Two and a half weeks after the holidays, Jay Chevalier sat at his desk, working. Though he’d been showing up at LiveCell every day since Christmas, it was only in the last few days that his former motivation had returned. He reached for his phone: David Artega.
They greeted each other, and the detective said, “Normally I’d come see you in person to tell you this, but I’m gradually getting used to the fact that these phones are secure.”
Jay waited. Something had gone wrong. Lately, Artega had been having trouble with the Samuel Holmes case. Jay knew it was partially his fault because he’d refused to negotiate with Michael Pegonis.
Artega said, “They’ve removed me from the case without explanation. Even the Chief couldn’t believe it. He told me off the record that he had no choice, the pressure came from high up.”
“Did they replace you?”
“If you want to call it that.”
They were both silent.
Then Artega, “It gets to me, putting up with this kind of political bullshit year after year. I know it’s part of the job, but it shouldn’t be.”
“It can change,” said Jay with more emotion than usual.
“What do you mean? No one can change that shit. Those assholes know they can get away with it; they always have. At least the public around here seems to be on LiveCell’s side. Just when you think America is asleep, it wakes up.”
Another pause.
“Michael Pegonis,” said Artega.
“Yeah?”
“Gone, disappeared. Untraceable.”
Jay’s expression darkened further. He waited for Artega to speak.
“Listen, you need me for anything, livecell, okay?”
“Done.”
“And listen, I haven’t given up.”
They ended the call. Almost immediately Jay had another, but he ignored it for the moment. He waited until he no longer felt like punching something.
“Hey, Jay, how’s it going?” It was Frankie Demanno.
“Good. You?”
“Perfect, perfect. So we still on for three-thirty?”
Jay was silent.
“Perfect. I’m picking him up at the airport and bringing him directly to you.” Jay didn’t respond to this either; they’d already discussed these details. “Okay, see you then.”
“Frankie?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you nervous about something?”
“‘Course not.”
They said good-bye.
Jay got back to work, yet after only ten or twelve minutes, Mary appeared in his doorway. He motioned her in.
“You look upset,” she said.
“Artega called. He’s been taken off the case.”
“It’s been too quiet lately. Almost three weeks now and nothing interesting happening—no one shooting at us, no demolition attempts, no false press, no new spies, even the FDA backing down a bit, or at least no fresh attacks.”—she hadn’t told him about the two men waiting for her and Frankie by the car—“I’m glad I have a bodyguard. I don’t know why you refuse one.”
“He just called.”
“Was he out in his new car?”
“I think so.”
“He’s like a kid with that car. Frankie always drove Cadillacs. He’d never been in a Porsche until mine. You never know what will get to someone.”
“How’s he been lately?” said Jay.
She hesitated. “A little preoccupied, now that you mention it. Why?”
“Has he ever asked about how the phones work?”
“Never. What’s going on?”
“You know who is meeting with me today?”
She shook her head and waited.
“Anthony Brignolia.”
“Wow.”
“I had Duncan check him out this morning. He found almost nothing. Surprised even Duncan. Brignolia doesn’t seem to exist in the form of digital information. Duncan’s been at it for hours.”
“Is he coming to visit Nick?”
“Nick hasn’t been mentioned. He’s coming here directly from the airport. You’d think after all those years, something like twenty, he might want to see his brother first.”
“I wonder why Frankie didn’t tell me?”
“He was instructed not to. Frankie asked me to keep it quiet as well, and asked that our meeting remain secret. Brignolia doesn’t want anyone to know we’re meeting.”
“Do you know what kind of business he’s in?”
“Frankie wouldn’t tell me.”
“Sammy revealed a few things one afternoon at the poolroom . . .” and she told him about the shooting of Nick’s wife and son and how it was connected with his brother’s business. As she told the story, Jay got very still. Every shooting would bring back Sammy’s death for him.
“Will you greet him when he arrives?” he said. “I want your impression.”
At precisely three-thirty, the front desk rang. Jay livecelled Mary to meet the guests. Within perhaps five or six minutes, the three of them entered his orange office. Jay came around from behind his desk and extended his arm.
“Mr. Brignolia,” he said, “Welcome to LiveCell. I see you’ve met Mary MacKensie.” He said hello to Frankie Demanno.
Anthony Brignolia was younger than his brother and of a more delicate stature. His hair was black and expensively cut, and Jay wondered if he dyed it since Nick’s was almost white. He also lacked Nick’s humped nose—maybe his had been fixed. His midnight-blue hand-tailored English suit hung perfectly, a pale-ivory Egyptian cotton shirt and deep-maroon silk tie matched the understated taste of his faux-tortoiseshell wire-rimmed glasses. A glance at Jay’s blue T-shirt and worn jeans brought a ripple of surprise across his brow. It was instantly suppressed.
“Doctor Chevalier,” he said, “this is a great honor for me.” Jay’s hand surrounded the gentle clasp of Brignolia’s fingers.
Frankie waited by the door, his posture more rigid than normal, a box under one arm. Brignolia made a slight movement of his head and Frankie set the box on the desk. “That’ll be all, Demanno,” he said, and Frankie turned to leave.
“Mr. Brignolia,” said Jay, “would you care for a coffee, something else?” Brignolia shook his head curtly. “Thanks Mary, thanks for showing them up. So long, Frankie.”
Frankie nodded, Mary winked so only Jay saw it, and they both withdrew.
Brignolia glanced back at the open door.
“I always leave it open,” said Jay. “Would you feel more comfortable if it were closed?”
“If it isn’t a problem.”
Jay was forced to circle around the motionless Brignolia to close the door. “Please, sit down.” He gestured toward his collection of mismatched armchairs.
Brignolia ignored his offer and stepped over to the framed Ryder reproduction, studying it for an unhurried moment; then he chose a chair.
Jay settled in behind his desk again. He wasn’t going to give Brignolia any advantages; it fascinated him too much to watch the man work.
“Ryder’s Toilers on a Sea, isn’t it?” Brignolia said.
“Yes,” said Jay, though the title was The Toilers of the Sea. Still, the man must know something about art, and wanted him to realize it.
“I thank you for seeing me. I’ve brought you a small gift.”
Jay glanced at the plain cardboard box, rectilinear and about as long as his arm.
“Please,” said Brignolia, gesturing slightly toward it.
Jay stood up and slid the carton to his side of the desk with one hand. Using a penknife, he cut through the packing tape, opened one end, and pulled out a second box. This had a tight fitting lid that needed to be slowly lifted to break the suction of air. Inside, protected by gray foam, was something long and plastic-wrapped. He knew what the gift was and carefully loosened the almost twelve-pound object from its foam cradle, unwrapped the plastic, and set the model train engine on his desk. It was a masterpiece in brass, handmade in Korea, each part faithfully reproduced and painted just like the original engine. It could run, sound, and smoke just like a real one.
“A Union Pacific Big Boy,” said Jay. “Many consider it the most powerful steam locomotive ever produced.” He actually preferred smaller engines like Berkshires and Hudsons.
“I asked the man for the finest one they had. Did he do all right?”
Jay nodded. “How do you know I run O gauge trains?”
“I know a great deal about you, Doctor Chevalier.”
Jay looked up from studying the model. “Then you should call me Jay. Thank you for the gift, it’s very thoughtful.”
“If it brings you pleasure, I’m pleased.” The minimal smile was something the two brothers had in common, though Anthony’s was even less demonstrative than Nick’s. Where Nick’s grimace had some warmth, with Anthony, there was none.
Neither said anything; both waited for the other to speak. Jay didn’t want his silence to become rude. “So why are you here?” he said.
Anthony Brignolia searched Chevalier’s face and spoke immediately. “LiveCell is changing the world. This change has only begun.” He paused. “The world runs on information. Up until your telephones most information could be accessed, traced. All conventional methods leave footprints and can be bugged—until LiveCell. Your telephones are secure and leave no trail—it changes everything.”
“I thought the world ran on commodities?”
Brignolia almost smiled. “You’re right,” he said. “First salt, then oil, now drugs and silicon chips, maybe water or LiveCell phones soon—but with information you control those who control the commodities.”
“Is that what you do?” Jay said.
Brignolia stared at Jay as if he were attempting to look into him. “I am going to be honest with you. I understand you’re an honest man. A rare thing at your level. And I know why you’re honest. You care more about honesty than money or power.”
Jay was silent.
“What I do is leverage situations for clients. I do this with information.”
Still nothing from Jay. His silence irritated Brignolia.
“You might be surprised at some of the things we’ve handled. For instance, a recent Supreme Court decision over an election. I don’t tell you this to impress you, only so you know at what level we operate. Most people have things to hide, and usually these things can destroy them if made public. Of course, much of the media can be controlled, either for or against someone. Many times people have something they want very much and can be manipulated that way. But then there is you. Seems you have nothing to hide and no price.”
“Do you know who killed Samuel Holmes?”
“Holmes, the black man. He had courage—a waste. I know he was your friend and I’m sorry for your loss. I know the bullet was intended for you. You’ve been very lucky, and now I watch as the small newspapers take up your cause. It’s given you a little more time.”
“Did you have anything to do with it?”
Brignolia was startled. “Of course not. Such methods are barbaric and stupid; they’re from thirty years ago. There’s rarely a need for killing. It should always be avoided. It’s messy. Jay, I fear you misunderstand me. I do not like or respect these people.”
“Yet you work for them.”
“It’s my business.”
“Don’t they have their own organizations?”
“They fight amongst themselves for power, they’re not secure, they have no loyalty. Look at the mess the FDA made. Headaches? What fools. They spent a fortune and it hardly affected LiveCell at all.”
“What do you want from me?”
Brignolia stopped talking and looked down at his pants. He needlessly readjusted the crease at each knee.
“I fear I’ve given you the wrong impression, though it’s refreshing to talk with someone so direct.” Brignolia waited and received only silence again. “If you want the killer of this Samuel Holmes, I will get him for you.”
“Mr. Brignolia, what is it that you want?”
“I want to save your life.”
“And you think it needs saving?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you think my life is in danger?”
“You don’t know?” Brignolia sensed he’d gained something, finally, and paused. “You’re a dangerous man. To those in control, you are upsetting their world, the very way that it functions, the fundamental laws under which it operates. You don’t think they realize that people using LiveCell phones are changing? And now the public is believing in you more and more.”
“That’s ridiculous. I only invented a new kind of telephone.”
His mouth flashed the cold half-smile. “You’re teasing me now. Do you know that DuPont Chemical Company has a team of lawyers that have been desperate to sue you? But you’re too smart, and do not patent your telephone, so what can they do? And still no one can figure out how it works. You’re an amazing man, Chevalier.”
They were silent again. Brignolia wondered if his outburst had been advisable. How can you read a man like this? How can you figure out a man when you don’t know what he wants, or what gets to him? At least he knew that everyone wants to stay alive, no one wants to die.
“So?” said Jay.
Chevalier was going to be killed and this was how he responded? Brignolia decided he hadn’t made himself clear enough. “I can keep you alive. It will be difficult, but I believe I can do this. Without me you’ll be killed. This I have no doubt about; this I know.”
“I thought killing was out of style?”
“You joke with me again, but they’re desperate, and they’ll kill you. It’s their only solution now.”
“So what do you want from me?” Jay said it once more.
Brignolia paused, wondering if it was the right moment. He’d waited a long time for this, and he wanted it more than anything he’d ever desired. He kept the excitement out of his voice.
“You need me. I offer the network to protect you and all your people. I can leverage the press in your favor, which will bring the masses behind you, which will further protect you. I know you say you don’t care about money, yet this I bring also. I’ll assist you in managing the business so that every person on earth has a LiveCell telephone. China alone is worth billions. With this income, and the changes it will bring to the power structure, we can take control. Then we do whatever you want. We destroy corruption, dishonesty, we build all the orphan houses you want.”
“You know about that?”
“Most altruism, everyone does it for reward, for publicity. They even pretend they don’t want publicity and then quietly allow their altruism to be discovered. Not you.”
“And what do you want in return?”
“Half of your stock holdings in LiveCell, which I believe is thirty percent of the company, and my people will make up half your board of directors.”
“Does Frankie know?” he said.
Brignolia was shocked. He makes his final offer and Chevalier asks him about one of his employees? “Know what?”
“Why he was sent out here,” said Jay.
“He was sent out here because my brother called me and asked for a favor to protect the girl. There is no one better at that than Demanno. Besides, it had to be someone the girl would accept.”
“And that was the only reason?”
“I sent Demanno for both reasons. That is the truth.”
Jay paused. “I think LiveCell is fine as it is.”
Brignolia looked down; he did not want Chevalier to read his expression. He faced Jay again. “I don’t think you realize the truth of what I am telling you. You do not know these people like I do.”
“But you work for them?”
“Without their approval, very little is possible. They destroy what gets in their way, and they’ll destroy you. You need me.”
Brignolia sensed he was losing him. He didn’t understand this man who seemed unafraid to die. Was he bluffing? He knew Chevalier was too intelligent not to see some truth in what he was saying, yet he wasn’t interested in his offer. And he was offering the man his life, for God’s sake. He knew Chevalier had turned down every financial offer. Where was this man’s weakness? Everyone had something. Everyone. Chevalier didn’t appear to be involved with anyone and seemed impervious to coercion. A very difficult person.
When Chevalier remained silent, Brignolia said again, “I work for them, but I don’t like it. They treat me always as if I’m beneath them, with their careful condescension, and talk to me as if we’re in a stupid gangster movie, only because I was born Sicilian. They hide behind their manners, yet their arrogance is sickening. And they’re not that smart, this I know, but they’re ruthless when it comes to protecting their world. They consider it an untouchable right, something they’ve been granted by being born into it. They know nothing about working people, people like you and me. These are men who would allow their own buildings to be bombed and children to die, just to remain in power. Chevalier, we can bring them down. Together, we can beat them.” It was as close to a plea as Anthony Brignolia had ever made.
Jay got up from his desk and walked to the window. The blue-green in the bay was fading to a blue-gray. He could see a few white caps, the red stern of a boat and its wake as it disappeared behind a building. It was probably going to start raining again. For a moment his mind went to northern Maine. He imagined the snow there now, that crystalline blue curve of a snow field on a clear late January afternoon, maybe a sliver of moon just showing in the eastern sky. He thought of the snow covering his mother’s grave; he thought of his grandfather and wondered if the cabin was still standing. He turned back to Anthony Brignolia.
“Mr. Brignolia, I appreciate your offer and your belief in LiveCell. I know you came a long way to talk to me. Allow me a few days, perhaps a week, to consider your proposal. It would not be just my decision, many people make up this company. Would that be okay?”
Brignolia stood. He extended his hand. They shook.
“Yes, that would be fine,” he said. “Any details you would like from me, please call.”
Jay examined him, and just as Brignolia was about to turn away he said, “Is Alden Stone Associates one of your clients?”
There was a minute jolt in Brignolia’s eyes; he didn’t need an answer. “I’ll walk you down,” he said.
It was almost dark outside. San Francisco pulsed with electric light as most offices and stores were still open for business. She’d brought them each a mug of coffee from the lounge.
“So what did you think of him?” said Jay.
“He looks a lot like Nick except for the hair and the nose, but that’s where the resemblance ends. He has none of the vulnerability or tenderness. Not that Nick doesn’t try to hide his, but if Anthony is hiding his, he’s doing one incredible job. What did he want?”
“Half of my LiveCell stock and half the board.”
“Jesus! Why does he think you would sell to him if you turned down all other offers?”
“I’m not sure. He wants it badly. I know that.”
“Don’t they all.”
“If he has other holdings, which he probably has, he would take control of the company.”
She looked at him—at his calm eyes, a bit tired since Sammy’s death; at the strong jaw, the carved angles of his pale, battered face; at the close-cropped hair with its increase of gray. Her senses almost too aware when she was with him, still so affected by his presence that it annoyed her. Then she noticed the locomotive on his desk.
“Was that in the box? How did he know you liked trains?”
“He seems to have researched me rather thoroughly.”
“He doesn’t know about the Siuslaw Road house does he?”
“Can’t imagine how. I bought the trains here in San Francisco, so that was easy to trace. He possesses a great deal of information though. He calls you the girl.”
“The girl—that’s kind of funny. My mom and grandmother always call themselves girls, so I’m not so hung up about that as some women are. It’s kind of a New England thing, I guess, older women calling themselves girls, but of course he’s Italian, isn’t he? So, tell me, are you going to consider his offer?”
He glanced over at the train. “Probably not.”
She felt instantly relieved. “Jay, let me take you out tonight,” she said, even though she knew how it would end.
“Okay,” he said. “Where to? Your choice.”
“How ‘bout Italian?”
He laughed. “Brignolia said to me, ‘Now you are joking with me,’ I don’t think he was used to that, anyone kidding him.”
“Did you really tease him?” she said.
“Sure, why not?”
And then, in this moment of happiness, she said, “Don’t you want to have children?” And though she didn’t add, “with me,” it was obvious.
It stopped him. He went to the window again, gripped the frame above his head, stared out at the lit windows of other buildings. Rain was just visible in puddles on some of the lower roofs and in the reflected surface of the pavement below. In some of the adjacent offices, a few people were standing much as he was, gazing out at other buildings, or at the rain, or at a moment in their own lives. Everyone has these complicated lives, he thought, all of us battling with our desires and our needs, and all of us connected in a way that so few realize.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I wish I hadn’t said that.”
He turned back to her.
“I’m glad you said it. I’m just not sure how to answer you. It’s not a simple answer.”
“Let’s forget I said it. Please.”
“I know you’ve been upset with me for a while.”
“Let’s talk about something else, okay? Where shall we go eat?”
He relented for the moment. “Your choice, but my car.”
She brightened. “How’s it running?”
“It purrs, and as you knew, the color is perfect and even the dent gives me pleasure. The fact that the paint is so old, I can imagine the person who sprayed it at Chevrolet in the sixties. It’s like an antique that’s never been refinished with all its stories intact in the finish.” He walked back from the window. “Even with all the fancy cars in California, people wave at me. Seeing the car seems to cheer them up, allows them to remember something, maybe a more carefree time in America when people still believed in the promise.”
And then he said, “Mary, I want to answer what you said before. It’s important.”
Noticing her face, he continued anyway.
“As you can imagine, because I was an orphan, parenthood would be a very serious thing for me. I’d have to be sure that I could be there for a child. As things are, I have to concentrate on LiveCell for now. I can’t think about anything else.”
He sat beside her and placed his hand gently over hers.
“I know I upset you when I ran from you. It had nothing to do with you, or your attractiveness, or what I feel for you.” He paused. “You have given so much of yourself to LiveCell, and I hate to ask for anything more, but Mary, I still need you to learn how to infuse the phones. We are running out of time.”
It was Mary who looked out at the rain now.