Persuader (54 page)
“I fell in the sea,” I said.
Nobody spoke.
“I’ll take a shower,” I said. “In a minute. Did you call ATF?”
Duffy nodded. “They’re on their way. Portland PD has already secured the warehouse.
They’re going to seal the coast road, too. You got out just in time.”
“Was I ever there?”
Villanueva shook his head. “You don’t exist. Certainly we never met you.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Old school,” he said.
I felt better after the shower. Looked better, too. But I had no clothes. Villanueva lent me a set of his. They were a little short and wide. I used his old raincoat to hide them. I wrapped it tight around me, because I was still cold. We had pizza delivered. We were all starving. I was very thirsty, from the salt water. We ate and we drank. I couldn’t bite on the pizza crust. I just sucked the topping off. After an hour, Teresa Justice went to bed.
She shook my hand. Said good night, very politely. She had no idea who I was.
“Roofies wipe out their short-term memory,” Villanueva told me.
Then we talked business. Duffy was very down. She was living a nightmare. She had lost three agents in an illegal operation. And getting Teresa out was no kind of upside.
Because Teresa shouldn’t have been in there in the first place.
“So quit,” I said. “Join ATF instead. You just handed them a big result on a plate. You’ll be flavor of the month.”
“I’m going to retire,” Villanueva said. “I’m old enough and I’ve had enough.”
“I can’t retire,” Duffy said.
In the restaurant the night before the arrest, Dominique Kohl had asked me, “Why are you doing this?”
I wasn’t sure what she meant. “Having dinner with you?”
“No, working as an MP. You could be anything. You could be Special Forces, Intelligence, Air Cavalry, Armored, anything you wanted.”
“So could you.”
“I know. And I know why I’m doing this. I want to know why you’re doing it.”
It was the first time anybody had ever asked me.
“Because I always wanted to be a cop,” I said. “But I was predestined for the military.
Family background, no choice at all. So I became a military cop.”
“That’s not really an answer. Why did you want to be a cop in the first place?”
I shrugged. “It’s just the way I am. Cops put things right.”
“What things?”
“They look after people. They make sure the little guy is OK.”
“That’s it? The little guy?”
I shook my head.
“No,” I said. “Not really. I don’t really care about the little guy. I just hate the big guy. I hate big smug people who think they can get away with things.”
“You produce the right results for the wrong reasons, then.”
I nodded. “But I try to do the right thing. I think the reasons don’t really matter.
Whatever, I like to see the right thing done.”
“Me too,” she said. “I try to do the right thing. Even though everybody hates us and nobody helps us and nobody thanks us afterward. I think doing the right thing is an end in itself. It has to be, really, doesn’t it?”
“Did you do the right thing?” I asked, ten years later.
Duffy nodded.
“Yes,” she said.
“No doubt at all?”
“No,” she said.
“You sure?”
“Totally.”
“So relax,” I said. “That’s the best you can ever hope for. Nobody helps and nobody says thanks afterward.”
She was quiet for a spell.
“Did you do the right thing?” she said.
“No question,” I said.
We left it at that. Duffy had put Teresa Justice in Eliot’s old room. That left Villanueva in his, and me in Duffy’s. She seemed a little awkward about what she had said before.
About our lack of professionalism. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to reinforce it or trying to withdraw it.
“Don’t panic,” I said. “I’m way too tired.”
And this time, I proved I was. Not for lack of trying. We started. She made it clear she wanted to withdraw her earlier objection. Made it clear she agreed that saying yes was better than saying no. I was very happy about that, because I liked her a lot. So we started. We got naked and got in bed together and I remember kissing her so hard it made my mouth hurt. But that’s all I remember. I fell asleep. I slept the sleep of the dead.
Eleven hours straight. They were all gone when I woke up. Gone to face whatever their futures held for them. I was alone in the room, with a bunch of memories. It was late morning. Sunlight was coming in through the shades. Motes of dust were dancing in the air. Villanueva’s spare outfit was gone from the back of the chair. There was a shopping bag there instead. It was full of cheap clothes. They looked like they would fit me very well. Susan Duffy was a good judge of sizes. There were two complete sets. One was for cold weather. One was for hot. She didn’t know where I was headed. So she had catered for both possibilities. She was a very practical woman. I figured I would miss her. For a time.
I dressed in the hot weather stuff. Left the cold weather stuff right there in the room. I figured I could drive Beck’s Cadillac out to I-95. To the Kennebunk rest area. I figured I could abandon it there. Figured I could catch a ride south without any problem. And I-95 goes to all kinds of places, all the way down to Miami.
This file was created with BookDesigner program
31/08/2007
LRS to LRF parser v.0.9; Mikhail Sharonov, 2006; msh-tools.com/ebook/