I'll buy that, she told herself, refusing to acknowledge it
to him. Of all people, not to him.
He swung the car onto Pennsylvania Avenue. Passing the
Capitol, the traffic thinned.
"Where are we going?"
"Neutral ground. Benton's."
For once, she forgave his paranoia. It's a zoo, Cates had
said. But he didn't have to walk into the cage.
Jason met Arthur Fellows at the Arlington Metro station. It
was always deserted. There were no prying eyes to connect the two men, a
valuable consideration if denial became necessary. Even the tourists eschewed
it since it was too far to walk from the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and the
Kennedy graves, the two most popular sites in the Capitol. They had it all to
themselves, especially at that hour. It was 8 P.M.
The visit from that woman detective and her black partner
had shaken him up, but only until he realized that they really had nothing.
Only that dumb pin. He had been worried about that. Hell, the pin was so
obviously a general's insignia, it would have raised anybody's curiosity. He
was sure they had nothing more. Dorothy was dead, in any event, and it didn't
matter how anymore. At least Trey would benefit from all this horror. A little
digging back in Hiram had revealed his connection, but he wasn't really worried
about it. The point was that the police had no right to harass him if there was
no evidence of a crime. That much he knew. Anyway, he was sure it would soon be
over. They had nothing. Nothing but that pin. If they had more, their approach
would have been different.
A train rumbled into the elaborate station and Arthur was
the only passenger to get off. Watching him come forward, he saw the pale drawn
face, the hunched posture. He seemed to have aged considerably in the past
forty-eight hours. When he got closer, Jason moved to a bench and sat down.
"You put me through the worst moments of my life, you
bastard," Arthur said, falling heavily onto the bench beside him.
"But you did it?"
"Not quite."
Jason coughed to mask his sudden anxiety. Arthur looked at
him and turned away, his lips curling in contempt.
"It'll all be over soon," Jason said. He, too,
wanted to have it done with.
Arthur breathed deeply and cleared his throat, which was
slightly hoarse. Furtively, he looked around the deserted station.
"What a boondoggle," he said.
"Typical."
Jason waited. There was no point rushing him now, no point
pulling the noose any tighter. For the moment, he chose to ignore the "not
quite."
"I saw them all. Every one. I saw the fear in their
eyes, the agony. All good men. All they wanted to do was play, have a good
time. What the hell is wrong with that?" He smiled suddenly, a leering,
toothy smile. "Not one of them had the slightest inkling. Not one. They
couldn't believe it."
"But they believed you?"
"Look at me. Do I look believable?"
"Then it was easy. See? I told you."
"Easy. These are men with brilliant careers."
Arthur laughed derisively. "The Czech..." He paused when his throat
caught, "...the Czech broke down and cried."
"Did she call them all?"
"Not all. The senator was out of town. She left a
message with his wife. Can you believe it? When I told him, he had to take half
a bottle of Maalox." He turned suddenly to Jason and scowled. "You
know what it means to carry a message from the devil? It's madness. Madness. I
feel depraved. Christ. It was all in fun. That's all it was. And they all asked
me the same question."
"What was that?"
"Does that man have no pity?"
Jason glanced away and looked at the arched ceiling of the
station. No, he thought, he had no pity. Men who have power are not to be
pitied. To get where they are, how many lives did they have to ruin, how many
people did they have to step on?
"Did any of them show any pity for Dorothy?"
"They were in no mood for pity."
"Neither am I."
"I told them that she was innocent in all this, but
they weren't so sure about that. They cursed you both."
"Maybe one of them did more than curse Dorothy. Maybe
one of them killed her."
"Maybe," Arthur said. "I can't say that they
didn't want to. Maybe kill you both."
"Have we finished with the hearts and flowers?"
Arthur looked at him and shook his head. "You are a
bastard. Any one of us can turn you in."
"But none of you will ... You're all too puffed up
with your own self-importance. Too greedy for power. Too ambitious. Hell, so
far you've beaten the system, and you'll figure out a way to beat it
again."
Jason paused for a moment, reflecting. Now was the time to
play real hardball, hold out no matter what. "You said not quite."
"I've got one hold out," he said, his head
lowered. "He actually threw me out of his office. The associate justice.
He was insulted, indignant. You sure you got him dead to rights, Jason? He was
very strong. Very strong. He said if I persisted he would have to report
it."
"Always a hardballer in the crowd. There's a fellow so
used to power he can't tell the forest from the trees."
"He wasn't afraid. I can tell you that."
Another train rumbled through the station. No one got out.
"I can break the whole fucking lot of you," Jason
said, surprised at his own malevolence.
"And yourself to the bargain."
"Who gives a shit?"
"Anyway, the five have already agreed. They'll need a
couple of days to get the cash." Arthur's lips curled in a deadly cold
smile. "I vouched for your honesty. That's a laugh. Take the five of us
and be happy, Jason. The justice is trouble. He'll go down for a principle. I
can tell the type."
"We'll see."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Jason ignored the question, bent on logistics now.
"You'll give me the money and I'll mail you the
tapes." He had figured it out carefully. He would mail to each man the
tapes that referred to him individually. If knowledge was power, he wasn't
going to give any of them that.
"Trusting soul," Arthur said, seized suddenly
with a coughing fit. Once he recovered, he grabbed Jason's arm. "I have my
money. I want my tapes today. I can't live with this another day. I'll do what
you say about the others. But I want anything that relates to me today. I've
kept my part of the bargain." He reached into the inside pocket of his
jacket, but Jason restrained him.
"Not yet, Arthur. I said all."
"I told you," he pleaded. "He won't bend. I
know that kind of guy. A martyr, if he believes he's right. Hell, he's a
Supreme Court judge. He'll go to the mat." He looked at Jason and shook
his head, obviously annoyed by his obstinance.
"How can you be so sure about the police? Surely, they
would have checked her place."
"I tell you they've marked it suicide."
He wondered if he should tell Arthur about the visit from
the police, the pin. That was all they had. "I cleaned it up. I wiped all
the prints," he said.
"If the police get into it, it's canceled. They all
made that clear. These boys are tough." Arthur paused. "Look, what
harm is there? The five are willing. I'll make up the difference. Its only
money." His fingers tightened on Jason's arm.
"No," Jason said, loosening his grip.
"All."
"You're looking for trouble. I know men like
that."
"All," Jason repeated. "No one gets
off."
He could smell the stench of his own evil. He had already
come to terms with his own hatred of himself, there was no problem of
conscience. No, he would be adamant. They all had to pay. Even Sally. He could
barely suppress his laughter.
Arthur brooded for a long time in silence. His pallid color
had deepened to yellow as if his blood had suddenly been freeze-dried.
"Nobody escapes," Arthur said suddenly, the
implied threat unmistakable. "Everybody pays sometime."
"You've come awfully cheap, Arthur. Right to the top.
One big zoom."
"Is it jealousy, Jason? Is that it? I can understand
that. When someone gives me a load of shit, my wife always tells me that.
That's a very good way to handle it. The frustration of the loser. Is that
it?"
It hadn't occurred to him. He thought for awhile. He wanted
his response to be deadly accurate.
"Yes," he said. "But not of your success.
Not the substance of it. More the style. How the hell do you do it? The way you
press just the right buttons. Make just the right moves. You know just where
the weak spots are and you barrel through them like a hot knife through butter.
How the hell do you do that? Even now. You may not realize it but you're doing
it even now."
"If I told you how, would you call it off?"
Arthur smirked.
"No."
There was another long silence. Educational, Jason thought.
It was very educational, the way Arthur probed for weakness, faltering,
rejuvenating, trying again.
"Dorothy would never have been a part of this.
Never," Arthur said. Dorothy again. He would use her now.
"What did you really think about Dorothy, Arthur? Was
she just a piece of ass, a bit of fluff? I told her you all thought she was just
a piece of meat. Tell me. Was that the way you really thought about her?"
He sensed his own weakening now.
"Why should you care about that?" Arthur said,
caught off guard. "It's a bit irrelevant."
"Try to think back before you knew she was getting it
on with the others. I'm really curious about that."
"You can't stop turning the fucking knife. If I tell
you, will you let me off the hook? Give me the tapes?" He patted his
pocket.
"No."
Maybe he was not as smart as Jason had imagined. Did he
seriously believe that the tapes were floating around his apartment?
"She was the best," Arthur said. "She opened
like the petals of a flower, drawing you in. It was wonderful. Wonderful."
His voice broke. "I adored her. She was the absolute best. A refuge. An
oasis. God, I couldn't wait to see her. I thought about her all the time and
wished she would be there waiting for me, always."
"You felt that?"
"Isn't that what you wanted to hear? Or should I try
it the other way? Would it make a difference?"
Suddenly, his head dropped to his chest. Jason could hear
him sigh deeply. "Actually, I miss the bitch," he said slowly.
"I think they all miss her. She was the girl of our dreams."
Jason couldn't bear to hear any more of it and stood up.
"You tell the great Justice Strauss that if he doesn't come across we'll
get Sally after him." He grabbed Arthur's shoulders and shook him.
"You hear me? Tell him Sally will get after him."
Arthur stood up slowly, frowning and confused.
"Sally?"
"Just tell him that."
"I don't understand."
"Better that way. Tell him Sally is all over the
tapes."
"And suppose he declines again?"
"He won't."
Jason turned and headed toward the stairs. They led to an
overhead walkway across to the Washington bound track. Behind him, he heard
Arthur's shuffling steps. When he reached the other side, he slowed and stood
at the platform's edge. Soon lights would flash along the rim. Arthur's steps
grew louder in the deserted station, gaining speed, as they approached him.
"I need to know one more thing," Arthur said. He
was standing very close behind him now. Jason turned, confronting his distorted
face. He could smell the man's sour breath. Beneath him, the lights began to
flash and in the distance he heard the faint rumble of the oncoming train.
"Did she feel anything for me?" Flecks of
moisture came out with his words, showering him. "Compared to the
others?" In his eyes, Jason could see the agony. The train's rumble grew
louder. He could step away, save himself in the few moments that were left.
Instead, he held his ground. Let Arthur make the choice now.
Do it, he challenged in his heart. Push me. Save yourself.
Save the others. He stiffened, waiting for the light pressure. It would be over
in a moment. He could hear the quickening roar of the swiftly approaching train.
Peripherally, he saw the single bright light of the first car, coming forward
like a relentless eye, seeing everything.
"We were all one man to her," Jason shouted above
the din.
Do it, he urged him silently, but it was too late. Arthur
stepped back.
Jason ducked in the door of the deserted train.
When he looked around again, he saw Arthur still waiting on
the platform, sullen and forlorn, nursing his pain.
Life for Jason was suspended now. There was little to do
but wait. He called his immediate boss in Fairfax.
"I'm sick," he said, picturing his tense,
scrofulous face at the other end.
"Shit."
"Thanks for your concern."
It would all be over soon. He would give his notice, take
his book of clippings and push on. Journalism, real journalism was dying in America
anyway. Perhaps he'd write the book that he had always talked about.
"The book. The book." Jane had always ridden him
about that. "How many years do you think you can get out of the promise? I
can't stand it anymore. Always pretending that somewhere inside of you is the
great book. What book?"
Maybe he would skim off twenty or thirty thousand, hole up
somewhere in the Swiss Alps. Mountains always held a literary lure. He'd write
the book there. Still, Jane's voice persisted in the back of his mind ... what
book?
Because he couldn't concentrate on anything, he took long
walks, as if the physical activity might expunge Dorothy from his mind. It
didn't. Did they miss her, too? It had been painful enough removing her things
from his apartment, putting them all in large plastic bags and running them out
to the city dump. Soon, when the rent ran out in the other place, someone would
have to empty her things from there as well. All those white things and the
stuffed animals. He knew he could never go back.
It hurt him to know, too, that her body was not yet under
ground. Who would claim her? That drunken aunt back in Hiram certainly wouldn't
bother, nor would she spend the money on long distance calls to find Dorothy's
brothers. Perhaps he could anonymously send them the money to give her a decent
burial, instead of the city-paid cremation, like they burned the trash. No.
That would be too dangerous.