Stranglehold

by Ed Gorman

  As she was locking the door, she said, “It’s pathetic how I talk to them. But when my marriage started going south I guess they became the kids we never quite got around to having.”

  “I’ve got a cat of my own in Chicago. She has my power of attorney.”

  On the way to the restaurant she’d selected, she spent a few minutes trying to find a station that played old standards. “It’s funny. I love a lot of the music today, even some of the rap. But when I want to feel like a grownup, I like Sinatra and Tony Bennett and people like that.”

  “You like rap?”

  “I said ‘some of it.’ I had my twelve-year-old niece with me this summer for a month. Her folks are going through a divorce and we’ve always been close, so she came out here from Connecticut to get away from everything at home. I couldn’t believe how much rap she listened to. A very upper-class white girl. Anyway, I guess she wore down my defenses. There are three or four rap songs I actually enjoy.”

  The restaurant was tucked into some pines. There were so many Beemers, the parking lot resembled a dealership. The owner was also the greeter, an Aspen type, a big guy in a red flannel shirt, a black leather vest, and jeans. The Rolex on his right wrist spoiled the effect he wanted—a TV version of a cowhand—as did the capped teeth. There were two levels to the place—the enormous fireplace and bar downstairs and the tall booths and tables on the second level. The waitress dressed pretty much like the greeter. She was young and sweet and probably couldn’t afford a Rolex. While we waited for our drinks, Jane said, “If I start getting drunk, stop me. I’m an embarrassing drunk, believe me.”

  “I’ve been known to be pretty embarrassing myself.”

  “Did you ever get into fights?”

  “Not when I was drunk. Sometimes when I worked in army intelligence but not very often.”

  “My soon-to-be ex thought he was a heavyweight champion when he got drunk. He was always picking fights. When he woke up the next morning I’d have to remind him of what he’d done.”

  “I’ve had too many of those nights myself.”

  “Did you drink a lot when you were married?” Then, “Damn.”

  “What?”

  “I shouldn’t have asked that question. It was stupid.”

  “Logical question given what we were talking about. And no, it wasn’t the drinking; it was the fact that I spent so much time away from home working on campaigns. I wasn’t faithful and neither was she. She had a good excuse for it. I didn’t.”

  “Do you get along with her now?”

  “I don’t see her that often. My daughter says that she’s very happy with her new husband. I’m glad for her. I was a selfish bastard. When I found out she had a lover, I got jealous and stupid. I ranted for days even though I’d pushed her into it.”

  “Maybe she would have been unfaithful anyway.”

  “Maybe. But the point is, I blamed her when I’d been unfaithful long before she was.”

  We started in on the warm bread hidden in a basket and wrapped in a heavy wine-red napkin. As she picked up the butter knife, she said, “I tried to be unfaithful one time. I found this note in his pocket from one of the secretaries where he works. It was obvious what was going on. I got dressed up and went out to a bar just the way women do in movies, and I sat at a little table and three or four men hit on me. I was never a beauty like Susan, but I did all right. And it was fun sitting there and flirting and feeling the way I did in college. But when it came down to going home with this guy—and he was really good-looking—I just couldn’t do it. And it’s not because I’m so moral or anything. We’d been married for eleven years and even when he was cheating—I guess I just didn’t want to be like him. Does that make any sense?”

  “Sure.”

  The salmon steaks were very good. We both drank Manhattans. The longer we talked the more I liked her, and in the candlelight her sensible good looks took on real beauty. I knew I was getting interested in her because I was starting to wonder what she thought of me as well.

  “Are you dying to ask me about Susan?”

  “Well, I thought I’d get around to it eventually.”

  “She called me.” Her expression and her voice tightened. “I sounded flip just a moment ago. I shouldn’t have. I’m really worried about her.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Nothing new, really. But her tone of voice—really desperate. Something must have happened. This is just terrible for her. She’s so afraid that the press will find out about Bobby before she’s ready to talk to them about it. It doesn’t help that Natalie keeps trying to control everything. Natalie still believes she can contain this thing. That sure doesn’t help Susan any. I’ve told her that I can’t see how this will be such a terrible scandal. She put her boy up for adoption. She didn’t abort him. And he got a much better home environment than she could have given him at the time. I guess I don’t understand politics.”

  The waitress appeared and asked us about dessert. Neither of us was interested. I asked for the check.

  “It’s early yet,” I said. “Would you like to go someplace else?”

  “Not really. I’d rather just go back to my house. Maybe watch TV. Hopefully with you along.”

  “That sounds good. I just hope professional wrestling’s on tonight.”

  She made a face. “Are you serious?”

  “No,” I said.

  “God, you do deadpan very well. I thought, This guy likes professional wrestling?”

  “I mostly watch old movies and talk shows.”

  “I get tired of all those talking heads. They think they’re so important.”

  “You noticed that, huh?” I said as I signed the MasterCard form.

  A few minutes later we were walking through the night to my rental. Jane leaned against me. I had my arm around her shoulders. The parking lot had been full, so we’d had to slide into the lone slot in the narrow drive of the business next door, right on the edge of the adjacent loading dock.

  She’d tucked herself into me as we walked. Her head came just to my chest and I could smell clean hair and light perfume. She felt good there. Comfortable. I was looking forward to going back to her house. I didn’t think I’d be spending the night, but I was sure we’d know each other a lot better by the time I left. My daughter was always urging me to meet somebody. Maybe I had.

  There was little light and that made it all the easier for him. As I leaned over to unlock her door, he ran at me and leapt on my back. I didn’t even have time to turn around. He honored the verities of an earlier era. He wore brass knuckles and he hit me hard enough and fast enough that I was on the ground before Jane could even start screaming. Elapsed time was seconds.

  He stank of sweat, whiskey, and aftershave. As I twisted around I got a glimpse of red hair and a pair of insane blue eyes. I was aware of Jane trying to pull him off me. He somehow flung her away with such force that she fell over backward. I heard her crash on the concrete. She was still screaming.

  I was on my hands and knees, trying to get my footing, fighting through the pain from the pounding my head had taken.

  “Tell that bitch the price is double now, Conrad. I want another payment of the same amount by eight o’clock tomorrow night. You understand that?”

  I found my rage. I came up off the ground so fast that I surprised him. I slammed into him with such force that he had to struggle to stay upright. I was all fists and fury. The biggest problem I had was my vision. All the brass punches had taken their toll. My vision was gauzy. I was still swinging at him, but he’d moved back and I was starting to stumble.

  I heard Jane behind me. Running toward me. “He’s got a gun, Dev!”

  And so he had. Later on it would have a strange humor for me. Brass knucks and a gun. Susan Cooper sure had picked a sweetie pie.

  Between my failing eyesight and my pain, he didn’t need his gun to make sure I was no threat. He just lunged forward and shoved me. Not even rage could keep me upright. I slumped agains
t the rental. I could hear him running away, but it was just sensory data. I was too weak to care.

  I started to slide down the side of the rental. Then Jane had her arms around me. “I’m going to get you in the car, and then I’m driving us to the hospital.”

  “No, no hospital.”

  “What? He could’ve killed you!”

  I was having a hard time swallowing. “Your place. Your place.”

  I leaned away from the car so I could open the passenger door. I managed to crawl inside and lay my head back against the seat. I don’t know whether I passed out or just went to sleep. It didn’t matter. I was out.

  Strange room, strange clothes, strange memories. Moonlight through a window, silver and shadowed. I lay on a bed in a pair of pajamas I’d never seen before. My own animal smells; my own animal contours as I stretched. There was pain, and with the pain came memories. The parking lot and the brass knuckles and the gun. Three bumps on the left side of my head. The impulse to get out of bed was slowed by the fact that I was dizzy. I had to move carefully. I didn’t even try to stand up at first. Just sat on the edge of the bed. I needed a bathroom and then I needed some coffee. A fragment of fantasy—me beating Craig Donovan to death. His face bloody, his eyes pleading as I sent him into the darkness.

  The door opened. She was backlit and in silhouette. “I thought I heard you.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Just before four-thirty. You got about eight hours’ sleep, anyway. How’s your head feel?”

  “How the hell did you get me into pajamas and then into bed?”

  “I’m more resourceful than you realize.”

  “You’d have to be.”

  “But you didn’t answer my question. How’s your head?”

  “Hurts. But I doubt it’s anything serious.”

  “I went online and checked for the symptoms of a concussion. You didn’t seem to have them, so I put you to bed. There’s a bathroom right down the hall. I’ll heat up some coffee. You be all right?”

  “Yeah. And thanks for taking care of me.”

  “That’s the most scared I’ve ever been in my life. I’ve never seen anything like that before. I wanted to kill him. Even as mad as I get at my ex, I never seriously think about killing him. But this guy—”

  “Believe me, I’ve been thinking the same thing. I hope I get a chance to pay him back.” Then: “I’ll be all right. I’ll see you in the kitchen.”

  “You sure you don’t need help?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  I knew I was feeling stronger. Something like pride was keeping me from telling her that I was dizzy. I was beginning to realize that Donovan had hurt my ego far more than he’d hurt my body. Even though I hated all the macho bullshit that burdens most men, I didn’t like the feeling of being helpless and at somebody else’s mercy. Jane had seen how weak I was. I didn’t want to stand up and fall down.

  “You sure?” She didn’t sound sure.

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you in the kitchen.”

  After her silhouette vanished from the doorway, I stood up and stayed in place until the worst of the dizziness faded. Then I started the slow, careful process of getting to the bathroom. The cold water I splashed on my face brought me awake, the warm muzziness of the bed banished. I was pissed off. Oh, did I have plans for him. My anger overrode any pain I had. It was as if a TV minister had laid hands on me and I’d been reborn. I smiled at myself in the mirror for being such a clever bastard. At the moment my image of a TV minister seemed the wittiest thing I’d ever thought of. What a fine, swell, wonderful guy I was.

  The smell of bacon and eggs lured me like a sea siren to my seat in a small nook by a line of casement windows. I would have bet I wasn’t hungry.

  Jane brought me a cup of coffee and said, “Food’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

  I took her hand. “I owe you for this. Thanks very much.”

  She leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. “Well, look at it this way, Dev. You gave me the most memorable night of my sheltered life.” She took her smile back to the stove and finished up our breakfast.

  We went over everything again, of course. She still thought I should have called the police. But now that I was awake I began focusing on what Donovan had actually said about doubling the payment, and by eight o’clock tonight.

  Jane said, “I wonder why Donovan came after you.”

  “I left my card with his girlfriend yesterday. He obviously thinks I’m the point man now—that I’m acting for Natalie.”

  “I keep wondering how Natalie’s going to take it,” she said. “You know, when you tell her Donovan wants another payment.”

  “I’m wondering the same thing.”

  “Do blackmailers usually do stuff like this?”

  The conversation amused me suddenly. “Well, I looked it up in Blackmailing for Dummies and they said that it’s always a possibility.”

  “Blackmailing for Dummies. You must have quite a library.”

  “I hope you get a chance to see it sometime.”

  “Boy, is Natalie going to be pissed. If I didn’t love Susan so much, I could almost enjoy seeing Donovan treat Natalie like this.”

  Just then a jagged slice of pain cleaved my skull. I must have winced because Jane said, “Let me get some Tylenol.”

  I didn’t argue.

  When she came back, she served us breakfast and I swallowed the capsules. French toast, eggs, and bacon. I allowed myself to feel fat and lazy for a few minutes. But then the pain reminded me that I had things I needed to do.

  “I need to go, Jane. The food—everything . . .” I rose and took a few steps toward her. I took her hand. “Thanks. I really owe you.”

  “You’re leaving now?”

  “It’s almost five-thirty. I want to get ready to go see Natalie and Wyatt.”

  “Nuts,” she said. And laughed. “My mother said that I was a very spoiled child and that that was my favorite word whenever I didn’t get my way.”

  I took the linen napkin, dipped the edge of it in her glass of water, and then wiped away a tiny button of egg yolk on the side of her lovely mouth.

  “Oh, great,” she said, “I’ll bet that looked sexy, whatever it was.”

  I raised her gently to her feet. We were both in pajamas. As we kissed I felt her warm yielding body shifting against mine. I think we were both in a kind of trance as she led me back through the house. When we passed one door she said, “That’s the master bedroom. Where I had to sleep with you-know-who. The guest room all right?”

  “Fine.”

  And it was fine indeed.

  I walked into the headquarters’ office at 6:47. Ben was already there drinking coffee from a large McDonald’s container and studying his computer screen with enough concentration to levitate it. Without looking up he said, “Couldn’t sleep. Kristin called me late last night and said she was at a club where a reporter told her there’d be a big story about internal problems in our campaign.” Then: “By the way, you’re off the hook. She told me she met this guy last night and she’s in love.”

  I took my own McDonald’s coffee container to the desk I’d been using. “I take it the story ran.”

  “Yeah and it’s long. I haven’t finished it yet.”

  I logged onto the newspaper Web site and started reading. I was only a quarter of the way through when my head started pounding again. Words could hit just as hard as Donovan’s brass knuckles.

  “I wonder how long this guy has been dating Duffy?” Ben said, referring to the reporter.

  “It sure as hell reads like that, doesn’t it?” The bastard had done a good job. The infighting between Susan and Natalie, how Natalie treated her staff, and citing four well-known and embarrassing moments from Susan’s past.

  “It doesn’t get any worse than that,” Ben said.

  “The hell it doesn’t.”

  I gave him a quick version of what had happened last night and Donovan’s demand for a double payment.
“The son of a bitch might do anything, Ben. That’s the hell of it.”

  “He’s a sadistic bastard.”

  I was on my feet again. “Now I have to go talk to Byrnes and Natalie.” I walked over and picked up my coat.

  “You remember any prayers?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If I had to face Natalie, I’d say a whole lot of them.”

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER 15

  The grass on the endless lawn of the Cooper mansion glittered with frost that was only now beginning to dry off. As I pulled closer I could see that the flower beds had been covered. Except for a border collie sniffing at the base of a tree I didn’t see anything moving around the place. As I passed the garage I noticed that all four of the doors were closed. I parked in front and took my time getting to the door. The cold air felt good, though the weather report said rain was expected by mid-afternoon.

  Winnie answered the door. “They’re just finishing breakfast. I’m sure there’ll be plenty for you.”

  “No thanks. In fact, if you wouldn’t mind, I wish you’d let me sit in the study and tell Wyatt I’d like to talk to him at his convenience.” I’d decided to talk to Wyatt alone first. He’d never studied drama.

  “You look very serious this morning.”

  “This is important, Winnie. All I can tell you is that the whole campaign is starting to come apart. I need to talk to Wyatt.”

  Behind her I heard Natalie’s voice. “Winnie, why is the front door open? There’s a draft in case you hadn’t noticed.” I could see past Winnie into the morning shadows of the hall that ran through the center of the house. Natalie was somewhere back there. “Did you hear me, Winnie? Now close that goddamn door.”

  “We have a caller, Natalie. Mr. Conrad is here.”

  “Here?” she snapped. “What the hell’s he doing here?”

  She came into the light like a heat-seeking missile, ready to hit her target. She wore a black dressing gown that had a train like a wedding dress. She came up to me like a punk ready to fight. She looked perfect. “Do you have any idea what time it is? And we don’t receive visitors unless they call first.”