by Warren Adler
"I was with him all day yesterday. It was settled."
"You think so?"
"What did he do?"
She watched him as he accelerated and decelerated in quick spurts.
"You're making me nauseated," she said.
"Good."
"So what did he do?"
"You didn't know?"
"No. I don't know. I told you. He was fine."
"Some fine."
He looked at her with contempt, removed his cigarette and punched it out in the ashtray.
"Cates rousted this Martin guy. The newspaperman. Must have been late last night. This morning the guy called the office for you. I took the call. He said he would only talk to you."
"And what did you tell him?"
"I said he talks to you, he also talks to me. We work for the same company."
"Yeah, but I'm suspended."
"He said he had somethin' important to say. He said he was going to stop this shit once and for all. What shit? I didn't know what the hell he was talking about. Then he told me about Cates coming to see him. Apparently the dummy got physical as well. I'll have that one's ass."
He opened the window and spat out.
"I didn't know about it," Fiona said. "Not that it matters now, but I'm really shocked."
"I bleed for you."
He shook his head and sneered, showing a line of yellowed teeth. "I kept my part of the bargain. The mayor agreed. Two weeks. Charges withdrawn. I was also going to remove them. For that, I get this." He looked at her, his eyes narrowing. "You know what your problem is, FitzGerald? You don't know men. You haven't got the goddamnedest instincts about men. Black, white. Any man."
I'll buy that, she told herself, refusing to acknowledge it to him. Of all people, not to him.
He swung the car onto Pennsylvania Avenue. Passing the Capitol, the traffic thinned.
"Where are we going?"
"Neutral ground. Benton's."
For once, she forgave his paranoia. It's a zoo, Cates had said. But he didn't have to walk into the cage.
XVIII
Jason met Arthur Fellows at the Arlington Metro station. It was always deserted. There were no prying eyes to connect the two men, a valuable consideration if denial became necessary. Even the tourists eschewed it since it was too far to walk from the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and the Kennedy graves, the two most popular sites in the Capitol. They had it all to themselves, especially at that hour. It was 8 P.M.
The visit from that woman detective and her black partner had shaken him up, but only until he realized that they really had nothing. Only that dumb pin. He had been worried about that. Hell, the pin was so obviously a general's insignia, it would have raised anybody's curiosity. He was sure they had nothing more. Dorothy was dead, in any event, and it didn't matter how anymore. At least Trey would benefit from all this horror. A little digging back in Hiram had revealed his connection, but he wasn't really worried about it. The point was that the police had no right to harass him if there was no evidence of a crime. That much he knew. Anyway, he was sure it would soon be over. They had nothing. Nothing but that pin. If they had more, their approach would have been different.
A train rumbled into the elaborate station and Arthur was the only passenger to get off. Watching him come forward, he saw the pale drawn face, the hunched posture. He seemed to have aged considerably in the past forty-eight hours. When he got closer, Jason moved to a bench and sat down.
"You put me through the worst moments of my life, you bastard," Arthur said, falling heavily onto the bench beside him.
"But you did it?"
"Not quite."
Jason coughed to mask his sudden anxiety. Arthur looked at him and turned away, his lips curling in contempt.
"It'll all be over soon," Jason said. He, too, wanted to have it done with.
Arthur breathed deeply and cleared his throat, which was slightly hoarse. Furtively, he looked around the deserted station.
"What a boondoggle," he said. "Typical."
Jason waited. There was no point rushing him now, no point pulling the noose any tighter. For the moment, he chose to ignore the "not quite."
"I saw them all. Every one. I saw the fear in their eyes, the agony. All good men. All they wanted to do was play, have a good time. What the hell is wrong with that?" He smiled suddenly, a leering, toothy smile. "Not one of them had the slightest inkling. Not one. They couldn't believe it."
"But they believed you?"
"Look at me. Do I look believable?"
"Then it was easy. See? I told you."
"Easy. These are men with brilliant careers." Arthur laughed derisively. "The Czech..." He paused when his throat caught, "...the Czech broke down and cried."
"Did she call them all?"
"Not all. The senator was out of town. She left a message with his wife. Can you believe it? When I told him, he had to take half a bottle of Maalox." He turned suddenly to Jason and scowled. "You know what it means to carry a message from the devil? It's madness. Madness. I feel depraved. Christ. It was all in fun. That's all it was. And they all asked me the same question."
"What was that?"
"Does that man have no pity?"
Jason glanced away and looked at the arched ceiling of the station. No, he thought, he had no pity. Men who have power are not to be pitied. To get where they are, how many lives did they have to ruin, how many people did they have to step on?
"Did any of them show any pity for Dorothy?"
"They were in no mood for pity."
"Neither am I."
"I told them that she was innocent in all this, but they weren't so sure about that. They cursed you both."
"Maybe one of them did more than curse Dorothy. Maybe one of them killed her."
"Maybe," Arthur said. "I can't say that they didn't want to. Maybe kill you both."
"Have we finished with the hearts and flowers?"
Arthur looked at him and shook his head. "You are a bastard. Any one of us can turn you in."
"But none of you will ... You're all too puffed up with your own self-importance. Too greedy for power. Too ambitious. Hell, so far you've beaten the system, and you'll figure out a way to beat it again."
Jason paused for a moment, reflecting. Now was the time to play real hardball, hold out no matter what. "You said not quite."
"I've got one hold out," he said, his head lowered. "He actually threw me out of his office. The associate justice. He was insulted, indignant. You sure you got him dead to rights, Jason? He was very strong. Very strong. He said if I persisted he would have to report it."
"Always a hardballer in the crowd. There's a fellow so used to power he can't tell the forest from the trees."
"He wasn't afraid. I can tell you that."
Another train rumbled through the station. No one got out.
"I can break the whole fucking lot of you," Jason said, surprised at his own malevolence.
"And yourself to the bargain."
"Who gives a shit?"
"Anyway, the five have already agreed. They'll need a couple of days to get the cash." Arthur's lips curled in a deadly cold smile. "I vouched for your honesty. That's a laugh. Take the five of us and be happy, Jason. The justice is trouble. He'll go down for a principle. I can tell the type."
"We'll see."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Jason ignored the question, bent on logistics now.
"You'll give me the money and I'll mail you the tapes." He had figured it out carefully. He would mail to each man the tapes that referred to him individually. If knowledge was power, he wasn't going to give any of them that.
"Trusting soul," Arthur said, seized suddenly with a coughing fit. Once he recovered, he grabbed Jason's arm. "I have my money. I want my tapes today. I can't live with this another day. I'll do what you say about the others. But I want anything that relates to me today. I've kept my part of the bargain." He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, but
Jason restrained him.
"Not yet, Arthur. I said all."
"I told you," he pleaded. "He won't bend. I know that kind of guy. A martyr, if he believes he's right. Hell, he's a Supreme Court judge. He'll go to the mat." He looked at Jason and shook his head, obviously annoyed by his obstinance.
"How can you be so sure about the police? Surely, they would have checked her place."
"I tell you they've marked it suicide."
He wondered if he should tell Arthur about the visit from the police, the pin. That was all they had. "I cleaned it up. I wiped all the prints," he said.
"If the police get into it, it's canceled. They all made that clear. These boys are tough." Arthur paused. "Look, what harm is there? The five are willing. I'll make up the difference. Its only money." His fingers tightened on Jason's arm.
"No," Jason said, loosening his grip. "All."
"You're looking for trouble. I know men like that."
"All," Jason repeated. "No one gets off."
He could smell the stench of his own evil. He had already come to terms with his own hatred of himself, there was no problem of conscience. No, he would be adamant. They all had to pay. Even Sally. He could barely suppress his laughter.
Arthur brooded for a long time in silence. His pallid color had deepened to yellow as if his blood had suddenly been freeze-dried.
"Nobody escapes," Arthur said suddenly, the implied threat unmistakable. "Everybody pays sometime."
"You've come awfully cheap, Arthur. Right to the top. One big zoom."
"Is it jealousy, Jason? Is that it? I can understand that. When someone gives me a load of shit, my wife always tells me that. That's a very good way to handle it. The frustration of the loser. Is that it?"
It hadn't occurred to him. He thought for awhile. He wanted his response to be deadly accurate.
"Yes," he said. "But not of your success. Not the substance of it. More the style. How the hell do you do it? The way you press just the right buttons. Make just the right moves. You know just where the weak spots are and you barrel through them like a hot knife through butter. How the hell do you do that? Even now. You may not realize it but you're doing it even now."
"If I told you how, would you call it off?" Arthur smirked.
"No."
There was another long silence. Educational, Jason thought. It was very educational, the way Arthur probed for weakness, faltering, rejuvenating, trying again.
"Dorothy would never have been a part of this. Never," Arthur said. Dorothy again. He would use her now.
"What did you really think about Dorothy, Arthur? Was she just a piece of ass, a bit of fluff? I told her you all thought she was just a piece of meat. Tell me. Was that the way you really thought about her?" He sensed his own weakening now.
"Why should you care about that?" Arthur said, caught off guard. "It's a bit irrelevant."
"Try to think back before you knew she was getting it on with the others. I'm really curious about that."
"You can't stop turning the fucking knife. If I tell you, will you let me off the hook? Give me the tapes?" He patted his pocket.
"No."
Maybe he was not as smart as Jason had imagined. Did he seriously believe that the tapes were floating around his apartment?
"She was the best," Arthur said. "She opened like the petals of a flower, drawing you in. It was wonderful. Wonderful." His voice broke. "I adored her. She was the absolute best. A refuge. An oasis. God, I couldn't wait to see her. I thought about her all the time and wished she would be there waiting for me, always."
"You felt that?"
"Isn't that what you wanted to hear? Or should I try it the other way? Would it make a difference?"
Suddenly, his head dropped to his chest. Jason could hear him sigh deeply. "Actually, I miss the bitch," he said slowly. "I think they all miss her. She was the girl of our dreams."
Jason couldn't bear to hear any more of it and stood up. "You tell the great Justice Strauss that if he doesn't come across we'll get Sally after him." He grabbed Arthur's shoulders and shook him. "You hear me? Tell him Sally will get after him."
Arthur stood up slowly, frowning and confused.
"Sally?"
"Just tell him that."
"I don't understand."
"Better that way. Tell him Sally is all over the tapes."
"And suppose he declines again?"
"He won't."
Jason turned and headed toward the stairs. They led to an overhead walkway across to the Washington bound track. Behind him, he heard Arthur's shuffling steps. When he reached the other side, he slowed and stood at the platform's edge. Soon lights would flash along the rim. Arthur's steps grew louder in the deserted station, gaining speed, as they approached him.
"I need to know one more thing," Arthur said. He was standing very close behind him now. Jason turned, confronting his distorted face. He could smell the man's sour breath. Beneath him, the lights began to flash and in the distance he heard the faint rumble of the oncoming train.
"Did she feel anything for me?" Flecks of moisture came out with his words, showering him. "Compared to the others?" In his eyes, Jason could see the agony. The train's rumble grew louder. He could step away, save himself in the few moments that were left. Instead, he held his ground. Let Arthur make the choice now.
Do it, he challenged in his heart. Push me. Save yourself. Save the others. He stiffened, waiting for the light pressure. It would be over in a moment. He could hear the quickening roar of the swiftly approaching train. Peripherally, he saw the single bright light of the first car, coming forward like a relentless eye, seeing everything.
"We were all one man to her," Jason shouted above the din.
Do it, he urged him silently, but it was too late. Arthur stepped back.
Jason ducked in the door of the deserted train.
When he looked around again, he saw Arthur still waiting on the platform, sullen and forlorn, nursing his pain.
Life for Jason was suspended now. There was little to do but wait. He called his immediate boss in Fairfax.
"I'm sick," he said, picturing his tense, scrofulous face at the other end.
"Shit."
"Thanks for your concern."
It would all be over soon. He would give his notice, take his book of clippings and push on. Journalism, real journalism was dying in America anyway. Perhaps he'd write the book that he had always talked about.
"The book. The book." Jane had always ridden him about that. "How many years do you think you can get out of the promise? I can't stand it anymore. Always pretending that somewhere inside of you is the great book. What book?"
Maybe he would skim off twenty or thirty thousand, hole up somewhere in the Swiss Alps. Mountains always held a literary lure. He'd write the book there. Still, Jane's voice persisted in the back of his mind ... what book?
Because he couldn't concentrate on anything, he took long walks, as if the physical activity might expunge Dorothy from his mind. It didn't. Did they miss her, too? It had been painful enough removing her things from his apartment, putting them all in large plastic bags and running them out to the city dump. Soon, when the rent ran out in the other place, someone would have to empty her things from there as well. All those white things and the stuffed animals. He knew he could never go back.
It hurt him to know, too, that her body was not yet under ground. Who would claim her? That drunken aunt back in Hiram certainly wouldn't bother, nor would she spend the money on long distance calls to find Dorothy's brothers. Perhaps he could anonymously send them the money to give her a decent burial, instead of the city-paid cremation, like they burned the trash. No. That would be too dangerous.
Thankfully, there was no follow-up from the police. He had sensed an eagerness in the woman detective that nagged at him, but his reason dismissed it. If they had something, they would certainly act. There was also not a word in the papers. It was over. He was sure it was over. He would be patient.
/>
Arthur called two days after the meeting in the train station. In the crackle of the pay phone, his voice seemed calm.
"Done," he said.
"Sally as well?"
"Yes."
"I told you."
For the first time in days, he felt his tension ease. They were, after all, reasonable, practical men, bending to conditions that were beyond their control. Like him. He hadn't asked for much. He'd take twenty thousand only, put the rest in trust for Trey and leave the country. Go as far as he could go away from everything. Away from powerful people. From his past. From Dorothy's memory.
"Tonight. Same place," Arthur said. "The cemetery station."
Arthur had every right to be paranoid. One never knows who was listening or watching. Despite the new laws, the Nixon days had not yet faded from memory. Besides, people in power were naturally paranoid.
Jason packed two suitcases, eliminating any extraneous possessions. He'd continue to pay the rent on his apartment. Someday he'd come back, when the pain was gone and he had written whatever book he had to write. He checked his passport and reserved space on SwissAir to Geneva the next evening. Then he went to his bank and made arrangements for a trust account for Trey.
"I'll be putting in a hundred thousand in cash," he told one of the bank's officers.
"No problem," the man said. Cash was cash. No questions asked. Trey's education would be set. He would write to Jane about it.
From the vault, he removed the tape cassettes from the strongboxes and carried them home in a plastic bag. It felt odd, incongruous. In the bag, usually used for trash, he held the public lives of six men. Now that was power, he thought. Real power. Back in his apartment, he separated the cassettes into categories that referred to each man. He had marked each with the day, the date and the name of the man who had been the subject of the debriefing. It amazed him to see how many cassettes had accumulated. Then he carefully packed them into large envelopes, on which he pasted mailing labels. In the post office he got them properly stamped for Special Delivery and carted them home again. He was ready now. The bargain had been struck. Soon he would be free of it. Still, there was one thing more he had to do.
