attachment.'
'Your figure-eight was-'
'And I wanted a Dr. Bristol, and you can't figure that out, either.'
I clenched my fists. I hadn't messed up, and he knew it.
'You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Cline. You have no business working here. You're an incompetent, ignorant, lazy'-and then he lowered his voice so only I could hear-'son of a bitch who wouldn't be able to find your own fucking asshole without a map.' He continued again with increasing decibels. 'That you're barn manager blows me away. You're too damn stupid.'
What a goddamned jerk.
He was down to a whisper again. 'What'd you have to do, screw Mrs. Hill to get the job?'
I felt my face getting hot. I snatched the reins out of his hands. 'What's wrong, Lawrence?' I whispered. 'Can't find any boys to fuck?'
He narrowed his eyes and clamped his mouth shut. A film of sweat glistened on his skin, and he glared at me with such hatred, I felt as if a cold ball of ice had settled in my gut.
I turned away from him and led the horse back to the barn.
Damn it. I'd crossed that line, and worse, I had let him push me over it. I should have known better. Should have kept my damn mouth shut.
After Razz had cooled down, I tied him in his stall and began the tedious job of brushing the sweat out of his coat. I was working on the matted hair along his stifle when I heard someone stop in the aisle outside Razz's stall. I looked over the horse's rump.
Marty took note of my expression and grinned. 'Expecting somebody, Steve?'
'You could say that.'
He came into the stall. 'I hear Whitcombe's at it again.'
'Got that right. And shit, Marty. I let the asshole get to me.'
'Damn… you're human after all. What'd you do?'
'It's not what I did, it's what I said.'
'Well?'
'I called him a fag, more or less.'
Marty snorted. 'When you lose it, you do it with style. Anyway, thought I'd better warn ya. He's in the office, whinin' to Mrs. Hill.'
I swiped the brush down the horse's rump. 'He's prob-'
Mrs. Hill's voice came over the PA system loud and clear, calling me to the office. Marty chuckled.
'Here, Marty.' I tossed the brush at him. 'You think it's so funny, you finish Razz.'
'Give 'em hell, Steve.'
'Damn it, Marty. Don't look so happy.'
'I'm not. It's just that you're so damned serious.'
I walked into the office. Mrs. Hill was sitting behind her desk, and what surprised me was that she didn't look angry. I glanced at the door to the lounge. It was locked.
Whitcombe had claimed the one and only comfortable chair in the room. He crossed his legs and brushed the horsehair off his britches. His own hair was freshly combed, and I could have sworn he'd changed his shirt.
I crossed the room and stood facing him with my back to a row of filing cabinets. Leaning against the cool metal, I hooked my thumbs in my pockets and crossed my ankles.
'Stephen,' Mrs. Hill said. 'I want you to apologize to Larry for what you said.'
I looked at her and tried to keep anything from showing in my face. She was watching me with calm eyes, certain that I would do as she asked.
I turned back to Whitcombe. His blue eyes glimmered, and the corners of his mouth twitched. He was enjoying himself. Gloating. I felt like wringing his scrawny neck. But if and when I left the job, I wouldn't let Whitcombe have the satisfaction of thinking he'd had a hand it in.
I unclenched my jaw and took a deep breath. 'I'm sorry I lost my temper,' I mumbled. It wasn't exactly what Mrs. Hill had in mind, but it was all she was going to get.
A small smile crept across his fat-lipped mouth. 'That's more like it, Cline. Remember who's-'
'And, Larry,' Mrs. Hill interrupted. 'I want you to apologize to Stephen for the way you've been treating him.'
'But-'
'In the past month, more than one person's complained to me about your actions. Stephen's the best barn manager we've ever had, and you don't give him the respect he deserves.'
Whitcombe's, or should I say 'Larry's,' face deflated like a punctured balloon. His smug, self-satisfied smile dissolved and his eyes widened with astonishment. His mouth hung open, and when I realized I was mirroring him, I snapped my mouth shut.
Whitcombe jumped to his feet. 'Mrs. Hill, I beg to differ. I owe Cline nothing. He's insubordinate and insolent and disrespectful, and I will do nothing of the sort.'
He started for the door, spun back around, and whisked his coat off the back of the chair. He raised a finger and pointed in my direction. 'They make fun of me.'
His eyes were moist, and I wondered if he was going to cry. He turned around abruptly and slammed the door on his way out.
I stared after him. As much as I disliked the guy, I'd never intended for him to overhear the things Marty and I said.
'Stephen,' Mrs. Hill said.
I pulled my gaze away from the empty doorway.
'In the future, please keep your opinions of Larry to yourself.'
'Yes, ma'am.'
'You may go.'
'Thank you.' I walked outside, half expecting to find Whitcombe waiting for me. But he was nowhere in sight.
I didn't see Whitcombe for the rest of the day, and when I opened the door to the loft, the phone was ringing. I dumped my notebook and mail on the counter and snatched up the receiver.
'Aren't you ever home?' Kenneth Newlin said before I'd gotten two words out.
He'd gone by Kenneth ever since I'd known him. No one in his right mind would have called him Kenny. Kenneth was, pure and simple, a geek. Until we'd met during fifth period Physics class in tenth grade, I'd never thought anyone actually wore a pocket protector. The only thing he lacked was tape on his glasses, and for all I knew, he could have lowered himself to that by now.
'No,' I said. 'Not much.'
Kenneth grunted. 'Well, you were right about the tax write-off. Farpoint Industries has been listing Foxdale as a liability ever since they broke ground on the place, but they won't be able to this year. Foxdale's now in the black by a narrow margin. But I don't see how losing the write-off 's gonna make any difference whatsoever in FI's end- of-year balance sheet.'
'Why's that.'
'The company's making money hand over foot. Losing the write-off 's penny-ante stuff to them.'
'What about money laundering?' I said.
'Well, I'm no accountant, but based on the files I accessed, I didn't see any indication of that.'
'How'd you get into them?'
'The files?' Kenneth said.
'Yeah.'
'You don't want to know. Oh, and even though they've lost the write-off, FI's still getting a hefty tax break because of the Green Space Act.'
'The what?'
'Some bleeding heart liberals in the Senate and EPA are promoting it. In certain parts of the country-and your Foxdale just so happens to be smack in the middle of one of their grids-the government's granting landowners a hefty tax break for every acre they leave undeveloped in a futile effort to slow urban sprawl. At five-hundred-and-
