by Joseph Flynn
Galia nodded. “I vetted Mather Wyman to be on the ticket with the president. I watched hours of video on him and never saw anything to match that performance.”
“It did have a touch of Pygmalion to it; should I look for Henry Higgins?”
“No, but review all my files on the vice president. Don’t worry about dirt, you won’t find any. At least, I couldn’t. But see if any of his earlier political positions might look embarrassing in the context of what he said today.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to rescan his personal life?”
“Waste of time,” Galia said. “Even if you could find something I didn’t, the president wouldn’t let us use it.”
Norwood knew better than to push the point too far.
Still, he thought he’d take a look. Just to satisfy himself.
Indiana University — Bloomington, Indiana
Sheryl Kimbrough asked her class, “Who spotted the bull-puckey in Acting President Wyman’s press conference, and how much of it was there?”
“He’s running,” most of the class called out.
Half of them added, “He knows when the president is coming back.”
A lively conversation followed about how Wyman’s ambition and knowledge had affected the way he’d answered the newsies’ questions. Just before the class ended, a question was posed to the professor.
“Ms. Kimbrough, did you ever meet the acting president?”
“Yes. He didn’t make half the impression on me that he did today.”
“So maybe the idea of personal growth in the presidency isn’t bull-puckey?”
Sheryl laughed. The young were so optimistic.
“Most times that’s just what it is, but something sure got into Mather Wyman today.”
Camp David — Catoctin Mountains, Maryland
By McGill’s estimation, House Minority Leader Marlene Berman called the president at Aspen Lodge less than a minute after Mather Wyman had left the White House press room. She inquired as to the president’s availability to see her; Representative Berman said she would be happy to drive out to Camp David that very moment.
The president told her the White House was much closer and she could catch a ride on Marine One that afternoon. The minority leader was thrilled by that idea. The president knew that Mather Wyman would learn, sooner rather than later, of Marlene Berman’s trip to Camp David. Let him ponder that while he was busy making his plans.
McGill didn’t know precisely what Patti was thinking, but he said, “The campaign has begun? Skulduggery is in the works?”
Patti nodded. “It has and it is.”
“Would you like me to take your pulse?”
“We’ll get to that later. This will be my last night at Camp David.”
“I’ll try not to pine if you forget me in the crush of business.”
“You’ll keep busy. You’re not one to have idle hands.”
“That’s true.”
“You probably have something you want to do right now.”
McGill said he did. “I’m going to see if Kenny’s up for a little fresh air.”
Patti smiled. “Go for a walk? I’d like to join you.”
“Our pleasure. Then I’ll see if Kenny’s interested in what I was thinking about.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m going to teach him to play patty-cakes.”
Patti arched an eyebrow.
McGill said, “I never told you before but that’s the first step in learning Dark Alley.”
The day was sunny, the pace was ambling and everyone enjoyed the walk. After Patti excused herself, McGill and Kenny stood facing each other in the living room of Aspen Lodge. They had both wiped off their faces with a damp cloth and washed their hands. Kenny was feeling better every day but they still had to guard against infection and they would be making hand-to-hand contact.
Kenny had been overjoyed by the idea that his father was finally letting him in on the family martial art. When McGill had told him patty-cakes was the necessary first step, he’d shown no skepticism and bought in immediately. His son’s faith touched McGill.
“Okay,” he said, “here’s what we’ll do: four claps high and then four claps low. Left, right, left, right. First high, then low. We’ll keep the pace slow and easy, just find our rhythm. If you feel at all uncomfortable, you have to tell me.”
Kenny nodded. “I will, Dad.”
“After we’re done, I want you to practice in your mind, but keep that slow, too, okay?”
“I can’t even think fast?”
“You’re old enough to know that certain thoughts can set your heart racing. I don’t want Nick or Dr. Jones scolding me and nobody wants you back in the hospital.”
“That’s for sure. Okay, easy does it, but …”
“But what?” McGill asked.
“Well, you know how sometimes in movies when guys are supposed to be moving real fast they slow the film way down? How about if I think like that?”
“That’s not a bad idea. You can keep a close eye on your form that way.”
“Dad, whenever you had to use Dark Alley, back when you were a cop or after that, did it ever seem that way to you? Like you were going fast but it seemed slow.”
McGill said, “When you’re quicker than the other guy, it seems like he’s going slow.”
“What if he’s quicker?”
“If he’s quicker physically, you have to be quicker mentally. If he’s quicker both ways, you’d better hope you can outrun him. Or avoid him in the first place. Okay, let’s start. Four high, four low. Easy does it.”
The went through the pattern high and low four times, thirty-two light hand claps altogether. McGill watched his son closely for any sign of fatigue or distress. Kenny’s cheeks turned lightly pink but that only made him look healthier.
After they stopped, Kenny said, “Piece of cake.”
McGill had liked the way his son had moved. Soft and supple, moving his hips and shifting his balance with each swing of his hands. Everything flowed just the way it should. Maybe Kenny was more of a natural athlete than either of them would have thought.
“Good,” he said. “As we move along, we’ll add points of contact and we’ll go faster.”
“How fast?”
“Fast within safe limits. When you’re back to a hundred percent, we’ll go all out, and being the younger guy, you’ll clean my clock.”
“Hah,” Kenny said, “that’ll be the day.”
“It will be and it’s not that far off.”
Kenny embraced his father and asked the question that mattered most to him, “You haven’t showed this stuff to Abbie or Caitie, have you?”
McGill said he hadn’t.
He also didn’t explain that the patty-cakes routine was window-dressing for intercepting an opponent’s blow and delivering a counterpunch. That might have gotten Kenny worked up. He’d learn the purpose of what they’d been practicing soon enough.
They washed their faces and hands again and Kenny lay down for a nap.
Wearing a smile that made McGill’s heart glow.
He’d just closed the door to Kenny’s room when he heard the phone ring.
A call for Patti, he thought, but it turned out to be for him.
Deputy Director Byron DeWitt of the FBI.
“Mr. McGill, I just thought I’d let you know the bureau has been working hard on tracking down commercial drivers who’d fallen behind on their delivery schedules on the day that interests us. We allowed for tardiness ranging from one hour to one week. We’ve come up with twenty-three names. We expect to winnow that number down fairly fast.”
“Don’t forget to look for someone whose job approval is on the uptick,” McGill said.
“I made a note of that, yes.”
Telling McGill, politely, not to think he was a dope.
“Sorry. First time we’re working together.”
“Not a problem. What I’d like to know is whether you’d like to re
view our list.”
The thought occurred to McGill that Celsus Crogher was not the only fed who’d heard from the president recently about how to deal with him.
“I’d appreciate that, Mr. Deputy Director.”
Patti must have figured no harm could come his way doing a desk job.
Maybe he’d get a little eye strain.
“We’ll transmit the files directly, sir,” DeWitt told him.
“I’ll be right here,” McGill said.
Having some work to do made him feel better about that.
Aboard the Irish Grace — Gulf of Mexico
In calm seas, Carina Linberg dropped anchor little more than mile off Key West. Jackie Richmond and Alice Tompkins had told her they’d both feel better delivering their message out on the water. Carina had thought about that a moment, wondering if these two people were crazy enough to try stealing her boat out from under her. Weigh her down and toss her over the side.
That would be a lot harder to get away with anchored where there were all sorts of vessels, sail and motor, passing by within hand-waving distance.
“You wouldn’t mind maybe going a bit farther out?” Alice asked.
“I would,” Carina said. “I’m not a charter captain. This is all the ride you get for free.”
Jackie told Alice, “It’s all right. Nobody can hear us out here.”
“Yeah, but they might see us,” Alice said.
If the woman was acting, she was good, Carina thought.
Jackie was playing it cool enough, but that might have been male posturing.
Something more than a few guys were known to do.
Carina said, “You’re worried, you two can go below. I can talk to you from here and no one else will see you.”
Not only that, if they tried to make a move on Carina, they’d have to do it uphill.
Never an advantageous fighting position.
Alice took advantage of Carina’s suggestion, extending her hand to Jackie and leading him down into the cabin, going only far enough for the two of them to be out of sight of any passing vessel. Alice’s upturned face looked at Carina like a waif about to beg for a crust of bread.
Jackie was still impassive, but he’d come to see her, too, Carina thought.
“Who’s scaring you?” Carina asked.
Alice looked to Jackie to explain. He shrugged and said, “Alice has a sister named —”
“You don’t have to get specific,” Alice told him.
Jackie sighed and said, “Alice has a sister, her sister has a kid, a daughter.” He looked at Alice. “It’s all right to say we’re talking about a girl?”
“Yeah, you gotta say that.”
“Okay.” Jackie looked back at Carina. “The daughter answered some kind of Internet ad.”
“On FacePage.”
“That’s where it was then. The ad said a good-looking young girl could make a lot of money. Kid must’ve been raised sheltered because she went to check it out.”
Carina frowned. “Just prostitution or white slavery?”
“Slavery,” Jackie said. “She got beaten up and gang-raped. Told she belonged to this one dude and if she tried to run away she’d be cut up for chum and fed to the fish. Kid had guts, though, she ran and made it home. Told Mom what had happened. Mom put her on a boat to Naples and from there a bus to Georgia.”
Carina said, “The assholes came looking for her? Had a talk with her mother? Threatened her?”
Alice looked at Carina in wonder. Jackie grinned.
He said, “You seem pretty wised up for a lady with your own little yacht.”
That was when Alice leaned forward with a squint of recognition. “I’ve seen you on television, haven’t I?”
Carina nodded. “WorldWide News.”
“You’re a reporter?” Jackie asked, tensing up a bit.
“A talking head. I got paid for giving my opinion, that’s all.”
“But what I remember,” Alice said, “you were in the army or something.”
“Air Force. I flew a bomber.”
Now Jackie leaned forward. “You dropped bombs on people?”
Carina nodded.
“You’ve killed people?” Alice asked.
“Not anyone I knew personally.”
That made Jackie smile again. He asked, “You know how many people you aced?”
“It’s hard to do body counts up where I worked. Come to that, the weapons I dropped rarely left any bodies. So how did the assholes threaten your sister, Alice?”
“They told her by sending her daughter away she’d stolen their property. They wanted money for their loss. When they saw she didn’t have much, she promised she could get them ten thousand dollars. They gave her two days to make good.”
“Your sister came to you for the money, Alice?”
“Only for a short-term loan. My sister and I don’t get on well, never have, but she’s the apple of our grandpa’s eye, him being up in Georgia.”
Carina held up her hand. She wanted to process what she’d heard. See if she couldn’t figure things out from there. That was what a storyteller would do.
She looked at Jackie. “You came up with the money for Alice. Where you got it is a mystery for the moment, but you didn’t make it tending bar. So Alice took your money, gave it to her sister and everything was supposed to be cool with the bad guys. Sis got the money from Grandpa, repaid Alice and she returned it to you.”
“Batting a thousand,” Jackie told Carina. “What happened next?”
“That’s easy. The assholes wanted more. Sis sent them to Alice’s place and Jackie and I showed the tough guy who came calling he wasn’t all that tough. So how bad was the next guy they sent?”
“Half again as big,” Jackie said. “Real hairy. He was scaring Alice pretty bad. She was working the bar alone.”
Alice told Carina, “He said they were going to ask for another ten thousand but for hurting the other guy, now they wanted more than that. They want my place, Mango Mary’s.”
“Nice way to launder cash,” Jackie said.
Alice added, “They also said they wanted to talk with Jackie … and you.”
Maybe, Carina thought. Maybe Jackie and Alice were just trying to rope her in.
Not that she could say for sure. You embarrassed a creep, he’d probably want to get even.
Show he couldn’t be pushed around by a woman.
She looked at Jackie. “How’d you get rid of this asshole?”
“I came behind him, put my gun up to his head. Asked if knew what a great job a forty caliber round did clearing out ear wax. Before he could answer, I kicked him on the back of his knee and laid my gun against the back of his head.”
“Threw him out the front door like the other one?” Carina asked.
“Dragged him out back. Got him into an old grocery cart. Left him a couple blocks away.”
“Any reason you didn’t go to the cops?”
Alice said, “I’m too afraid. They burn down my bar or my house, I got insurance. But I don’t want to be inside when the fire starts.”
“What about your sister’s house? She’s not worried?”
“She rented; she used to anyway. She’s up in Georgia now, too.”
“But you don’t want to go?”
“I might have to, but I don’t want to.”
Carina turned her eyes on Jackie. “You staying or going?”
“Haven’t decided. I thought I might buy Alice’s place. Someone comes in and I shoot them, I got more rights that way.”
“No doubt. So the two of you just stopped by to give me fair warning?”
“The least we could do,” Jackie said.
“And I thought maybe you’d like to buy my house,” Alice added.
Carina laughed. “I still have a co-op in midtown Manhattan, but thanks for the thought. I’ll run you two back in to the marina and you can make your plans.”
Jackie said, “You have a gun on you, don’t you?”
&nb
sp; Carina took it out. “This is such a great boat I can steer with one hand and shoot with the other. Now, let me ask you a question, Jackie. Why’d you do that double-take when you saw my little black Porsche?”
He said, “That’s your car? Small damn world. I had one just like it.”
“And?” Carina asked.
“Somebody stole it from me.”
Florida Avenue NW — Washington, D.C.
Sweetie looked at her fiancé as he cooked shrimp scampi for dinner in his … in their kitchen. She still hadn’t gotten used to that idea, that what had been Putnam’s was or soon would be hers, too. She was anything but materialistic, but she saw that it would be wrong to deny partial ownership of the worldly goods that Putnam would bring to their marriage. To deny them would be to deny him.
There was precious little Sweetie would bring to the union. All she could think of was to let Putnam have her backup gun. If she could bring herself to part with it.
Without turning from the stovetop to look at Sweetie, Putnam asked, “You looking at my backside again?”
He would have said ass with anyone but Margaret.
“Just checking to see how the muscle tone is improving.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“All of them, huh? And who would that be?”
He glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “The ladies at the gym you made me join.”
“They spent less time ogling and more time moving, they’d have better tone, too.”
Putnam plated the shrimp over pasta and served it with a flourish. He poured himself a glass of chenin blanc. He held the bottle up inquisitively. Except for sacramental wine, Sweetie had been a teetotaler. After Putnam pointed out that even the Savior tippled at wedding receptions and that wine in moderation was good for a woman’s heart, Sweetie would on occasion partake.
She held her thumb and index finger an inch apart.
That was exactly what she got. Sitting across the kitchen table from her, Putnam lowered his head in silence as Sweetie gave thanks. When she finished, he said, “Thank you, Margaret. You make me happy.”
They touched their glasses. Putnam took a drink, Sweetie a sip.
He tried a bite of his cooking and smiled as he chewed.