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SEATTLE (Monday, Dec. 3, 10 p.m.) — Lindy came back into the living room. “Cops gone?” she asked.
“Yeah. What are you doing here anyway?” Mac asked.
Lindy handed a platter of sandwiches around. “By the way, I’m Lindy, Mac’s aunt.”
Mac introduced Kristy and Troy.
“You were saying,” he prompted.
“I got a call from some attorney. Didn’t give his name. Said he wanted to set up a meeting with us for tonight at 10:30 p.m. — without the police. Wanted me and all of you to be present.” She smiled at Shorty. “Well, he didn’t specifically say you, Shorty, but you’re always welcome here.”
“An attorney? Was it Leatherstocking?” Mac asked.
“Didn’t say. Is that the attorney at the newspaper? Why would he want to meet with me?” Lindy looked at Mac sternly. “And what did the officer mean about you being on bail?”
Mac shrugged. “Long story. They think I tried to kill a cop the night you were beaten.”
“Did you?”
Kristy’s eyes widened at the matter-of-fact question. Mac smiled at her, and she relaxed again.
“No.”
Lindy nodded. “OK then. Eat fast. It’s almost time.” She looked around the living room with dismay. “Did the fuckers need to trash my books?” Lindy said.
Kristy choked. Mac laughed out loud for the first time in days. Even Troy came out of his funk long enough to smile at Lindy’s indignation.
“I’ll help you pick them up,” Shorty volunteered.
“Later,” Lindy said with a sigh. She shook her head. “What kind of people are these thugs who trash books anyway?”
Precisely at 10:30 p.m., a youngish man in a gray suit walked up the sidewalk to the front door and knocked. Mac checked him out from the front window. Shorty walked by on the sidewalk below, whistling — their signal that the attorney was truly alone. Mac nodded, and Lindy let him in.
Shorty came around through the back door and leaned against the dining room doorframe.
“I am Joseph Stein, an attorney with Blackwell, Tsuga and Bledsoe,” the attorney said, still standing in the doorway. “I have been asked to convey the condolences of certain parties to you for your recent inconveniences.”
“Inconveniences?” Kristy said. Her voice trembled. Mac took her hand, ignoring Troy’s sour look.
The attorney nodded in her direction. “Especially to you for your loss, Miss Brown,” he said with sympathy. “May I sit down?”
Mac released Kristy’s hand. “I’m going to pat you down,” he said flatly, walking up close to the smaller man. Joseph Stein swallowed but said nothing. He sat his briefcase down beside his feet and held up his arms. Mac patted him down thoroughly. “Now the briefcase.”
Stein opened it. Mac checked it for any weapons or possible bombs. Nothing but paper. He gestured toward a chair.
“Thank you.” Joseph sat down, took out a piece of paper with a list on it. Looking a bit sheepish, he took out a pair of thin wire-rim glasses and put them on. “Lindy Davis, Mac Davis. Kristy Brown. Troy Maxim. You’re not on my list, but you must be the other person who has been traveling with Mackensie Davis,” he said looking toward Shorty. Shorty didn’t respond.
“It was brought to the attention of a partner in our firm that one of our most prestigious clients was getting bad advice on how to proceed with a difficult situation involving you. The partner has intervened, and the client has... ahhh ... listened to reason. I have been dispatched to bring the situation to closure.”
“Say what?” Troy said, faking his street drawl. Mac tried not to wince. Some things never changed. “You want to put that into language I can understand, bro?”
The attorney looked at Troy coldly. “You have a degree from Northwestern University and are currently an aide to Senator Murray. I believe you are perfectly capable understanding the English language, so don’t give me any of that fake jive shit.”
Mac almost smiled. He had figured the man was another of Parker’s goons, one who dressed a bit better and spoke a bit better. However, Parker — or at least his attorney — didn’t hire fools, it appeared.
“I think what Troy is trying to say is why don’t you get to the point?” Mac said easily. “You’ve been delegated to settle with us. You’re unarmed. What precisely are you going to do?”
The attorney ignored him and focused on Kristy. “First, Miss Brown, accept the condolences of the firm and of our client in the death of your brother. That was the act of an unscrupulous subordinate. It cannot be undone, but the burden can be made easier for you.” He handed her a piece of paper with a check attached.
Mac peered over the edge of it. On it was an itemization of debt — what Kristy and Danny owed, including the Shreveport house, he guessed — and costs of burial, flying the body back to Louisiana, and so forth. The bottom line said pain and suffering. The total came to $250,000. Kristy flipped over the page and looked at the check. It was a certified check for that amount. The signature was something, something Bledsoe, the law firm partner.
Kristy started to say something, but Mac squeezed her hand and shook his head. She calmed a bit, but he could still feel her trembling. He wanted to see where this was going to go.
The attorney waited a moment, and then went on, “Lindy Davis. You have also suffered bodily injury, your home burglarized. Your medical bills will be covered in full, of course, and our client hopes this will make up for the inconvenience and pain.” He handed her a piece of paper and a check as well. She looked at Mac, followed Kristy’s lead and said nothing.
The attorney let his reading glasses slide down on his nose and looked at Troy and Mac without much favor. “You two present a more difficult problem,” he began. “However, our client is not ungenerous, especially when he is made to see the errors of his previous advisers. In return for the two of you dropping your harassment of our client, we are prepared to let bygones be bygones, as they say. We are also willing to compensate you both for your troubles during the last few days.”
He handed another sheet and check combination to Troy and then one to Mac. Mac looked at his. It listed the items to be cleared: He could return to work; pressure would be removed for prosecution on the attempted murder charges. And a check for $50,000 was attached. Another certified check. No strings to Parker of course. In return, Mac would agree to drop the story he was currently working on.
“Which story would that be?” Mac asked innocently. “I’m working on several.”
“Please do not be foolish, Mr. Davis,” the attorney said wearily. “It wasn’t easy to convince our client that this method would be the best. He would just as soon let you, in particular, rot in jail.”
Mac grinned at that. He dug a pen out of his backpack sitting near his feet and scribbled a signature. He detached the check, folded it and put it into his wallet. The paper he handed back to Joseph Stein.
“You aren’t going to be bought off, are you?” Troy protested. Lindy, following Mac’s example, signed and returned the piece of paper as well.
“I am on bail for attempted murder because of your harebrained chase of ghosts from the past,” Mac said. “I am suspended from my job. I’ve been attacked. Lindy’s been attacked. If Parker wants to....”
The attorney interrupted. “Please, no names. I can neither confirm nor deny who our client is. I want to make that perfectly clear.”
“Fine. If your client wants to clean up all that and give me some money, that’s just fine with me. Besides, I have no story. Remember? If there was a story, and I doubt it, it died with Danny. This money is enough to pay off some debts.”
“Well, I’m not going to do it.”
The attorney looked at Troy sternly. “Mr. Maxim. It seems to me that you have no place left to go from here. While I do not know all the particulars, I do know that your witch hunt will have no lasting impact on my client. Even if he fails to get the nomination at this point, there will be future nominations. You, on the other hand, have no place to go with this. Do you understand? Even if you had the records supposedly in Mr. Brown’s custody, you probably would not have prevailed. If you continue, I have been instructed to file a slander suit against you. Evidence of violation of the National Security Act will also be presented to the FBI for investigation.”
Troy interrupted. “That’s what those fakers said when they kidnapped me. I have not violated the National Security Act.”
Joseph Stein raised one eyebrow. “You took an oath as a Marine to not reveal the details of your operations, did you not? You have made threats to reveal them now. That constitutes a violation of your oath. You had to be aware of that fact.”
Troy sat silent for a few moments. Everyone watched him. He scribbled his name on the bottom of the paper and threw it at the attorney. It fluttered to the floor. The attorney quietly retrieved it.
When Kristy started to say something, Mac looked at her quietly. She opened her mouth, closed it, looking between Mac and the attorney. Then she sighed and signed the paper.
“I’d like to tell you to fuck off, Mr. Stein,” she said in her sweet southern voice. Mac choked, then smiled in appreciation the contrast between the words and the accent. “But I can see Mac’s point. Danny is dead. And I’m just realizing I don’t have even the money to get him buried. Telling you where to go will not bring him back. This will at least get him buried.”
Joseph Stein bowed his head in her direction. “I will convey your words to our client,” he said. He gathered the signed sheets and stacked them neatly in his briefcase.
“So we are in agreement?” he said, locking the case and standing up. “There is no story, Mr. Davis assures us. All injuries have been compensated for. There will be no further pursuit of our client?”
Mac stood up too. “You have our signatures to that,” he said pointing to the briefcase.
“Indeed. It is too bad that we were not brought into this at an earlier date,” Stein said, almost complaining. “None of this was necessary. We could have reached a reasonable consensus without all this violence. But sometimes our client reverts back to his earlier days and listens to people he calls ‘men of action.’” The attorney’s tone was disdainful. “See where that got him. Have a nice evening,” he said, opening the door. “Again, my apologies and condolences, Miss Brown, Ms. Davis. And you two,” he looked at Mac and Troy, “stay out of trouble, will you?”
He left and there was silence in the house. Shorty moved to the window and watched the attorney walk down the street. “He’s gone,” Shorty announced. “That’s fucked. I didn’t get nothing. They could have at least reimbursed me for my gas hauling you guys around.”
“I can’t believe you made us sell out,” Troy complained.
“I made you?” Mac said. “I didn’t make you do anything.”
Kristy was looking at her check. “I suppose if you wanted to make some kind of statement, you could tear it up and send it back,” she said. “I don’t feel good about it myself.”
Mac stood up. “Look. I am not going to pursue this, then watch people get hurt and killed,” he said. “Who’s going to be next, Troy? You? Kristy? Me? For what? For a 10-year-old story? No way. Just no fucking way.”
“Mac,” Troy began.
“I promised Danny I would take care of his sister. Pursuing this shit will set her up as a target. You want that? Look who they paid off, will you? What do you think they’re trying to tell us?” Mac took a deep breath, lowered his voice. “If having paid us off makes them feel more secure, I’m all for it. I do not know what you ran into, Troy, but it isn’t right to drag families and friends into it, too.”
“What if family and friends want you to pursue it?” Kristy asked.
“Doesn’t matter. I know you’d say go for it, prosecute the man who killed Danny, but what about Troy’s parents, his two sisters, and his grandmother — they’ve already been threatened. What about Lindy? She’s been beaten. Don’t you guys see that they don’t care who they hurt?” Mac looked at Troy’s sullen face. He shook his head. “I’m going for a walk.”
No one said anything as he walked out the door and down the sidewalk.
Why couldn’t they see it? He didn’t want to be responsible for their deaths. He was already responsible for enough.
Mac hunched his shoulders to keep the rain from running down the back of his neck and under his shirt. He jammed his hands into his pockets. And just walked. Thinking. Fuming.
Happy’s Market still had its Coors sign lit. Mac went inside. “A Mountain Dew?” Harry asked.
“Yeah.” He opened his wallet, got out a couple of bucks. Need to get all my cards and ID replaced, he thought absently. The certified check glared at him accusingly. Mac took the Mountain Dew, popped the top and took a long swallow.
“Wet night to be out walking,” Harry observed.
“Yeah, but walking helps me think.” He took another gulp.
“Night like this, thoughts get dark and bleak,” Harry said, not looking at Mac. “Some thoughts need to be seen in the daylight.”
Mac looked at the old man in surprise. Harry noticed his look, smiled briefly and wiped at the counter. “Tell your aunt hello for me,” Harry added, his usual words to Mac.
Mac nodded. “I will,” he said automatically. He finished his Mountain Dew and set the can on the counter as he left.
Black night, black thoughts. The old man was right, Mac thought ruefully. His thoughts were black enough. He headed downhill toward the main thoroughfare, where the lights were brighter. Even on a Monday night, people would be out and about. He walked past a cafe advertising vegetarian sandwiches and lentil soup, past the Starbucks, then across the intersection, Peet’s Coffee. Tully’s was down the street. Mac shook his head. Seemed people needed a coffee fix every 30 paces these days. A used bookstore, its lights dimmed at this time of night. Two more cafes, a pub — God forbid that it be called a bar in this neighborhood. People out, laughing, having a good time. Groups of people. Few loners like him. People looked at him out of the corners of their eyes as they passed by. Wondering what he was doing out here he supposed, alone, wet. He thought about going into a bar. Order a drink. Been a long time since he’d had a drink. He could remember the taste of it, the feel of it as it hit his system, the warm glow it would give him.
And then there would be another, and another. Finally, someone would have to cart him home. Or throw him out into the alley. Mac walked on.
Focused on his own misery, it took him a bit to realize he was being followed. He shrugged it off. Troy or Shorty, he thought. Still, he took a detour around the block and got a better glimpse of the tail. Not Troy or Shorty. Not anyone he recognized.
He shrugged and walked on. But it made him think. What had been the point of tonight’s buyoff? Yes, buyoff, he told himself sternly. You were bought off. Did Parker figure to end it here? What was he really up to?
Mac pondered that for a few blocks. Did he trust Parker to stay bought? Would Parker trust him?
Mac frowned, turned back toward the house. Parker over-reacted to Troy’s questions. All his actions had been of the highest caliber of paranoid. Now he’s gonna let bygones be bygones?
“I don’t fucking believe it,” he said out loud. A couple sharing an umbrella looked at him and hurried on. Mac ignored them.
If it was all a lie — an expensive lie at that — what was Parker’s real plan? Mac brooded on that thought as he climbed the last hill home. The light was out at Happy’s Market; Harry had gone home too.
If everyone had been on board, what would happen? Kristy would go home, bury Danny, return to teaching. Troy would return to D.C.; Mac would go back to writing about cops and robbers.
We’d separate, Mac thought. Easy to arrange for accidents later on. A mugging, a fatal car wreck. That seemed more like the paranoid man Mac knew Parker to be. He grinned. Takes one to know one.
He opened the door. No one had left, not even Shorty.
Kristy jumped up, put her hands on his shoulders. She studied his face.
“If you weren’t thinking of everyone else but yourself — forget your aunt, your friends, their families — what would you do?” she said before he could say a word.
Mac hesitated, thought about that one. He couldn’t look away from Kristy, had a hard time looking at her and thinking about telling anything but the truth. What would he do? If he just had to think about himself.
“I want to go after Parker,” he said simply.
Kristy searched his face. “Because he killed Danny? Ordered it done, I mean?”
Mac hesitated. For more than that, he thought, but couldn’t quite find the words. “Among other things,” he said finally. “But most certainly for Danny’s death.” And Kellerman, he thought. For making me be the one who killed him.
She kissed him, then pulled back, looked at him again. “Then I think you’d better go after him. Find a way to do it in such a way that keeps people safe, if you must, but go after him.”
Mac frowned at her. “You might be at risk,” he warned.
She smiled and shook her head. “I’m going to be right by your side, helping. Where could be safer?”
“You will not!”
She grinned at him, not the least bit intimidated by his words, Mac noticed. She kissed him again. This time, Mac was ready, and he didn’t let her get away quite so quick.
“So, what does that mean?” Troy asked plaintively. “You told the attorney the story was dead with Danny.”
Mac released Kristy, although he kept one arm around her.
“That story is,” Mac said. “But there’s always another story.”
“You took his money, signed that you wouldn’t pursue the story anymore,” Troy added.
Mac shrugged. “Man’s going to be handing out checks and amnesty I’m going to take it.”
“You’d better make sure that amnesty is going to really be handed out, before you count on it,” Shorty observed. “Seems like you’re taking that on faith.”
Mac nodded. “I thought of that.”
“It doesn’t bother you that you promised?” Troy asked.
Mac snorted. “Someone was following me out there tonight,” he said. “Didn’t recognize him. Got to thinking. Parker’s a first-class paranoid, right?”
Troy shrugged, nodded in agreement.
“And he’s going to turn us loose? I don’t think so.”
Shorty said slowly, “You think he’ll come after you later.”
Mac nodded. “I don’t think we’ve got much choice. I think it’s get him first, or he’ll get us, one by one, sometime when we aren’t looking.”
Mac shrugged. Took out his wallet and looked at the certified check. “Well, I figure it’s a good thing he’s willing to try lulling us with money. We’re going to need a war chest.”
Shorty grinned. “Had me worried bro, I was afraid you’d changed.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, you were starting to sound almost responsible there for a moment.” Shorty got up and stretched. “I’ve got some teaching to do tomorrow; I’m going home.”
Mac held out his hand. Surprised, Shorty shook it. “Thanks, Shorty,” Mac said sincerely. “I... Well, just thanks.”
Shorty nodded, then hesitated. “Shit, I’ve got your boss’s pickup! Be the laughingstock of the neighborhood. You want to give me a ride home?”