"That has nothing to do with this book," he said.
"Then I'll take this book to another publisher and sell it there. Perhaps I can start paying you back that advance that way," said Kris.
"There's no need to be hasty," said Templeton.
"How much do I owe you?" asked Kris.
Templeton thought he was being clever by giving Stevens the figure. He thought it would cow the man.
"And you're only offering me a tenth of that for this book?" asked Kris.
"Well ... " said Templeton uncomfortably. "You've never written anything like this before. We don't know how it will be received. We can't offer you full price for something untried, now can we?"
Kris stood up and held out his hand. "I think I'll shop around a bit."
"You're in default on our agreement," said Templeton. "It would be a shame if we had to sue one of our best authors."
"If you're willing to threaten to sue one of your best authors over something like this," said Kris, "then I don't want to publish with you. I lost my memory, not my mind. I think our negotiations are at an end."
"Sit down ... please." Templeton was sweating now. "Look. My boss said I had to drive a hard bargain, okay? These are very irregular circumstances."
Kris sat, still holding the check. "Okay. I don't remember anything about negotiating this kind of thing, but I know how I feel. You pay me what you think is fair for this book. We'll see how it does. If it hits the bestseller list, like my other books did, and I find out you short changed me, it's the last book I'll ever publish here. I've been through hell lately and the last thing I want to deal with is a publishing house that's going to rip me off."
"We're concerned about your ... output," said Templeton weakly.
"I owe you a book that will recoup the advance," said Kris. "Either I'm good or not. I don't know how much my memory loss will affect things, but you seemed interested in what I
did
write after that happened. I'll write you your book, and if it doesn't cover the advance, then I'll pay it back. That's all I can offer. But I
don't
have to accept less than my work is worth."
Templeton stared at him for another fifteen seconds and then stood up. "Give me a minute," he said. He didn't wait for an answer. He just left the room. He was back in ten minutes, with another check in his hand. He reached for the one Kris was holding and replaced it. It was a sum that staggered Kris' mind.
"This is for the romance novel, free and clear," Templeton said. "If we do better than usual, we get the profits and you get no additional royalties. If it tanks, we take the loss. But you still owe us the original book and we're interested in the other idea you had, about this whole mess you got yourself into." He sat down, still sweating. "Deal?"
Kris stared at the check and swallowed. He didn't know if he'd ever been confrontational before the accident, but he was a sudden and enthusiastic adherent of haggling now, and would be for the rest of his life. He stood, offered his hand, shook Templeton's, and left without saying another word.
"I'll call you when we have the paperwork ready!" was the last thing he heard the man say.
"I'm
sorry!
" moaned Jessica to her best friend.
"You don't have to be sorry," said Lulu. "Why would you be sorry to find a man and fall in love with him?" She looked tired. "Even if it is Mitch Connel," she added.
"But it's not fair!" moaned Jessica. "I mean you lost ... " She couldn't finish that thought. Just the mention of Kris' name would cause pain.
"So," said Lulu, trying to ignore the unspoken name. "How did all this happen?"
"I don't
know
," wailed Jessica. "We were out looking for ... him ... and we were talking, and the next thing I knew I was on
top
of him!"
"Did you at least use protection?" Lulu took protection very seriously.
"I didn't know it was going to happen!" moaned Jess. "I didn't
plan
for it to happen. It never even occurred to me it
might
happen."
"You've thought he was cute for years," said Lulu.
"Okay, you're right, but I never thought he'd be interested in
me
. I just don't understand."
Lulu smiled a tired smile. "I think it's funny that, after all these years, you lost your virginity in a car, to the cop who sneaks around trying to catch kids making out in cars."
"This
isn't
funny, Lulu!" said Jess. "I'm crazy about him. I've never felt like this about
any
man, and we only spent
one night
together!"
"Yes, but it was the night you lost your virginity," reminded Lulu.
"I didn't know it would be like
that!
" moaned Jessica. "What do I do, Lulu?"
"How does Mitch feel?"
"I don't know. How am I supposed to know that?"
"Oh ... I don't know ... maybe
talk
to him?" Lulu looked disgusted.
"I can't talk to him," sighed Jessica.
"Why in the world not?"
"Because every time I see him I just want to tear my clothes off and then tear
his
clothes off." Jessica frowned. "This sucks."
"Don't be silly," said Lulu. "Being in love shouldn't suck. Being turned on shouldn't suck either. I can't tell you how turned on Kris ... " She stopped abruptly and covered her face with her hands. "Maybe love does suck," she said, her voice muffled.
She dropped her hands in her lap. She looked sad, but wasn't crying. She looked at her friend.
"Have you ever thought about just being a lesbian?"
"No!" yipped Jessica, her eyes wide.
"I'm just kidding," sighed Lulu. "But it might be a lot less stressful."
Special Agent Jefferson was doing what he called dotting "I"s and crossing "T"s. He was doing an exhaustive review of the report he was going to turn over to the Assistant US Attorney, on the Higginbotham case. It was complicated and he was too busy to be running around trying to find one material witness who wouldn't really make all that much difference to the prosecution of the brothers. It was unfinished business, but it was the kind of unfinished business that could wait. And, just because he wasn't actively searching for Farmingham didn't mean no one else was. Proof of that materialized in his doorway as an intelligence technician stuck her head in his office.
"Hey," she said, shooting him a dazzling smile. Most of the women in the office liked working with Jefferson, because he was eye candy and behaved himself. "There's activity at the Farmingham residence."
He looked up, his eyebrows raised.
"Increase in electric usage," she said. "Consistent with full time occupation. And phone calls-both incoming and outgoing."
"Okay, thanks," said Jefferson. That answered that question. He
had
come back home, or at least somebody was using his apartment. It was most likely him. He could be located any time now.
Jefferson went back to his line by line review of the report.
The man Jefferson had been thinking about was pacing the apartment the tech had been talking about. His immediate plans, upon returning to the city, had been accomplished. He had found old bank statements and gone to the bank to deposit the check. He'd explained his situation, and a helpful employee, after verifying his ID, had gone through his account with him. He wasn't hurting for money.
His biggest problem now was the new book. He still didn't know enough about what had happened to him to write the beginning of the book, where the explanation for his loss of memory would be documented. He could make it up, of course, but for some reason he wanted the story to be as close to the truth as possible. He was mildly surprised that no one had come knocking on his door from the law enforcement community. He still hadn't called Mitch, to let him know he'd left Pembroke. And he still hadn't turned himself in yet. Knowing Mitch, he was pretty sure the man would have already figured it out and, since Mitch had already said he'd have to take official action, he was surprised that nothing had happened yet.
He thought about going to a precinct station and just turning himself in. He was intelligent enough, though, to know that unless he could provide enough details about the incident, or unless the incident was somehow well known, they might just think he was a wacko. He'd heard that people confessed to all kinds of things they hadn't done, just to get attention, and that the cops knew that happened. The fact that nobody had broken down his door suggested that it was not well known, or at least that nobody was looking for him very hard.
Another problem was the Kangaroo Pounder book. As he read over what he'd written, he recognized it as his own words. The phrasing was familiar, as was the humor. It was a book based on his life in Australia and, even though he couldn't remember that life, he knew it had been loosely based on fact, too. What he'd written so far was about a legendary aborigine, known as "Budgie Boy," who was reputed to sport a monster penis. He was a little like the Tooth Fairy, from western culture, except that his job was to deflower virgins on the night before their wedding, so that their wedding night would be trauma free. The older women in aboriginal culture swore he was real and passed along "secret" information to young brides about how to prepare for his appearance. The men, on the other hand, often mounted significant barriers to his success, guarding the bride and trying to prevent her despoilment. It was a classic collision between male and female values, in a culture that few people knew anything about, and he had to admit that what he'd written thus far was pretty funny.
The problem was that he had no idea where he had planned on going from where the draft left off. There were notes, but they were mostly notes about scenes involving specific characters. For example, there was one note about having one of the male characters be accused of being Budgie Boy during a B&S ball. The problem was that he couldn't remember what a B&S ball was, or how that would support the plot. Other notes suggested situations to write about, but told him nothing about how he had planned on resolving the story. Was Budgie Boy ever caught or identified? It was obvious, from what he'd written, that the wives in the story thought very highly of the Australian boogey man and the men loathed him. But that didn't help to illuminate what the point of the book was supposed to be. Still, he had the feeling that if he kept at it, his muse, whoever and wherever
she
was, might slip the information into his head.
If he turned himself in, though, that would never happen.
His pacing continued as Lulu crept into his mind again. She was there a lot. Every woman he met or even saw on the street got compared to her. They were flat ... dull by comparison. He recognized beauty and intelligence in the women he saw, but that wasn't enough. It made him wonder about his amnesia. If he'd taken up with a troll like Lola, before the accident, his standards must have been a lot lower than they were now. He didn't think that just losing one's memory would make him more discriminating in his tastes for female companionship. That meant that Lulu was simply a cut above the rest.
On top of that, he couldn't help but compare the noise, clutter and stink of the city to the simple beauty and pace of Pembroke, where no one was ever in a hurry and everyone took the time to smile. People had given him clothing and even a car in Pembroke ... had helped a stranger down on his luck. He hadn't seen anything even remotely like that in New York.
Danny Southerby stepped into Jefferson's office without knocking. He had a folder in his hand, and dropped it on Jefferson's desk, away from the papers the agent was reading.
"Report on Farmingham's car," he said. "It's definitely the one that took out Moe Higginbotham. We even found some threads of his clothing caught in the broken headlight. Positive ID. Ballistics matched the bullet in the radio to the pistol, too. This Farmingham person is the one the governor and his wife have been looking for."
"Excellent," said Jefferson, looking up with a tired smile.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
"How come this guy didn't step forward?"
"Another bullet grazed him in the head," said Jefferson. "Lost his memory, or at least most of it, according to the locals where he turned up. I'm told he remembered part of the incident, but not where or when it happened. And, who knows? Maybe he remembered it all and thought he was in big trouble."
"Is he?" asked the lab supervisor. "I mean he did hit and run."
"What do you think would have happened to Mrs. Custer if they'd gotten away with her?" asked Jefferson.
The lab man frowned. "Bad news," he said.
"I don't think Farmingham is in any trouble for disrupting things and stopping that bad news. It's not even worth filing charges." He grinned. "Even if he got convicted, the governor would just pardon him anyway."