"The weekend Natch went crazy," said Clay Phipps.
"Better crazy than killed," said Joe Mulvane. "To go to Cuban bars in the middle of the night and try to rabble-rouse… Was this guy the last person in the world to figure out there's no more gung-ho American on earth than a refugee Cuban? He comes in and starts sounding like a Communist, like Fidel… He's damn lucky to have landed in a nice cushy private nuthouse and not the morgue." He paused, then added, "But something I don't understand. Supposedly this guy was a struggling poet. How does he end up in such a pricey nuthouse?"
Nina looked at Augie. But Augie didn't want it known that he was funding his deranged friend's treatment. He just said, "Natch isn't a bad person. Just frustrated. Misguided."
"Misguided," hissed Joe Mulvane. He was a homicide cop, he didn't have much use for words that were excuses. "Some are misguided. Some are weak. Or jealous. Or downright evil. You can say some are worse than others, but they kill somebody, dead is dead."
"Fair enough," said Augie. "But I'll tell you something-I'm very grateful for two things. I'm very grateful to be alive, and I'm very grateful it wasn't one of my good friends that was trying to kill me."
"Amen to that," said Clay Phipps.
"And Joe," Nina added, "we're very grateful to you. I'm not sure we've ever thanked you properly for all you did for us."
Joe Mulvane was not especially good at accepting thanks; it was also true that in this instance he believed in his heart that he had utterly failed. "I did nothing for you," he said. "I couldn't prevent an arson, a tragedy…"
The words pushed air out of the room. Eyes stung and for a long moment there was nothing left to breathe. When Augie finally filled his hollow chest it was with the rapture of some great hunger sated, some great gift acknowledged and given thanks for. The air had come to smell of jasmine and dry shells.
"Reuben," Augie said. He said it softly, he shook his head in awe. "What a remarkable person. The only truly unselfish person I have known in all my life."
The remark was aimed at no one, but it made the others squirm.
"He'll be all right?" Claire Steiger asked.
"He'll be all right," said Nina. "He'll have a long recovery, a hard adjustment. But he'll be all right."
There was a silence, a long moment of reflection and regret that could only end in fidgeting and thirst. Clay Phipps cleared his throat and rose. "What say we have some old Bordeaux?"
Augie Silver had remembered how to sweat. He mopped his forehead. "Awfully hot for Bordeaux," he said.
"Awfully damn hot for anything," said Joe Mulvane.
"It is," said Clay Phipps, moving toward the kitchen, "but goddamnit, let's have Bordeaux anyway."
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Scavenger reef kwm-2 Page 25
