Maybe

by John Locke

  He looks up.

  She motions him to lower his window.

  He does.

  She says, “I’m sorry to bother you, but can you tell me if there’s a fast food restaurant nearby?”

  At that point I walk between the two cars, pull my .357 Magnum from my duffel, and blow his fucking head off.

  Miranda screams.

  I open the passenger door, climb in, and she speeds off down the street.

  “Omigod! Omigod! Omigod!” she screams.

  “Sorry,” I say. “Change of plans.”

  “Omigod!” she screams again. “That was fantastic!”

  “It was?”

  “Omigod! I loved it!”

  “Ten thousand dollars a week,” I say.

  “Done!” she says.

  WHAT? HOLY SHIT, I don’t believe it! You’re here with us on the private jet?

  Seriously, I don’t believe it.

  Look, can you give us a few minutes of privacy?

  Miranda and I are having sex.

  No, I’m not giving details. Except that she’s “Totally into it!”

  Her words, not mine.

  So please. Show some class. Give me a few minutes here.

  THANKS. I needed that.

  MIRANDA AND I touch down in Santa Monica, California. I’ve reserved a suite in the same location on the beach where I stayed nearly four years ago. It’s a beautiful hotel, brand new, what they call a boutique hotel.

  The old hotel got blown up while I was in it! I found out about the bomb just before it detonated. I actually had to jump off the second floor balcony to escape.

  You may have read about it.

  My future associate, Miranda, loves the place. Although she agreed to work for me, she refuses to start until next June, a year from now.

  Why?

  She wants to finish school, then travel to Europe for several months with her friend.

  No, not a guy.

  Her girl friend.

  No, not a female lover.

  A friend.

  Yes, I’m certain, because I asked her the same questions. I also spent two hours trying to talk her out of going. Then I spent an hour trying to talk her into letting me come with her instead of her friend.

  But no.

  “At least let me visit you in Europe,” I asked. “We’ll have dinner.”

  “No,” she said. “I’m already giving up my dream of running my own practice to work for you. And don’t think for a minute I don’t know how you operate!”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means working for you won’t be a nine to five job. It’ll be an all-hours-of-the-night job, and one that will ruin any chance I have of living a normal life. I’ve worked my ass off to get these degrees, and I’m not going to jump into a twenty-four-seven job until I’ve done something fun for myself.”

  “You’d rather be with your friend than me?”

  “Yes. Absolutely.”

  “Why?”

  “Donovan, you sound like a ten-year-old.”

  “You’ve always encouraged me to express my feelings.”

  “Look, I love being with you, and hope you’ll let me give you the best two days of your life, starting right now. But if you bring this up one more time, I’m going to book the next flight back to New York, and I’ll never work for you.”

  “Okay. Sorry. You know about my abandonment issues.”

  “I do.”

  I sigh. “I’m happy for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m jealous, though.”

  “I know.”

  The two days went by as fast as perfect days always do. I won’t tell you how many times we laughed, or made love, or what we talked about, or how many drinks we had. I will say the hotel lounge has a wonderful house band, and Miranda shocked me by getting up on stage and singing a beautiful song called Someone Like You, by someone named Adele.

  What shocked me was how amazing Miranda’s voice is! I mean, I’ve never heard anyone sing like that! Her voice was powerful when power was needed, but tender and haunting the rest of the time.

  I’m serious, she was spectacular!

  By the time she finished her song, everyone in the room was on their feet, cheering, with tears streaming down their faces! If Adele’s version is half as good as Miranda’s, well, she’ll probably have a hit on her hands.

  On Friday, Sal calls with the news about Dani Ripper’s interrogation.

  “The lead detective’s a guy named Marco Polomo.”

  “Is he from Cincinnati or Nashville?”

  “Nashville. They interrogated her on Tuesday.”

  “I saw on TV where she’s back at your niece’s house.”

  “Right. There’s a million cops and reporters surrounding the place. Cops are actually living inside the friggin’ house.”

  “Today’s the funeral?”

  “It was this morning. They’re probably back in Nashville by now.”

  “What’s Polomo saying?”

  “He’s one of my guys on the inside. He’s managed to keep Sophie out of it, but like you guessed, the FBI’s coming in on Monday.”

  “Do they know who’s investigating?”

  “Guy named Agent Chase. They don’t know his first name, but Polomo’s shitting his pants because I told him I want Dani cleared and he says there’s nothing he can do at this point.”

  “Why not?”

  “Apparently the Cincinnati police have found a bunch of evidence that—whatcha call—implicates Dani. And Polomo’s concerned if they get Dani, they’ll find a way to pull Sophie into it because of her police record.”

  “Sophie’s got a police record?”

  “Sort of. It’s been—whatcha call—expunged, but it’s still there for those who know how to look.”

  “What did she do?”

  “She, you know, fell in with the wrong crowd. It’s not important. She’s a good girl. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay what?”

  “Okay, I’ll take care of it.”

  “You’ll talk to the president?”

  “I’ll get him the message.”

  “What if he won’t play ball?”

  “He’ll play.”

  “You got something on him?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then how do you know he’ll cooperate?”

  “He fears me.”

  “Smart man, our president. I always said so.”

  “You like him?”

  “I voted for him twelve times. So did all my people.”

  “Twelve times?”

  “In the same election.”

  “THEY’RE STILL CHECKING Gundy’s house,” Lou says, “and they’re going to pin the Derby City Fair attack on him, but they’re not going to declare him responsible for poisoning the kids in Nashville.”

  “Why not?”

  “The official explanation?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “They don’t have enough evidence.”

  “What’s the real reason?”

  “My opinion?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think the administration doesn’t want to admit they failed to issue a warning when you made the recommendation.”

  “And why didn’t they?”

  “They thought it would create a panic situation. Plus, they weren’t convinced one guy did it, or that he’d do it again.”

  “Technically they were right. He didn’t put poison in any other dispensers, as far as we know.”

  “No. But he did something far worse with the ricin. And you know the media culture we’re dealing with today, right?”

  “Yeah. No matter who you are, or what you’ve done, or how many people you’ve helped, or what you’ve stood for all your life, the only thing that counts is if you could have done more. If they can make a case you could have done more, you’re toast.”

  “And the president doesn’t want to be toast,” Lou s
ays.

  “Which is why he’s going to work with me on this Dani Ripper thing.”

  “Do you really want me to go so far as to threaten the president?”

  “No. I want you to tell Sherm Phillips I’m threatening the president.”

  “What’s the threat, specifically?”

  “You’re taping me.”

  He pauses. “Yes.”

  “The specific threat is the president could have done more. I warned him this guy was going to keep attacking. I happen to know Dani and Sophie are innocent, and I like having Sal Bonadello owing me a huge favor.”

  “Donovan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You sort of rambled there. What’s the specific threat you’re making?”

  “I’ll tell the media the president could have done more.”

  “And if he says it’s your word against his?”

  “I’ll explain how we found the guy, and how we know he killed those children at the birthday party in Nashville. And you know what’s really scary?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I bet Gundy did some other shit we don’t even know about yet. Which means the president can still do more.”

  “Got it. I’ll let you know what he says.”

  To my surprise, I get my answer forty minutes later.

  “Sherm says this thing with Dani and Sophie is going to be on your ass.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m serious, Donovan. If it turns out you’re wrong, and one or both of them killed Dani’s husband, they’re going to sell you out.”

  “I can live with that. So how’s it going down?”

  “You’ll meet with Agent Chase on Sunday. He’ll show you the evidence. He’s hard core, meaning, he’s not going to drop the case without interviewing the girl.”

  “But?”

  “But you’ll go with him to Sophie’s house for the interview. You’ll watch how Dani handles the questions. If you’re convinced she’s innocent, you’ll make the call. He’ll abide by your decision.”

  “He’s okay with me impersonating an FBI agent?”

  “He is not. But the president okayed it.”

  “Personally?”

  “No, of course not. But yes, through Sherm. So how does all this sound to you?”

  “Perfect, for two reasons. First, I get to meet Dani in person. Second, I get to spend two more days with Miranda.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Speaking of good things, I’m very happy for your promotion.”

  “I only got it because you didn’t want it.”

  “That’s not true. You’re a diplomat. They respect that.”

  “I suspect Holden Prescott didn’t want me, but he must have been outvoted. It helped that I took all the credit for you catching and killing Miles Gundy.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you and the geeks. So, do you have a code name yet?”

  “They decided against the whole code name dynamic. None of them knew for sure who Darwin was. They don’t want to make the same mistake twice.”

  “Well, either way, I’m proud to work for you, Lou. You’ll be a helluva better boss than Darwin.”

  He laughs. “Work for me? You’ve never worked for anyone in your life! You’ll only do the things you agree with. We both know that. The difference between me and Darwin is I know not to expect anything else.”

  “See what I mean? You’re already better at this than Darwin.”

  AGENT CHASE DOESN’T like me.

  Ask me if I give a shit.

  Look at him leering at me. He’s as big and powerful as a horse, and as fit as you can get outside of prison. He’s also really steamed, which would work against him in a fight.

  He’s sizing me up, convinced he can take me.

  But he’s wrong.

  He’s a rough, tough, no-nonsense guy, but there are different ways to measure tough. He tests his against recruits. I test mine against the military’s latest torture weapons. Over four years I’ve built up my stamina against the ADS weapon. The one they banned citing it cruel and inhumane. See, the army’s only allowed to use humane weapons in combat situations these days. I can handle twenty-two seconds of constant exposure to the ADS weapon. Second best in the world is three seconds. You think the difference of nineteen seconds is a small one? Let me put it in perspective. The three-second guy would kick Agent Chase’s ass.

  Don’t fuck with me, Agent Chase. I don’t play fair.

  I’ve read up on Agent Chase these past two days, and asked around. He’s got a reputation as a fierce fighter, with years of hand-to-hand combat training under his ninth-degree black belt. Maybe before this is over he’ll try to show me how tough he is.

  Agent Chase is a hard-working, honest man, and the world is better off for having people like him in it. I respect him, and that’s the truth. But he needs to sit there and deal with it, because this thing with Dani and Sophie has already been decided.

  It’s political.

  You hate politics, don’t you, Agent Chase?

  Me too.

  But while this is politics, I happen to be on the right side. You’re convinced Dani and Sophie are guilty, but you’re wrong. For you to be right, Sal Bonadello has to be wrong.

  And Sal isn’t wrong.

  You have a greater respect for evidence than Sal does. Maybe it’s because you never planted evidence.

  Sal has. In fact, he’s a master of planting evidence. And he says the evidence against Ben and Dani was planted, but not by his niece or Dani.

  And I believe him.

  So deal with it.

  This is as good a time as any to stop giving me your evil game-face stare. It means nothing to me. While I respect the hell out of you, I’m not going to hold back if you come at me. You and I are like Ernest Hemingway and Jack Dempsey. Jack always refused to box exhibitions with Ernest Hemingway because Hemingway was a big guy with a lot of training. In other words, in his world, he could fight. He had just enough training to be dangerous. When a man is dangerous, a guy like Dempsey can’t take the time to pull his punches.

  Jack didn’t refuse to fight Hemingway because he feared him.

  He refused to fight him because he respected him, and didn’t want to hurt, or possibly kill him.

  That’s how I feel about Agent Chase.

  These gym boxers and self-defense experts think they can handle themselves because they’ve kicked ass all their lives in the real world. But the real world isn’t Jack Dempsey’s world of elite fighters, and it’s not my world. I kill killers and terrorists, not angry civilians and bank robbers. The people I fight don’t come at you the way they do in the FBI handbook.

  Agent Chase needs to cool the fuck down. Because there’s always a moment of truth when these hard asses learn what kill or be killed really means. It means when the attack gets out of hand there’s no one in the room blowing a whistle to end the carnage.

  I speak to him respectfully. I go so far as to tell him I respect him.

  That seems to help. He’s not happy, but he’s talking. Maybe we’ll be friends before this is over. Wait, he’s about to say something warm and fuzzy.

  “You respect me?” he says. “I’m one of the good guys. I don’t need your respect. And don’t kid yourself we’re going to be friends when this is over. I’ve asked around. I know all about you. I want it on the record between us that I don’t approve of you or what you stand for. It’s people like you who weaken the moral fiber of our country.”

  “Is your office in downtown Cincinnati?” I ask.

  “Yeah. So what?”

  I decide he knows nothing about me. I could explain how I saved his life by preventing downtown Cincinnati from being wiped off the face of the earth a few years back, but that information is classified beyond his pay grade.

  “Were you making a threat just now, Mr. Creed?”

  I sigh. He’s trying to goad me, calling me “mister” to prove I don’t have a title.

  “Let’s jus
t move along,” I say, “and I’ll stay out of your life as best I can.”

  “That would be wise,” he says.

  He tells me how the meeting with Dani Ripper is going to go down tomorrow.

  We work out a signal. After the interview is concluded, if I’m still satisfied Dani’s innocent, I’ll put my hands together and form a steeple with my index fingers.

  I demonstrate it, and he nods.

  I’M NOT GOING to hit you with a bunch of details about the Dani Ripper back story and investigation. It’s fascinating, but that could take up a whole book.

  Maybe Dani will write one someday.

  For now, here’s what you need to know: Dani’s husband died in their home in Cincinnati last week while the house was surrounded by reporters. Dani was staying with her friend, Sophie, in Nashville, at the time. Everyone agrees Ben died of natural causes, but the evidence found at his home “proves” he raped and killed a local minor, Jaqui Moreland. Jaqui’s death has become a thorn in the side of local law enforcement. You know the drill, everyone’s hot to solve the case. If Ben is good for Jaqui’s murder, the city goes back to being a safe place to live and raise children.

  It’s to everyone’s advantage that Ben killed Jaqui Moreland.

  Except that Dani Ripper doesn’t believe it. She thinks Ben has been murdered and framed for the killing. She’s a private eye, and had been personally investigating Jaqui’s death. Had even been hired by Jaqui’s mother at one point, to help find her missing daughter.

  Agent Chase thinks Dani knows more than she’s saying. He believes Dani knew her husband was a murderer, and may have been covering up for him.

  Here’s Dani’s problem. If she’s right, and Ben was murdered and framed for raping and killing the little girl, she and Sophie become the prime suspects. Sophie has mob connections for the killing, and Dani had access to the house for planting the evidence.

  Tomorrow morning Agent Chase is going to grill the beautiful and vulnerable Dani Ripper. He’s going to show her some gruesome crime scene photos and evidence, and I need to decide if her reaction to them is authentic.

  In other words, did she know her husband was a murderer? Has she seen these pictures before? After judging her reaction, if I honestly believe she’s innocent, I have the power to shut down the investigation.