Gray Area

by George P. Saunders

  “Daddy!” Sonia called out.

  Suddenly, horrifically, the man he had shot on the roof earlier that night materialized out of thin air. A girder impaled his chest and now he fell in front of Sonia. She screamed in terror, but the worst part was that the man was not yet dead! He grinned sardonically and began to laugh, further terrifying his daughter.

  Diamond felt powerless. He tried to scream, but nothing happened—no sound, no gurgle, zip. The man reached out and grabbed Sonia.

  He woke up, drenched in his own sweat. The fire billowed before him, an unconscious entity of swirling heat. The face of a little girl stared back at him.

  “Hi,” the face suddenly had a voice.

  Diamond realized he had drifted off and that he’d had an old fashioned nightmare. He looked at the little girl, blinking, his eyes trying to find some kind of focus. He recognized her from the picture, the frame of which was now lying in his lap. She reached for the picture and frowned as she considered her own image, then replaced it next to the decapitated seal knickknack.

  “You broke a seal,” she said petulantly.

  Caught, you big bad seal breaker, he thought. He nodded, and swallowed with difficulty. “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, giggling. “Mommy has a thousand of them.”

  Diamond sat up in his chair, checked his watch. He’d been dozing for around twenty minutes.

  “You’re the nice man, aren’t you?” the little girl asked.

  “Nice man?”

  “The one mommy likes.”

  Diamond smiled at this. “What’s your name, honey?”

  “Patsy. What’s yours?”

  “I’m Lou. Seal Breaker King.”

  She giggled and he laughed.

  “I didn’t think you were coming back,” Linda said from behind him.

  Diamond turned and considered Linda, dressed in an elegant nightgown that draped her body to perfection.

  “I should have gone home,” he said mechanically.

  “I’m glad you didn’t,” Linda smiled as Patsy came over and hugged a thigh. She looked down at the child, her hand running through the thick curly hair. “And just what are you doing up so early, young lady?”

  “Heard a noise, mommy,” Patsy replied, and pointed at Diamond. “It was him.”

  “I heard him, too. Noisy devil, isn’t he?” Linda said, grinning at Diamond.

  “Sorry,” Diamond offered feebly. “Maybe I should leave.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Linda said. “I’ll make coffee.”

  Patsy walked over to Diamond, and put two hands on his forearm, staring seriously into his eyes. “I like you, too, Lou.”

  She turned and ran up the stairs, not looking back.

  Diamond watched until she disappeared, then nodded ruefully at Linda. “Glad I have her approval.”

  “She doesn’t like most people,” Linda said. “Consider yourself privileged.”

  At the moment the only thing Diamond was feeling was the fatigue of the past 48 hours. His expression must have translated itself clearly because Linda put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Why don’t you keep on napping,” she said. “Coffee will take some time.”

  “No, I came here for a reason,” he objected.

  “I know. And we’ll get to that. Rest now,” Linda insisted, and Diamond was surprised how easy that command was to follow. He leaned back in the chair, his eyes again weighing well over a thousand pounds.

  “Just a few minutes,” he muttered.

  And then his world went dark.

  When he checked his watch, he was surprised, really surprised, to see that he had slept for three hours. The sun streamed through the terrace windows and from somewhere off in the distance he could hear a child’s laughter.

  Linda was nowhere to be seen. Diamond hauled himself out of the leather chair and approached the terrace door.

  “Well, good morning,” Linda said.

  Diamond turned to his right. Linda was leaning against the wall, near the terrace door, sipping coffee. She reached over to a side table and poured another cup.

  “Milk, sugar?”

  Diamond couldn’t immediately find words and was convinced nothing more than a grunt came out of his mouth, but apparently it was sufficient for Linda to nod and hand him the cup. He sipped the hot liquid and felt instantly revitalized.

  He looked out to the distant surf and could see Patsy playing a very serious game of “How Close Can I Get To The Water Without Getting Wet.” The waves lapped and teased at her feet but she was generally pretty successful in dodging them.

  “I got pregnant in my third year of law school,” Linda began. “I shouldn’t have, but I wanted to keep the baby. She’s my life now.”

  “And the father?” Diamond asked, the coffee performing small miracles in his bloodstream.

  “A mistake of youth. Mine, not his,” Linda quickly corrected. “I didn’t even get his last name. I knew that I didn’t want any baggage in my life and a full time man would have been exactly that. An anchor.”

  Diamond continued staring out at Patsy, who turned and waved at him. He waved back.

  “We’d do anything for them, wouldn’t we?” Linda said.

  “Who?”

  “Our children,” she said, looking at him, covering her eyes from the brutal morning sun.

  Diamond nodded. “And then some. Why didn’t you tell me about her?”

  She shrugged. “Why should I have?”

  Diamond frowned. More game playing. More lawyering.

  “She doesn’t live with me,” Linda offered, as if sensing his irritation and impatience. “I keep her with people that can give her what I can’t.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Friends. Family. Happiness,” she said. “Time.”

  “She could have all this, too, if her mother wanted it badly enough,” Diamond said.

  “This from the perfect father,” Linda said neutrally.

  Diamond winced at this. The lady knew how to hurt, this much was sure as shiny silver.

  “Time … is what I don’t have enough of at the moment,” Linda said quickly. She sipped her coffee again and Diamond suspected this was offered as a gesture that indicated little interest in being argumentative. Diamond wasn’t taking the bait.

  “Don Simpson is dead,” Diamond said flatly.

  Linda looked at him with an expression of complete stoniness. “What happened?”

  Not surprised, but at least curious. Maybe she didn’t do it after all. But she knew who did.

  Diamond pushed on. “They say he killed himself last night. Robert August is dead. They say he was involved with drug dealers. And my brother has taken me off the case. Officially my investigation is finished.”

  Linda watched him, sipping her coffee.

  “So,” she said at last. “That’s that.”

  “Why did you want me to talk to Robert August? What could he have told me?” Diamond pressured.

  Linda sighed and put her coffee cup on the table. She closed her eyes and tilted her face up to the sun. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “It matters to me,” Diamond said, not losing a beat.

  Linda opened her eyes and gazed at him frankly—or as frankly as Linda Baylor could gaze at anyone, he suspected.

  “There are some things in life, Lou, that we have no control over. They say you can’t pick family but you can pick your friends. The same can be said for enemies.”

  Where was she going with this, Diamond wondered.

  “Sometimes, your enemies … well, they pick you. And because of that, we sometimes do things, or become part of things, that we would never in a million years have thought of doing or becoming.”

  “There is always the wonderful constant called choice,” Diamond pointed out.

  “Choice!” Linda laughed suddenly, and the laugh bothered Diamond, even more than the fencing he was just now getting accustomed to. “Sometimes the choices we make are made to survive
or protect those we love. Remember the language of the law? That wonderful phrase we use to describe ambiguity?”

  Nothing leapt to mind for him. “Tell me, Linda. What is that wonderful phrase that I should be familiar with?”

  “It’s called the gray area,” she said. “You, me, Marshall. Your case. A lot of gray, all of it. Walk away now, Lou. And it will always stay gray.”

  Diamond smiled in spite of himself. “That sounds like the long version of my looks-like-shit philosophy.”

  Linda didn’t return the smile. Her expression was clearly one of sadness and again, Diamond felt the hair on his neck prickle. The sky was sunny but it felt more gray than ever before. And cold.

  “Hate to take back an invite, but we’ll have to do the boat another time,” she said softly.

  Diamond leaned in to her, seeing that she was about to stand. “Was it my brother, Linda?”

  Linda reclined easily back in her chair. He moved closer to her. “Was it?”

  She suddenly kissed him. Once. Then again, the last time luxuriously. Diamond knew he could get lost in that mouth, and pulled away. “Tell me the truth, Linda. For once.”

  There were tears in her eyes. Real tears. “It’s over, Lou. Let it die.”

  He kissed her this time, deeply. When he spoke, it was with genuine sadness. He knew somehow, and he suspected so did Linda, that this was not going to end well. No, not at all.

  “Let it die,” he repeated through a whistle. “I wish I could.”

  His cell phone began to ring and he snapped it out of his jacket.

  “Diamond,” he said, glaring at Linda. She wiped a tear from her eye and reached for her coffee.

  “Lou, it’s me,” Turner said, urgency in his voice. “Where are you?”

  “Never mind,” Diamond said. “What’s up?”

  “Hold on to your short hairs, good buddy. I’ve just dug up some golden shitballs for you and they stink of Arc-Link Industries.”

  “Go on,” Diamond said, his anger dissipating.

  “No fucking wonder Arc-Link is unlisted. It’s a weapons contracting company linked to the DOD. That’s Department of Defense to you and me. A classified installation in the biggest friggin’ sense of the word.”

  Patsy was waving at him again and Diamond managed to give a half-hearted response, which was enough to make the little girl laugh.

  “How did you get this info, Turner?” he asked.

  “That Seal buddy down in Coronado,” Turner said. “He works out of the Special Warfare Center. Did some digging for me. Guess who Arc-Link’s legal reps are?”

  “No idea,” Diamond smiled wearily.

  “Yeah, eat me. Not only that, take a breath. You’re going to hate this next part,” Turner said evenly.

  Diamond listened, staring at Linda.

  He turned away from her, away from the sun.

  He listened. And winced at what he heard.

  “My buddy down in Coronado had some great advice for you,” Turner finished up slowly.

  “What was that?” Diamond asked, the energy and life drained out of his voice.

  “Run, don’t walk away from this one. Now. Your brother’s law firm is neck-deep in shit you don’t even want to know about. I’ve got a file with me as long as my dick.”

  Diamond nodded. “Turner,” he said softly.

  But Turner was way ahead of him. “Yeah, I know. I’ve already pulled our favorite gag. Just in case. Either way, you get this file.”

  “Thanks,” Diamond said.

  “Any way I can talk you out of going forward on this?” Turner asked hopefully.

  “Too late for that, pal,” Diamond said. “Meet me at the Denny’s on PCH in an hour.”

  There was a moment of silence on the phone before Turner sighed audibly through the earpiece. “Watch your ass, Lou. This could turn butt-ugly.”

  “Yeah,” Diamond smiled without amusement. “And it will. Take care.”

  He hung up the phone and stared out at the Pacific Ocean, eternally blue, the horizon of white and gray meeting the edge of the world.

  “What is it?” he heard Linda from someplace far away. He turned to look at her, the new information burning into his mind and heart like a dull knife slowly twisting.

  “Everything,” he said without inflection. “I’ve got to go.”

  She reached for his hand, a gesture that surprised him. It was a gentle squeeze she gave him, yet the expression on her face did not match her grip. For the first time since he had met her, Diamond recognized fear in her eyes.

  “Promise me something,” she said softly.

  He wanted to say something cruel, to castigate her for her involvement with his brother, the firm, everything. But those words did not come forth. He surprised himself when he reached out and touched her face. Gently, wiping away a tear that seemed to have materialized as if by magic.

  “If I can,” he said.

  “If—if anything ever happened to me,” she said carefully, deliberately. “Promise me you’d look out for Patsy.”

  “Linda—”

  “I know it’s a helluva thing to ask,” she said, nodding, recognizing the enormity of the request. “I know it’s silly. I don’t even know why I asked it. Just say yes.”

  He hesitated.

  “Humor me,” she urged. Another squeeze, another tear.

  He relented. “Sure.”

  It seemed to mollify her and her mood changed instantly. Her eyes flashed with something of the same old mischievousness he’d come to know and endure so well. “I know you wanted to spend time with your daughter today, but I’ve got a great idea.”

  “What is that?” Diamond asked. He looked at his watch, realizing that time was slipping away from him.

  “Bring your little girl here. I’ll make dinner. We could play family. Imagine.”

  Diamond almost smiled at that. He looked out to the beach and watched as Patsy continued to play Dodge and Splash with the agreeable surf licking lazily at her heels.

  “I’ll call you,” he said. “Let you know later.”

  He squeezed her hand and then turned to leave.

  “Is it over, Lou?” she asked, and Diamond knew what she meant.

  “Almost, Linda,” he said. “Believe me.”

  Her eyes told him that she did. Sadly.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Giles reached for his ringing cell phone, his attention immersed in Lou Diamond’s file. It had been a good read and he hoped that when the final showdown transpired he could at least tell the man how much he admired him … before, of course, he killed him.

  “Yes, Charles,” Giles said, glancing at the caller ID.

  “The problems continue to compound vis-à-vis your first target, Preston,” LeMay jumped to the chase.

  “How so?”

  “A friend of his has done some snooping. Our network has assimilated the necessary information. This is escalating. You must understand the need for all of this to disappear, and quickly.”

  “I understand,” Giles said.

  “The target is a fellow called Turner Sage. He and Diamond must depart for friendlier climes, and soon. We believe that once these two items have been liquidated, all will again be right with the world,” LeMay said, sounding just a bit weary.

  “There’s a significant dollar amount attached to this extra bit of helping out,” Giles said. “I didn’t mind August, that was a family favor, but—”

  “We quite understand,” LeMay said. “The additional million has already been deposited, in anticipation of your need for an extra bit of Christmas cheer.”

  “How very accommodating,” Giles said. “May I have the details on this latest development?”

  “Of course. By the way, have you figured out how to deal with Diamond—and when?”

  “I’m cogitating on that very matter even as we speak,” Giles said. “Now. That information, please?”

  LeMay sighed. Then proceeded to fill him in on one Turner Sage.

  Turner fe
lt twitchy, nervous, on edge. Not for himself, but for Diamond. The information his friend, Tom Nabors, down at SWC in San Diego was frightening in the extreme. The murders of Robert August, Jason Randall, that woman lawyer—all were connected to Arc-Link, and Arc-Link was connected to the Department of Defense and foreign arms contractors. It all spelled trouble. And Diamond was splat-assed in the middle of it.

  Goddamn the man, Turner thought, fury and genuine affection mixing together.

  Turner’s ‘72 Ford pickup was in need of an oil change, new brakes and, by God, a plain old carwash wouldn’t hurt either, but today was not the day to worry about such sundries. Today was a day to get Lou Diamond what he needed in a hurry, so he could come to his senses and walk away from this case, pronto.

  Turner was still muttering to himself as he negotiated his car out of the driveway and onto the main street near his house. He didn’t notice the huge truck that veered around the corner and took up position just fifty yards behind him.

  Music, I need music, Turner’s mind urged. As bad luck would have it, however, when he flipped on the radio, a news broadcast was capping the top of the hour.

  “Representatives for the law firm of Berenson & Marelli have confirmed the apparent suicide by Don Simpson, husband to Marianne Simpson. Ms. Simpson was a high profile attorney whose body was found alongside her colleague, Jason Randall, several nights ago in that firm’s prestigious offices. Mr. Simpson had been taken into custody and was recuperating from wounds suffered in a gun-battle with police outside of home the morning after his wife’s body was—”

  “All bullshit,” Turner muttered to himself. “Cover up, grade A bullshit.”

  He punched the accelerator.

  The impact of metal on metal caused Turner’s pickup to lurch forward. He turned his head around to see the offending truck speed up and prepare to ram him again.

  “You cocksucker!” he yelled. “What the hell do you think you’re—”

  He then saw the two occupants of the truck. Both wore suits. Both were clearly not truckers.