by Jack Lynch
“You don’t. She has to make her way through that particular fun house all on her own. But if she’s as good as you think she is, she’ll do it, Bragg. You’ll just have to be patient.”
“What if she decides to marry somebody like Gene Cooney before she reaches that point?”
“Then she doesn’t deserve you.”
I stared at her and she stared right back, in the way she had. I leaned across and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
Rachel drove me back into town and dropped me off in front of Maribeth’s apartment building. We promised to keep in touch. Before going into the building I saw my car parked just up the street. Upstairs, Bobbie was packing. I got my car keys and talked to Maribeth for a couple of minutes, said good-bye to Bobbie but then got on out of there. I drove downtown, parked in the garage and walked up to the office. It was starting to drizzle some. I didn’t have a raincoat with me, but I didn’t even think about that.
It was almost seven o’clock and the building was deserted, everybody getting a jump on the weekend. I let myself in and went into the attorneys’ conference room and poured myself some bourbon. I made a mental note to buy Sloe and Morrisey a case of booze to make up for what I’d had that week.
I carried the drink back over to my office, hung up the damp sports jacket and settled down at the desk. Sharon had left a note asking me to call her at home. I dialed her number. She answered on the second ring.
“The shooting’s been on all the news shows,” she told me. “What happened?”
I told her pretty much the way things had gone up at the park.
“What about Allison?”
And so I told her about that too, the hair-raising ride down to the airport with Rachel, and what I’d seen when I got there.
“You could go after her.”
“No, Sharon. Not now, I couldn’t. I think she should have some time with her new playmate. Maybe she’ll learn some things.”
“And maybe she won’t.”
“That’s right, and maybe she won’t.”
Neither of us spoke for a moment, then I cleared my throat. “Sharon, I won’t be coming into the office for a few days. This has been the longest week of my life. I feel all used up. I want to get away from everything for a while.”
“By yourself?”
“I don’t think I’d be very good company for anybody else.”
“If you go off by yourself you’re just going to spend all your time thinking about Allison.”
“Maybe.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
“Maybe.”
“Bragg, listen…”
I replaced the receiver as gently as I could. I was all out of talk. I finished the bourbon and closed up the office.
It was starting to rain a little harder now. Springtime in San Francisco. It didn’t really bother me. I was at home in seaport towns and enjoyed walking in the rain whether dressed for it or not. I went on down to the garage and got out the car and drove on home to Sausalito.
I let myself into the apartment, hung my jacket near the wall heater and went into the kitchen to pour myself some more bourbon. I carried it to the living room sofa and stretched out and tried to think of where I might like to go for a few days, or even a couple of weeks or more by myself. Somewhere with grand scenery or interesting people to watch. Maybe someplace where the ponies were running. Maybe Las Vegas or Puerto Vallarta. Maybe Manhattan or Hong Kong. Or London. I had always wanted to go to London; all those museums. I hadn’t made it yet.
I dozed off for a while, there on the sofa, but came to with a start.
Somebody using a key or a coin was rapping on the glass window in the front door. I went over and opened it.
Karen stood there, a figure out of the same spy novel as the night before, with trench coat and beret. Rain was dripping from her. She stepped past me without a word, eyed the wall heater and crossed to it.
I closed the door and turned to lean back against it. “I don’t believe this,” I told her. “What are you doing here? How do you know where I live?”
“Sharon. She phone me at home and we talk about things. We hit it off pretty good, your Sharon and me. We talk girl talk. We talk about you and this Allison, but mostly we talk about you. She told me you are in a very bad place right now, and she didn’t mean just this little apartment.
“So we decided, Sharon and me, that you shouldn’t be by yourself right now. She told me how to find your apartment and said I should tell you that no son of a bitch hangs up the phone on her without paying a price. I am the price.”
She giggled and whipped off the beret then unbelted and took off the trench coat. Beneath it she was wearing a black leather sheath that made her look as if she were on her way to pry secrets out of foreign ambassadors at some smart cocktail party.
She tossed the coat and beret on the end of the sofa. I tried to scowl at her, but it was tough while she stood there so theatrically, one hand on her hip.
“Look, Karen, Sharon is right. I’m in a bad place right now. I am in as gloomy a mood as I’ve been in for a long time. When I’m that way I lash out at people. I’m better off left alone.”
“You want to lash out at me?”
“No, Karen, that’s the point. I don’t want to lash out at you. Last night, after you drove off, I thought about you some. I think I made some bad early judgments about you, and I’ve said some things to you I shouldn’t have said. I’d like to make up for that sometime. But now is the wrong time, believe me. I’ll have to pitch you back outside.”
The woman’s nostrils flared and her eyes seemed to throw off a couple of sparks. She stepped up to me and gave me another punch to the chest, this one a lot harder than the one she had given me the night before.
“You are full of the horseradish. I think you are right when you say you owe me some. You have had some bad thoughts about me. What gives you the right to decide when you make up for them?”
She wheeled about with her thumbs hooked under her shoulders and swaggered around the little room. “Mr. Big Shot deciding when to tell Karen maybe she’s okay after all. Huh?”
It brought a little smile to my face. “I’m sorry. I said it awkwardly. Before I pitch you out I’ll fix you a Scotch and soda, if you promise not to throw it in my face.”
“Then you must not be mean at me,” she said with a toss of her head.
I went into the kitchen to fix her drink. While I was there I poured myself some more bourbon. I was about to carry them over to the sofa when the phone rang. I stared at it and put the drinks on the countertop. It rang again. I realized then that the day must have drained me more than I had thought. I found myself nervous about answering my own telephone. I was afraid it might be a friend in trouble. I was afraid it might be somebody from the past wanting to threaten me. I was afraid it might be Allison. But how could that be? Allison was winging across the Pacific.
Karen just watched me. On the fourth ring I picked up the receiver.
“Bragg, it’s Sharon. I hate to bother you after the day you’ve had, but the answering service just put through a call I thought you should know about.”
“Who from?”
“A man who called himself Britain. He was calling from the East Coast. He said the two of you met once.”
I remembered him. He was some sort of government mystery man. During some very hairy business we both had been part of he told me that he came from one of the closets where they kept the spooks.
“What did he want, Sharon?”
“He wants to hire you for something. He said it would surprise you, considering the line of work he was in himself. But he said to tell you it was important. He’s flying in Monday morning and wants to see you. I told him you were planning to leave town for a few days. He said I should call you and try to delay that. He said to tell you again that it was important. He wants me to call him back now, after we’ve spoken.”
I bit my upper lip. There was no telling what sort of work it might e
ntail. Britain had been a man of spare words. His using the word important not once but twice was about the same as anybody else telling you that missiles were whistling in over the North Pole.
“Okay, Sharon, call back and tell him I’ll stick around until Monday morning to hear what he has to say.” This time I waited until Sharon had hung up before replacing the receiver.
“What was that, or is it big secret?” Karen asked.
“No, not a secret, exactly.” I picked up the drinks and carried them into the little living room. “It was Sharon. I have to put off a little vacation I was going to take. Somebody has a job for me.”
“Something you do tonight?”
“No, nothing that can be done tonight.” I handed her the Scotch. She remained on her feet.
“Good,” she told me, touching my glass with her own and sipping from the drink. “Then we can get down to the brass tacks.”
“The what?”
She gestured with her glass. “Drink some first. Give you courage.”
“What is it I need courage for?”
Karen shrugged and had some more of her Scotch. “You never can tell with men. Or I never can.” She made an upward gesture of one hand for me to drink my drink. I had some more of the bourbon.
She took a couple steps to put her drink on the kitchen counter, then turned back with a clap of her hands. “Okay. Now we put this Allison to rest.”
“What?”
She nodded decisively. “Old girlfriends don’t belong here in this little apartment right now. Sharon say she run off with another man to Hawaii.”
“For once in her life, Sharon said too much.”
“I don’t think so.”
I had to step back to make room for her. She had begun to pace back and forth in front of the kitchen counter like a prosecuting attorney at a movie trial. “Tell me. How long have you known this Allison?”
“A long time.”
“Months?”
“More like years.”
She stopped pacing and pointed a finger at me. “Have you been to bed with other women in that time?”
I cleared my throat. “Yes.”
“Do you think she has been to bed with other men in that time?”
“Now that’s out of order,” I told her.
“No, it is not. It is right smack on the money, Bragg. Well? Has she?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it much.”
“Bragg, answer me. You said you have known her for years. Do you think she has been to bed in all that time with other men?”
“Well, suppose she has? It isn’t as if we’re married.”
“More than once?”
“I suppose so.”
“So in Hawaii if she goes to the bed with another man, how is it different from those other times?”
I went over to sit on the edge of the sofa and stared at my drink. Karen remained standing, one hand now on her hip again. “Well, how is it different?” she demanded.
“If you put it that way, I guess it isn’t any different at all, that I know of. But that’s not the point. The point is the muddled emotional state that she’s in, and that she chose to go off with another man to try getting over it all.”
“Hooray,” said Karen. “High time this woman go dump on somebody else. Give Bragg a little break.”
I thought about it some and had to smile. I took a drink of the bourbon.
“Okay, so much for old girlfriends,” said Karen, turning to pick up the Scotch. She brushed a strand of hair from in front of her face and looked across at me. “Don’t laugh, this is hard work.”
I did laugh then. Karen crossed to the sofa, put down the Scotch on the cherry wood table and settled herself lightly on my lap, her arms resting on my shoulders. Her face turned very serious.
“This is a damn thing, Bragg. It is not fair that you be in this bad place and feel all sour inside. Is not fair to you. Is not fair to me.” I started to speak but she put one hand across my mouth.
“No. Now is time you can make up for bad things you thought about me, by keeping lips buttoned. Just relax.”
I tried to let go a little. She reached out and began to knead the back of my neck, then worked around some to the top of my shoulders. I closed my eyes and could begin to feel things loosen up. I hadn’t realized I’d been all that hunched up.
She kept it up for a couple of minutes, then her hands moved alongside my face. I caught a whiff of some very pleasant scent she was wearing, then she was kissing me. Just a nice kiss. Nothing to make horns honk. I raised one hand to the back of her neck and gently held it there. In another moment she moved her head to alongside my own and hugged me with surprising strength. She kept that up too. It had been a long time since a woman had hugged me like that. But then that was the sort of thing I maybe resisted unconsciously. A mistake, I decided. Somebody giving you a hug as if they were holding on for dear life felt okay.
I cleared my throat and Karen sat up with a start. “I’d like you to tell me something.”
She studied me, her face wary. “What?”
“I was wondering. If we kiss again, do I still have to keep my lips buttoned?”
She gave me a cross-eyed look that made me laugh again.
And when we kissed again neither one of us kept our lips buttoned, and this one would have made horns honk. Karen had told me she wasn’t very lucky in love. Whatever the reason, I decided, it wasn’t because she had never learned how to kiss. We had to stop to catch our breath.
Karen stared at me solemnly. “Now is your turn. You tell me something.”
“Name it,” I said, my breathing a little ragged.
“You going to pitch me back outside?”
I pursed my lips. “Not tonight. Tomorrow, maybe.”
“Good.”
“Or the day after.”
“Better.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JACK LYNCH modeled many aspects of Peter Bragg after himself. He graduated with a BA in journalism from the University of Washington and reported for several Seattle-area newspapers, and later for others in Iowa and Kansas. He ended up in San Francisco, where he briefly worked for a brokerage house and as a bartender in Sausalito, before joining the reporting staff of the San Francisco Chronicle. He left the newspaper after many years to write the eight Bragg novels, earning one Edgar and two Shamus nominations and a loyal following of future crime writers. He died in 2008 at age seventy-eight.
Table of Contents
The Dead Never Forget
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SPECIAL PREVIEW: THE MISSING AND THE DEAD
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The Missing and The Dead
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Pieces of Death
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Wake up and Die
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Speak for the Dead
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
