Summer Cool - A Jack Paine Mystery (Jack Paine Mysteries)
Page 13
Billy Rader looked up as Bob Petty took another swing at Bryers, knocking him off his chair. For a moment it looked as though Bryers wasn't going to get up, but Paine helped him back into the seat.
"And if you want my two cents' worth," Paine said to Bryers, "I liked the way you tried to keep me away by threatening me and then offering me a job."
"Here's the thing," Billy said to Bryers. "Your ass is cooked as of now, and you know it. I've got a man inside the White House who isn't afraid to blow his whistle. I've got four or five of your men, including your two DEA boys in Tucson named Sims and Martin, already lined up to say whatever I want to hear to save their own skins, especially after they heard how you used them and their agency. This thing makes Iran-Contra look like baby puke. And you know it. The American public never figured out that shit anyway, but they'll figure this one out real quick. I'm a good reporter and an excellent writer, and I'll make sure of it. Domestic spying, tinkering with government agencies, doing a Manchurian Candidate number on the head of a Vietnam War hero—shit, they might even lynch you. So the only choice you have is to spill your fucking guts to me before it gets to a House committee and the courts, and try to set the record in the best direction for yourself that you can." Billy took on the look of a prosecutor with the murder weapon, covered with the defendant's fingerprints, in his hand. "You're going to have to name names, and quick, shithead—or I promise to nail you to the cross."
There was quiet in the room. They could see Bryers running it all through the computer in his head. Accounts were being balanced, options weighed. They saw the tally go up, the shadows fall behind his eyes, the look of the caught animal, looking for whatever hole to crawl into, drop across his face.
"We'll talk," he said to Rader.
Billy's face lit up. He pulled a tape recorder from his briefcase and set it up in the center of Bryers’ own desk. "Fine," he said. To Paine and Bob Petty, he said, "This may take some time, and I doubt you boys will want to hear all the grisly details right now. Maybe you'd like to go home, take a rest. The two of you look like shit, anyway. We can talk tomorrow, after I phone this in to the Times Herald. Be nice to see a Texas paper get a little glory for once. " He turned a large, affectionate smile on Bob Petty.” When this is done, you're going to be quite a hero. I'll get a Pulitzer Prize, of course. Is there anything you want?"
Petty took a final swing at Bryers, hitting him squarely on the nose. Bryers doubled over, throwing both hands to his face, trying to stem the sudden flow of blood.
"Jesus, you broke it!" Bryers cried.
Petty said, "That's all I want."
"Go," Billy Rader said, and when Paine and Bob Petty left he was placing his microphone in front of Bryers, turning on his tape recorder, beaming like a six-year-old on Christmas morning.
32
It was dark when Paine got to his office. There was no one laying for him in the alley, no one waiting in the hallway outside his door, only a new pile of bills and supermarket flyers inside the door, which he dropped straight into his wastebasket. There were no messages on the tape machine, but there was a long, thin manila envelope on his desk. Inside was his new lease, in triplicate, with all the changes he had insisted on. There was also a short note from Anapolos, apologizing for the delay, promising that he would never use his pass key again. The key was enclosed in the envelope. There was a new air conditioner in the window, the instruction booklet still on its string around one of the control knobs.
But the heat had broken. It had grown cool in the office, and Paine didn't need the new air conditioner. Anapolos's note ended by saying, "Have a nice day."
Have a nice day. Paine had had a nice day, but it hadn't been easy. He had gone with Bob Petty to his house, and he had watched, and smiled, while Bob Petty held his wife and his daughters as tight as a man can, telling them how sorry he was and what a fool he was and asking for their forgiveness. They had given it, of course. Terry had cried, so uncontrollably that for a while she'd had to leave the room, and later, after they had all talked until they were talked out, as Paine was leaving, Bobby had gone away, and Terry had taken Paine aside and kissed him and held him and cried again.
"There'll always be a special place for you in my heart, Jack," she had said.
Paine had smiled, and said, "Good, Terry" and then she had continued to hold him and said, "I'm not over you yet. I don't know if I want to be."
He had answered, remembering the way she had looked at Bobby when he'd come in, the fire that had leapt back into her from her supposedly closed, cold heart, "Yes, you do, Terry" and he had kissed her on the cheek and held her himself and then left.
Have a nice day.
Paine thought about driving upstate. He thought about the bass still in the pond behind his summer house, the summer books he had left unread, the iced tea he had left warming in its glass next to his chair in the shade, the telescope dome waiting to be opened to the night stars.
But he did not feel like looking at the stars for a while. He had found what he had searched for among them in his dreams, and found what he needed in his heart, holding him, at least for now.
And hot summer was over. Iced tea wouldn't taste the same; he no longer wanted to read the books piled next to his shade chair. With the breaking of the heat, shade would chill him. The bass would not jump so high from their cooling lake.
Have a nice day.
Leaning back in his chair, Paine put his feet on his desk, and waited for the phone to ring.