“Why, if it isn’t Mr. Heavily in Demand himself,” Marsha Russo exclaimed when I arrived at the office.
She quickly followed me inside. “Your call list is so massive I was unable to lift it.”
“I’m in no mood, Marsha.”
“Well, excuuuuse me. You have a great many calls.”
“Starting with?”
“Messrs Lytell and Wilder, of course.”
“Of course. May I ask you a question?”
“A question you need permission to ask?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not liking the sound of this, but go on.”
“Is there any fresh coffee?”
“I seriously doubt it.”
I sat quietly.
“Well,” Marsha said and made as if to stand. “If there’s nothing else…”
“You wouldn’t be willing to make a pot, would you?”
“Not likely.”
“Even if you knew it would mean a great deal to me?”
She stood. “I’d have to take it under advisement.”
“Marsha?”
“Okay. Okay.”
“May I take that as a yes?”
She headed for the door. “We’ll know soon enough, won’t we?” she said and left.
“It’s never easy,” I muttered to myself.
“You’ll have to hold on while I find Lytell,” Skip Wilder said when he picked up my call. “I’ll be right back.” He put me on hold.
The music was some kind of melody-free annoyance that kept on repeating itself, a headache-inducing series of improvisational instrumental riffs that made water boarding seem like a reasonable alternative.
“I found him,” Wilder said putting an end to the music. “We’re just trying to figure out how to conference him in.”
“You don’t know how to mastermind a conference call?”
“The phones are new. It’ll only take a second.”
The music resumed and after about thirty seconds of it, I hung up.
I turned my chair so as to look out the window. I was greeted by a deep blue cloudless vista that made me think I was gazing into infinity.
“Los dos homunculai on line three,” Wilma Hansen announced over the intercom. “One of them’s whining about a dropped call.”
“I hung up on them.”
“You hung up on the District Attorney?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. Two gold stars for you. Line three.”
“You hung up, didn’t you?” Wilder said.
“Not at all. The call was disconnected.”
“You hung up.”
“Boys, boys,” District Attorney Michael Lytell interjected. “Is that you, Buddy?”
“Sir,” I said.
“You’ve attracted a great deal of attention around here.”
I remained silent.
“He hung up again,” Wilder proclaimed.
“I didn’t hang up.”
“He didn’t hang up,” Lytell said. “He’s still there. Listen, Buddy, I’ve already heard from the State’s Attorney and from Boris Petrov’s attorney.”
“Good things, I hope.”
“Don’t mouth wise with me. It seems your friend Petrov, while petitioning for some kind of diplomatic status, claims he’s being harassed by you.”
“Diplomatic status?”
“He’s dropping Vladimir Putin’s name. Threatening to sic him on the Governor.”
“To what end?”
“He’s pissed his injunction was denied. Says it was a setup. He maintains he was protecting a wildlife sanctuary when he sealed off the access points. He blames you for instigating the ICE roundup of nearly his entire security force.”
“He’s pissed I wouldn’t take his bribe. And he’s lying about the wildlife preserve. And every one of the men we busted is working in the country illegally.”
“Be that as it may, he’s stirring the pot and making life difficult for us.”
“What is it you’re suggesting, Mike?”
“Stand down, Buddy. Leave the son of a bitch alone.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“No. I’m not going to stand down.”
“Did you hear that?” Lytell said to Wilder. “He says he’s not going to stand down.”
“Not a good idea, Buddy,” Wilder said.
“I thank you both for your valued opinions. They don’t hold much water for me, however.”
“Maybe you didn’t hear me too clearly,” Lytell said. “I’m advising you to step away, Buddy.”
“Thank you. I promise to seriously consider your advice.”
Then I hung up.
After several moments, Wilma buzzed once more. “It’s the Gold Dust Twins again.”
“I’m not here.”
“Excuse me?”
“Tell the District Attorney I was late for a meeting and ran out of the office.”
“You want me to lie for you, is that what’s happening, Buddy?”
“Can it, Wilma. Just do it.”
“Roger. Wilco,” she said.
Again I sat back in my chair. Marsha entered and placed a steaming cup of black coffee on my desk.
“You can’t hardly know how important this is to me,” I said taking a sip. “Thank you.”
“You owe me big-time,” she said and left.
The intercom rang again. “I said I wasn’t here.”
“Jordyn Yates on one,” Wilma said. “Should I kiss her off, too?”
“No. No. I’ll take it.”
“Line one. The line with the flashing red light.”
“Jordy?”
“One moment for Ms. Yates,” a female voice said.
“Buddy?” Jordyn said when she picked up the call.
“Hi.”
“It’s amazing how you manage to wind up in the middle of as many shit storms as you do.”
“What now?”
“Lieutenant Governor Lincoln Brady. United States Attorney Michael Kurtz. Craig Leonard of the illustrious law firm, Leonard, Howard and Arthur. Let’s see, am I forgetting anyone?”
“What is it you’re saying, Jordy?”
“They’re gunning for you.”
“So?”
“It’s going to get hotter, too. Brady and Kurtz have petitioned the County regarding your status in the Sheriff’s Department. They want you removed from office and they want to meet with your father to determine his ability to serve.”
“This is all Boris Petrov, you know.”
“Politics is a rich man’s game.”
“Can they be stopped? Or better, stalled?”
“I knew you were going to ask that. It’s your favorite tactic.”
“So?”
“For how long?”
“How long do I want them stalled?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe a month.”
“On what grounds?”
“You know what grounds. I’m in the middle of an investigation.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“No.”
“Could you be more specific if we weren’t yapping on the state’s phone lines?”
“Lawyer-client privilege?”
“Of course.”
“Tonight?”
“My turf,” she said.
“Okay.”
“Eight?”
“Perfecto.”