bowl. At that moment there was no doubt Eli Warner was a happy man. He picked up where he left off, finishing his story and his soup at the same time.

  “Allan Lassiter is one of your best friends. You’ve never dated him, according to my sources, and Caufeld treats you both like you’re his own. Lassiter was Caufeld’s protégé. Worked for him for four years before going out on his own. Caufeld is a class act, a guy with brains, a conscience and courage. He has everything except a blood-line family because his wife, Victoria, died young and he never remarried. I’m proud to be working on this. I think Caufeld is an alright guy. I’d like to call him my friend. I’ll be happy to see him sit on the high court.”

  “He’d probably like that, too,” Lauren said encompassing both the ambition and the desire for friendship in her answer.

  She pushed aside her empty bowl and left the brandy half finished. It had been a long time since she’d sat in the dark with a man and enjoyed it as much as she enjoyed being with Eli Warner. There was something about the way he talked that made her feel as if she didn’t need to say anything. The way he imparted information, the way he waited for her input, made her feel safe. He could keep that bogey man at bay. He listened so well. He should have been a priest to whom people could bare their souls without regret. She was glad he wasn’t.

  “So,” she sighed and plucked her napkin off her lap and put it on the table. “How much longer before you wrap everything up?”

  “I like to be thorough, so probably another couple of weeks for my end. The hearings aren’t scheduled, and those senators want a couple of months to look for dirt using their own investigators.”

  “They won’t find any on Wilson,” Lauren assured him.

  “Don’t I know it? Life’s been pretty boring since I started in on him. I have a funny feeling, though, that since you’re part of the package things might heat up. How long do you think the Stewart trial will last?”

  “Knowing Wilson? We’ll have it wrapped up in three weeks.”

  “Perfect. We’ll both need a break. Dinner? A movie? I’ll even drive.”

  “Very funny.” Lauren started to move out of the booth, but her muscles were locked. She muffled a groan and squeezed the tears back behind closed eyes.

  “Hold on.” Eli got out first. He held out his hand. She took it and he half lifted her away from the table.

  “Lean on me.” She did and they stopped only long enough for him to pay the bill. She was walking stiffly, but on her own by the time he finished. The sun was almost down; rush hour was in full swing. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

  “I should go back to the office.”

  “You should see a doctor.”

  “I won’t feel like inviting you in.”

  “It’s good to know where I stand.” He put his hand under her arm and took her briefcase. This time she didn’t object. She was tired in body and soul, suddenly aware she had been lonesome. She didn’t mind that other people rushed past them. Their slow pace gave her time to look at the Federal Building.

  “I used to think this building was the most beautiful thing. It looks like a ghost building because the light shines at an angle through all those windows.”

  “I used to love it when people sat on the grass—before they put in those concrete barriers. Oklahoma City changed a lot of things,” he said back. “Sometimes I just hate how we all have to be so careful. Maybe you’ll put the Stewarts away and we can relax again.”

  “There are a million others waiting to take their place if I do.”

  “You’re right. Even if there weren’t, they’d never take the barriers down. Once something like that goes up, it doesn’t come down unless it’s torn down. Somehow, I don’t think there’s anyone passionate enough in this city to do that. We like our walls. Yes, indeed we do.”

  Lauren looked askance. He wasn’t looking at her. He seemed to be talking to himself as much as her. The streetlight was red now and still he didn’t hurry though they were only three-quarters of the way across. Eli seemed to know nothing would happen to them as long as he was alert and his head was up. He seemed to be mindful of all her injuries, even the ones deep inside. Lauren didn’t ask how he knew to do these things.

  She simply said, “You’re right.”

  “Wilson, you know that I admire you more than anyone in this world, and I know that I owe you everything. I haven’t forgotten that, Wilson. But things have changed, and the stakes have changed. Remember when you told me not to take risks that weren’t absolutely necessary? Well, now I’m telling you the same thing.”

  Allan talked fast as he followed the old man through the house. It was a rambling place full of memorabilia of Wilson’s travels, his speeches, his education, his years as a judge. The house was too big for a man alone, Allan always told him that, but Wilson didn’t listen. Neither did he stop to consider the framed pictures or plaques or citations often, but Allan knew they were comforting to him. These things were proof of a life well lived and that’s what counted to Wilson Caufeld.

  Allan ignored the trappings completely, well aware that there was a hole in this shrine of Wilson’s, a year that wasn’t remembered, and that he was partially responsible for it. But all that was long ago and far away, and Allan hardly even thought of it anymore. He was different now. Wilson was the same.

  “I cautioned you against greed, Allan, and pride and all the seven deadly sins you seem so fond of. That was my warning.”

  Wilson reached up and gave the hanging plant above the piano a little drink. It was the kind with the tufts of leaves on long tendrils. College girls called the tufts “babies” because they trailed from the mother plant.

  “I hate this thing.” Allan swiped at it, sending a baby flying as he followed Wilson Caufeld. Wilson didn’t blink but kept on with his chore. Allan was ready to beg. “Wilso
n, please listen to me.”

  “Allan, I have been listening for the last forty-five minutes. I’m tired. I had a long day, as you well know and, to tell you the truth, I’ve only allowed you to stay this long because I hoped you’d run out of steam. I thought we could sit and have a cup of coffee together and relax. But if you’re going to go on with this argument then I want you to go home.”

  Wilson carted his copper watering can into the kitchen. His leather slippers made a swooshing sound and the whole scene gave Allan the creeps. On his home turf Wilson Caufeld looked like an old man, he sounded like an old man, and Allan didn’t admire old men. He admired the professional and powerful Caufeld. There were times Allan worried that he might be looking at his future when he looked at Wilson. Tonight, though, he was angry because he couldn’t make Wilson Caufeld see that the future was exactly what was at stake.

  Taking a deep breath, Allan stuck his thumbs in the pocket of his jeans, threw back his head and counted to ten. Wilson was making the coffee. Allan took his fingers out of his pocket and leaned his elbows on the counter.

  “Wilson, think of what you’re doing to Lauren if nothing else. Ever since I’ve known you, all you’ve talked about is how much she needed a break after her mom died. Now you’re in a position to give it to her and you’re not.”

  Wilson raised his eyes. In that moment he was the all-knowing, all-but-wrathful, near omnipotent Wilson Caufeld whom Allan used to fear. He had looked at Allan like that before. This time Allan didn’t look away. Wilson picked up the coffeepot.

  “Remember where you are and who you are with, Allan. This is my home. This is my decision and my business. What I do about George Stewart has nothing to do with you.”

  “It has everything to do with me, Wilson!” In his fervor, Allan jostled Caufeld’s hand as if that childish gesture could change his mind. But Wilson had the pot in his hand when he pulled back, the hot coffee splashed out, burning the judge. The pot crashed to the floor, shattered irreparably. The two men looked at the mess and then at one another through the dim light. It was Allan who looked away first. His anger vanished in the face of Wilson Caufeld’s wounded expression. That look still made him feel like a young boy, unworthy of the affection the old man lavished on him.