Janet was crying in the private waiting room when Kelson and Marty walked in. Draped over the side of her chair, she was mashing her head and body against Rodman, who sat next to her. Her face was blotchy and wet.
She looked up at Marty, groaned, pulled herself from Rodman, and consumed the little man in her big arms. ‘Jesus Christ, Marty,’ she said, ‘I wanna kill someone.’
‘Yeah, baby, me too,’ he said.
After a while, a grief counselor came in and took Marty and Janet to see Neto.
Kelson sank into the chair where Janet had sat. ‘He’s a hard little man,’ he said.
‘He hurt anyone at G&G when he heard the news?’
‘He knocked out a guard about twice his size.’
‘They got off easy.’
‘He didn’t say a word on the drive here. I thought he’d cry, but his eyes turned to ice.’
‘I’ve seen it,’ Rodman said. ‘I watched him take down a bunch of big guys at Streeter’s Tavern once. I sat back and waited for him to ask for help. He hit the last of them over the head with a stool, then dragged the stool – covered with the guy’s blood – over to the bar and ordered a piña colada. Marty drinks beer and whiskey. Hates everything else. But he ordered a girly drink to make a point. And he drank it like he liked it.’
‘A hard little man,’ Kelson said again. ‘G&G will come after him. You think he can handle them?’
‘Even a volcano’s got limits.’
‘Can you take him home with you – keep him safe?’
‘Sure,’ Rodman said, ‘though the G&G people know who I am too.’
‘Do they want to take on two volcanoes?’
Rodman lowered his eyelids halfway. ‘Me? I’m the gentlest man I know.’
Kelson left Rodman to deal with Marty, and he drove to his office. As he walked out of the parking garage he said to the attendant, ‘Cherish every moment.’
The attendant said, ‘Sometimes I wish you’d keep your thoughts to yourself.’
‘Me too,’ Kelson said.
In his office, he strapped the KelTec under the desktop and checked the Springfield in its drawer. He considered the picture of Sue Ellen, considered the picture of the kittens, considered the picture of Sue Ellen again, and said, ‘Hi, honey.’
Her picture stared at him with those eyes he loved.
‘Some days like this,’ he said. ‘Some lives.’
He sat and stared at his closed office door. He asked it, ‘Who next? What monster?’
He unstrapped the KelTec and laid it on his desk, the barrel facing the door. ‘Really?’ he asked it. He took its silence to mean … maybe.
Then his phone rang, making him jump. Caller ID said G&G Private Equity, and a sound like henh came from his mouth. He answered, ‘Sam Kelson – as if you didn’t know that.’
A man identifying himself as Sylvia Crane’s assistant asked if Kelson would come to G&G to discuss a possible job.
‘What kind of job?’ Kelson said.
‘I imagine that’s what Ms Crane would like to discuss with you,’ the assistant said.
‘I’m not big on half answers,’ Kelson said.
‘Ms Crane isn’t big on employees who ask too many questions and fail to do what they’re told.’
‘Sounds like a bad fit,’ Kelson said, and hung up.
A minute later, his phone rang again. Sylvia Crane herself.
‘What the hell’s your problem?’ she said.
‘That’s a long list, Ms Crane.’
‘Will you or won’t you come to my office?’
‘I doubt it,’ he said. ‘You people scare me – sending Neto out on a little chore that gets him killed, locking up Marty LeCoeur in a workroom. Bad things happen around you. Sometimes you make them happen. How do I know I’ll walk out of your office again if I walk in?’
‘The job pays well.’
‘Oh, then sure – you can stick a gun in my mouth if you promise to tuck a few bills in my panties.’
‘You wear panties?’
‘A metaphor. I suffer from disinhibition, not a lack of imagination.’
‘The job has nothing to do with the LeCoeurs or the money Neto LeCoeur stole. You’re safe with me.’
‘I doubt that,’ he said, then realized. ‘It has to do with Genevieve Bower?’ When she said nothing, he said, ‘Sometimes I impress myself. I lost a lot when I got shot in the head, but I think I make these leaps better. My therapist says that’s my brain compensating.’
‘Will you come to talk about the job?’
‘Will you and your people keep your hands to yourselves?’
‘If you don’t want the job you can walk away and we’ll never see or talk to each other again.’
‘I don’t trust you,’ he said. ‘How’s the security guard Marty punched?’
‘Fired. Other than that, bruised and humiliated. Are you coming?’
‘I’ll tell you what – you want me to work for you, you can come here to talk about it, and you can leave your security thugs behind.’
She hesitated, then said, ‘If those are your wishes.’
An hour later, Sylvia Crane sat in Kelson’s office. She glanced past him at the pictures of Sue Ellen and the kittens. ‘Cute,’ she said.
‘Unnecessary small talk,’ he said.
‘You don’t care for it?’ She seemed to be working hard to make her angular face look friendly.
‘I care for every kind of talk. But right now, I’d like you to tell me what the job is and then leave.’
‘You’re a strange man, but I’ll overlook that,’ she said. ‘I understand you’re a former police officer. G&G has a history of positive dealings with law enforcement. We demonstrate our appreciation for the police, and they find ways to work with us. We prefer cooperation to force. Do you?’
‘What’s the job?’
‘We’re missing a copy of some files.’ She stopped trying to look friendly, and that made Kelson like her better. ‘From what my husband Bruce tells me, you know about this copy. We’d like to pay you to retrieve it.’
‘Genevieve Bower’s thumb drive.’
‘As I’m sure you know, we can outbid her for it.’
‘One problem. She already hired me. I sold my services.’
‘What’s she paying you? A couple thousand?’
‘More or less,’ Kelson said.
‘What if we add a zero? Would that eliminate questions about professional ethics? Say, twenty thousand for a week’s work? Double it if you need more time? Double it anyway, as a reward for your quick work?’
‘Let’s say that would do it for me,’ Kelson said. ‘I could justify taking the job. Genevieve Bower has lied and told me half truths. But I still have a problem. If I took your money and cheated her out of hers, I would give all the details to anyone who asked – and a lot of people who didn’t. That’s the disinhibition talking. Then, if new clients asked if they could trust me, I would tell them no – or I’d tell them yes, but only if no one offered me a better deal. You see how that would wreck my business? What’s on the thumb drive?’
‘We want it back because it’s private and compromising. We want to hire you instead of going to the police because – again – it’s private and compromising.’
‘“Compromising” is a funny word. It can mean embarrassing or it can mean illegal.’
‘Let’s say it means both. Nothing I’ve done personally. But the videos on the drive would affect me and those I love in damaging ways. I would like to stop that from happening. I would like you to help.’
‘Who’s Genevieve Bower to you?’ he said. ‘I looked online but couldn’t find a connection. Why does she want the videos? Why do you?’
Sylvia Crane crossed her legs. ‘You understand, for the same reasons of privacy, I can’t talk about her.’
‘Sorry, that won’t do. Everyone wants to keep secrets from me, but I can’t work that way.’
Sylvia Crane frowned. ‘Let’s say Genevieve Bower appears on one of the videos along with someone I care deeply for.’
‘Huh – she’s got a bad habit with cameras, doesn’t she? Who’s Jeremy Oliver to you?’
‘My husband says Oliver rents an apartment from him, and there’ve been problems – he disappeared. Bruce says you told him he’s dead.’
‘Are you really going to do that?’
‘What?’
‘I told you I could almost justify taking your job because Genevieve Bower lied to me, and now you give me this crap. Oliver stole the thumb drive from Genevieve Bower, so he knew or found out what was on it. Now he’s dead – I saw him. And someone torched his van, and – I tell you this because you’re really annoying me – someone searched his apartment. I’m guessing that person was looking for the same thumb drive you and Genevieve Bower want. But you’re saying you don’t know of a connection to him?’
Her face flushed. ‘I’m sure there must be one, but I don’t know of it.’
Kelson stood up at his desk. ‘You can leave now.’
‘Just like that?’
‘Just like what? I told you why – and no one ever says I tell them too little.’
‘We’re talking about people’s lives,’ she said.
He laughed at her. ‘From what I see, you screw with people’s lives every day – moving money around in secret, hiring guys like Marty and Neto LeCoeur to do your dirty accounting.’
‘My family’s lives,’ she said. Something in her angular features seemed to be splintering.
‘Someone’s threatening you?’
‘The way we live.’
‘Nothing about the way you live looks worth sacrificing much to save.’
‘I’ve made sacrifices too.’ Her eyes looked as incapable of tears as Marty LeCoeur’s. But they showed pain. ‘Sacrifices you can’t imagine.’
Kelson stared at her, then lowered himself into the chair again. ‘I don’t want to hear about your sacrifices. I swear, if you tell me about a pony you gave up when you were a poor little rich girl because your daddy made a bad investment, I’ll punch myself in the face.’
‘Will you at least keep looking for the thumb drive?’ Sylvia Crane asked. ‘And will you tell me if you find it? Before you give it to Genevieve Bower?’
‘What good would that do?’
‘I can prepare myself – and those around me.’
‘All these secrets. Most of the time I wish I could keep them, but sometimes I’m just pissed off at people like you who’ve got them.’
Regret edged at her voice. ‘I seem to piss off a lot of people.’
‘I’m with you there,’ he said. ‘What’re you going to do about the money Neto sent to parts unknown?’
For a moment, she seemed distracted. ‘You don’t need to worry about it.’
‘You’re holding Marty accountable for Neto. Maybe you’ll hold Marty’s friends accountable too. I like to know who thinks I owe them.’
‘We’ll get the money back,’ she said, almost apologetically. ‘Every dollar. Every penny. We have to, you see? Our reputation depends on it. We’ll decide who shares blame, and we’ll do what we need to do. In the meantime, my father will make the company a personal loan.’
‘Beaky?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘He can spare thirty-seven million?’
‘Maybe.’ She seemed to consider Kelson. ‘Like you, he has an unusual sense of the world. Before I leave, I want you to meet him.’
‘What do you mean? Where is he?’
‘Downstairs in the car with our driver – he likes to stay close to me. It’ll take only a minute.’
‘I told you to come alone.’
‘That’s not quite what you said. And are you really worried about a little sixty-eight-year-old man?’ She took out her phone, straightened her face as if the phone could see, and touched the keys. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I’m with Mr Kelson. Will you come up?’ She listened to the response, then hung up with a tired smile.
‘Why do you want me to meet him?’ Kelson said.
‘So you can see what I’m dealing with.’
‘Why would I want to?’
‘Oh, everyone should meet my father at least once.’
A minute later, the short man with the beakish nose and intense blue eyes knocked. He wore gray slacks, a yellow dress shirt, and red suspenders.
When Kelson let him into the office, the man moved as close as a boxer looking to clench. Kelson stepped back, bumping against his desk.
Sylvia Crane used more of that tired smile. ‘Sam Kelson, this is my father, Harold Crane. Daddy, this is Sam Kelson – he’s still considering whether to help us.’
Harold Crane reached a well-manicured hand to shake. It seemed big for the body that supported it.
When Kelson gripped it, the man’s fingers were flaccid.
Seeming to take pleasure from Kelson’s expression, the man shot a glance at his daughter.
She eyed him the way you do a child who likes to knock down bottles at the grocery store. ‘Mr Kelson speaks his mind.’
‘Always,’ Kelson said.
‘Seems like a dangerous habit,’ Harold Crane said. He dropped into one of Kelson’s client chairs. ‘I’m glad you’re thinking of helping. My daughter’s used to getting her way.’
‘I haven’t agreed to anything,’ Kelson said, ‘but I’m used to having tough women get their way with me.’
The man cackled. ‘Me too, me too. Sylvia’s mother was the toughest bitch I ever knew, God rest her soul. I have unconventional beliefs, and I behave in unconventional ways, Mr Kelson. If I said or did the same as everyone else, who would pay attention? They would go to Goldman Sachs. Our clients are looking for the unorthodox. If we don’t surprise them once or twice a year, they’ll find another firm that will – though it’s also true that as long as I keep the green river flowing, everyone’s happy. Do you know the green river, son? Have you been down it?’
‘Cash?’ Kelson said.
‘Smells better than lilacs,’ the man said.
‘That river can dry up,’ Sylvia Crane said, with the tired smile.
Her father pointed a finger at her and told Kelson, ‘She’s a tough bitch too. That’s why I love her – and why I keep her near.’ He got up, adjusted his suspenders, and seemed about to offer Kelson another handshake, but crammed his hands into his pockets. ‘Nice meeting you, Mr Kelson. I hope to see you again.’ He nodded toward his daughter and added, ‘If you date this one, watch out – she’s eaten up two husbands, she’s working on the third, and she shows no loss of appetite.’ He went to the office door, opened it, and stared back at his daughter. ‘Come, dear.’
Kelson looked at her. ‘Why don’t you lock him up?’
She smiled. ‘My father earns his clients over fifty million dollars a year. He gets a quarter of that. Don’t you wish you were so crazy?’ She followed her father to the door. ‘You’ll tell me if you find the thumb drive?’
Kelson felt something between pity and revulsion toward her. ‘I’ll think about it.’