The Bad Beat (18 page)

“Sam will take you as soon as he gets here,” I said.

“What about Fiona?” he said.

“That’s my boy,” Sugar said.

“Shut up, Sugar,” I said . . . at precisely the same moment my mother said it, too. There are things we agree on without condition.

“I’m just saying,” Sugar said, “Sam’s gonna stick out on campus like a narc. But Fiona, she can rock that grad student game. Put some horn-rimmed glasses on her, she’d make that shit work like 24-7.”

For once in Sugar’s life, he made a convincing argument. I didn’t think Fiona would go for the horn-rimmed glasses if she didn’t have to, but I suspected she would like the idea of being mistaken for being twenty-two. Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long to find out, as she and Sam rang my mother’s doorbell just a few minutes later.

Sam looked like he hadn’t yet slept, his hair freshly slicked down with water and yesterday’s hair gel, his Tommy Bahama shirt open too far down his chest, not because of any fashion sense but because he’d just put it on in the car. Fiona, however, was radiant as ever in a white sundress accented by black sunglasses and a turquoise handbag. She looked like Jackie O, if Jackie O were still alive and packing a nine in her purse. Not exactly dressed for school, but I’m sure she’d make do.

“How’s your head?” I asked.

“Better,” Fiona said. “Nothing a hot stone massage and an evening spent reading
US Magazine
and cleaning my knife collection couldn’t soothe.”

“My head is killing me,” Sam said. “What’s that bright orb in the eastern sky?”

“They call that the sun,” I said.

“What’s it doing over there on that side of the heavenly firmament?”

“That’s where it starts every day,” I said.

“So every morning at eight thirty, I can expect to see this same phenomenon?”

“Pretty much,” I said.

“Reason enough to sleep in or drink early,” Sam said.

Brent popped up from the couch, grabbed his satchel and announced, “I’m going to be late. Can we go?”

“Fiona,” I said, “I need you to take Brent to school.”

“I already refused to do that yesterday,” she said.

“Besides, Sam was looking forward to meeting some coeds.”

“I need Sam with me today,” I said. “We’re going to have some Yuri business and he can’t see you again, at least not until his wrist heals. What we don’t need is another combustible situation before we have Brent safely taken care of.”

Fiona pursed her lips and exhaled hard through her nose. It was actually sort of cute when it didn’t portend violence. “What classes do you have today, Brent?”

“Um, history, which is totally lame. And then I’ve got a game design class, which is badass, you know. And then I’ve got a three-hour seminar on women’s studies.”

“Lovely,” Fiona said.

“I assume Western civ and women’s studies are held in big lecture halls?” I said.

“Yeah. Like two hundred people are in those classes. But game design is just twelve of us, so it would be weird if Fiona was with me, but also sort of cool.”

“Tell it,” Sugar said. He was still in the kitchen, wisely keeping his distance from Sam, but he couldn’t stop being Sugar, no matter where he was.

“Oh,” Fiona said, “you’re still alive?”

“I’m cold-kicking it live, doll,” Sugar said and then he began reciting lyrics to some rap song.

“Don’t speak to me,” Fiona said to Sugar, which got him to stop speaking/rapping immediately. “So I’m to wait outside this other classroom? Is that the idea?”

“Yes,” I said. “If someone is coming for him, I suspect they’d come for him there.”

“Then why are we even going to school?” Fiona asked.

“Because I’ll fail if I miss any more classes,” Brent said.

“This is ludicrous, Michael. You realize that?” Fiona said.

Sometimes the most important thing in the world is to let a person think that what they care about most is, in fact, extremely vital to their long-term well-being. Having something he could control, like when and if he attended class, was giving Brent a locus of normalcy. And if that was what he needed, that was what we’d have to give him, dangerous or not.

“We’re living in odd times,” I said. “You have a gun with you?”

“One in my purse, a dozen in my car. I’m supposed to sell a few this afternoon. I guess I’ll cancel that.”

“Please,” I said. “And keep in touch during the day. Let me know if there are any problems.”

“Yes, sir,” Fiona said. “Come on, Brent. Let’s go get you some book learning. And maybe, if you’re nice, I’ll let you pretend to be my boyfriend so that we can help you pick out a suitably slutty young woman for you to make mistakes with once you’re incredibly wealthy in a few days.”

“That sounds cool,” Brent said.

I walked Fi and Brent outside to Fi’s car, made sure he was buckled in safely and then pulled Fi aside ever so briefly. “Try not kill anyone today,” I said to her.

“What if I have to?”

“Try to just injure them,” I said. “Guns on college campuses are sort of frowned upon.”

“Hmm, yes, I seem to remember your government killing a bunch of kids on a college campus.”

“I’m thinking more of crazed gunmen in towers and in crowded classrooms, really,” I said.

“Ah, yes, your Second Amendment’s downside,” she said.

“Just be careful,” I said.

“I will be,” she said and then got in her car and was gone. When I turned around, Sam was standing on the front porch watching me. He had my cell phone in his hand.

“It’s always sad when they leave the nest,” he said.

“You’ve got a call.”

“Who is it?”

“He called himself Big Lumpy’s Manservant Monty.”

I took the phone from Sam. “This is Michael.”

“I am sorry to bother you,” Big Lumpy’s Manservant Monty said. “But Mr. McGregor asked me to phone in the event of any problems and address myself as Manservant Monty.”

“Mr. McGregor? That’s . . .”

“Big Lumpy, yes,” he said.

“Okay,” I said.

“Yes, sorry to say, he’s expired.”

“Pardon me?”

“He’s expired. In bed.”

“You’re telling me he’s dead?”

“He met his transition, yes.”

“That’s not good,” I said.

“On the contrary, it was very peaceful. He was very ill, as I’m sure you know, so this is a relief. He was very happy last night, you should know. As happy as I’ve seen him in years. He worked well into the early morning on your proposal, so I have it here for you. He instructed me that should there be any problems, as I noted before, all contracts remain enforced, so your brother, Nate, is still at risk here, so you should know.”

“What about Brent?”

“Yes, he has been provided for provided he does as Mr. McGregor wishes.”

“Which is?”

“Mr. Grayson will be delivered a copy of Mr. McGregor’s conditions.”

“When?”

“He left your mother’s home approximately five minutes ago—would that be correct?”

I looked over my shoulder and down the street. Nothing stirred. There were no men with cameras hidden in the bushes. Which meant I probably didn’t realize Sugar was bugged. If I had to guess, it would be his earrings. It’s where I would have put a bug.

“Correct,” I said.

“A messenger will be arriving shortly. Within the next ten minutes if you’d like to remain outside. Please do not kill him. He is literally the messenger and not an emissary of any kind. Mr. McGregor specifically wanted you to know this.”

“Great,” I said. “This information he left. It’s about the wind technology, is that correct?”

“That’s my understanding, yes. He was very thorough, you should know. He worked on it until he passed. It will certainly be enough to force Mr. Drubich into complicity provided it is brought to him by a believable source.”

“Big Lumpy was to serve that purpose,” I said.

“Yes, sir, I understand that,” Monty said. “I’m afraid, as I said before, that he’s expired and thus will not be able to play that role.”

“Henry Grayson,” I said.

“Yes?”

“Any information I should know regarding him?”

“Yes, well, I might add that Mr. McGregor was disappointed in you in that regard, but understood your position.”

“What position was that?”

“The position you took in lying to him about his whereabouts. Nevertheless, Mr. Grayson is still missing. Mr. McGregor would like you to know you won that bet.”

I’d had a feeling I hadn’t fooled him. But what I had done was convince him that Henry was crazy. If that hadn’t been the case, he wouldn’t have let me parade that lie in front of him. Even in death, he was exerting control.

“Do you have a body?” I said.

“The body has been removed,” he said.

“By whom?”

“The coroner. That’s who usually does that sort of thing, correct?”

“I just didn’t know if maybe Big Lumpy’s body was privy to government secrecy or anything. You’ll excuse me for presuming he was important.”

“He was important,” he said. I thought I caught a waver in Monty the Manservant’s voice, which made me feel bad. Big Lumpy was, after all, his friend. Or his employer. Or his . . . something. It really wasn’t all that defined what their relationship was and wasn’t made easier by the fact that they both wore those absurd white outfits, like they were about to star in a Wham! video.

Apologizing would show weakness, so I just pressed on. “Do you happen to have a death certificate?”

“One has not been issued yet. You’ll need to wait two days. The state of Florida is filled with dead people this time of year.”

“Then I need proof of death in some other fashion,” I said. “Otherwise I have no reason to believe you, apart from your very fine diction and that nice car you drive.”

“Would you like to come over and sniff his room?”

“That was a joke, Monty?”

“That was a joke, Mr. Westen. But I’m sure you can call the coroner’s office and they will confirm receipt of his body.”

“Is there going to be a funeral?”

“He was a man just like any other,” he said. “He has his wishes and they are that he will be buried in Massachusetts. If you’d like, I can see if we can get you a special pass to leave Miami to attend.”

Smart. But I wondered how smart.

“Monty,” I said. “That’s your real name? Because I’ve never known an Asian person named Monty.”

“No, not really.”

“What’s your real name?”

“Steven.”

“Steven,” I said, “why don’t you go on home? Get on with your life. You don’t work for Big Lumpy anymore. He’s dead. So you can stop with the formality of things. No one is going to hurt you, okay? You can just head on back to whatever life you thought you wanted to lead. I’m sure you’ve been provided for, right?”

There was silence on the other end of the line.

“Really,” I said. “Feel free. I’ll come and pick up the documentation you have for me and then fly free.”

Silence.

“Or do what you want. It’s your choice. You just don’t need to wait around for your orders anymore.”

“Mr. Westen,” he replied, “do you think everyone is you?”

“You’ve been briefed, apparently.”

“Apparently,” he said. “The messenger who arrives will have your information as well. When the money is made available to you from Mr. Drubich, you will contact me and your brother will be safe and all will be fine in the world.”

“And who is going to let the government know that Yuri has top-secret documents?”

“Do you think I am really a manservant?”

“I guess I did,” I said. “But I’m going to guess now that you’re some kind of super assassin and also some kind of genius—would that be correct?”

“I think Mr. McGregor overestimated you,” he said.

“Wouldn’t be the first,” I said. “Are you the eyelid guy or was that someone else, just so I know who I’m actually dealing with here.”

“My contact information will be enclosed with the documents you will be receiving. Call me when you are ready to transfer the money.”

“And what do I call you? Monty? Steven? Agent Zero?”

“Agent Zero sounds fine,” he said and hung up.

I scrolled through the phone to see if the call had come from any specific number, but it came up blocked, naturally. I’d need to confirm that Big Lumpy was dead, but my sense was that he wouldn’t go to such lengths just to complicate things.

“That didn’t sound like a great conversation,” Sam said.

“Big Lumpy is dead,” I said.

“I got that,” Sam said. I filled him in on the rest of the information Monty/Steven/Agent Zero gave me and let him digest it all. “Anything else?” he asked finally.

“I think Sugar is bugged,” I said.

“We need to give him a full pelvic?”

“I hope not,” I said. “I’m going to guess it’s either in his earrings or his watch.”

“His watch is the size of a hubcap,” Sam said.

“That’s where we’ll look first, then. Save the pelvic for later, in case he resists.”

Sam nodded. It was nice outside. A pleasant breeze. The palm trees were free of rats. The sky wasn’t smoggy. I couldn’t smell my mother’s cigarette smoke. I could probably get into my car and drive to the Keys and come back in a week and all of these problems would be gone, one way or the other.

“This might be a good time for me to say, again, that I apologize for getting us into this mess,” Sam said.

“How much do you know about wind technology?” I asked.

“I once had to go out to the Marine base in Twentynine Palms, outside Palm Springs and I saw that big wind farm they’ve got out there. Sort of creeped me out. Windmills look dangerous.”

“Apart from that?”

“Apart from that, not much.”

“Well,” I said, “when the messenger arrives with the information Big Lumpy came up with for us to deliver to Yuri Drubich, I suggest you spend some time getting acclimated to the nuances of all things involving wind technology.”

“So . . . ”

“Yes,” I said. “You’re now Big Lumpy. You have any all-white outfits?”

“Not since
Miami Vice
,” he said.

The front door opened and Sugar stepped out. “Your moms wanted me to come out and check on you,” he said. When I didn’t respond, because I knew he was lying, he said, “All right, man, you know, she’s relentless with the judgments. I’ve had a bad week, bro, and she’s all up on me for my life choices, so I had to bug out.”