is her first time setting footin one for years. She likes the anonymity, from the outset, not knowing thebutcher and deli clerks, not having to look at the expressions on their faceswhen she approaches.
No one seems to take notice of her as she plucks granola, ajar of jalapeno-stuffed olives off the shelves.
No one seems to take notice, that is, except for one man. Aman in a heavy coat, a flannel shirt, a baseball cap. Not a bad-looking guy, abig frame. He smiles at her and holds up his hands cautiously. She realizesthat she is standing alone in this particular aisle with the man.
“I’m not a vulture, Mrs. Pagone,” he says, showing her hispalms and maintaining a respectful distance. “I’m a journalist but not one ofthose kind. I have a proposition for you, and all I ask-all I ask is that whenyou’re done shopping, you let me buy you a cup of coffee in the cafe in thecorner.” He waves his hands. “That’s it. I think you’ll be very happy you did.And their coffee’s surprisingly good.”
Allison looks down at her cart. “I am done shopping,” shesays.
“One cup of coffee. I’m going over there now, you can forgetyou ever met me if you want. But I think you’ll be glad you heard me out. Ithink I can be of some assistance. I know I can be.”
Allison chews on her lip. The man passes her without anotherword.
She takes her time, going through another couple of aisles.She peeks at the corner cafe and sees the man sitting, reading a newspaper,joking with the woman who served him.
She pushes her cart over to the area and parks. “Okay,” shesays. “Five minutes.”
The man pushes a cup of steaming coffee in front of her.
“I know I’m not the first journalist to approach you, Mrs.Pagone.”
“You’re about the twentieth. I had to change my phonenumber.”
He extends his hand. “My name’s Larry Evans,” he says.
FOUR DAYS EARLIER…
Allison leaves Paul Riley’s office downtown and takes theelevator to the lobby, then transfers over to the parking elevator and takes itdown to the bottom level. When the doors open, she sees Mat Pagone’s Mercedesdouble-parked nearby.
“How are you, Ally?” Mat asks, as Allison jumps into thepassenger seat.
She opens her mouth, allowing for the possibility of aboutthree hundred different answers to that question. “Well,” she says, “looks likeyou’re in the clear.”
Mat nods slowly. “I’m not sure how I feel about this.”
“Oh.” She laughs quietly. “Well, it doesn’t really matterhow you feel about it. Maybe you should have thought about how you ‘felt aboutit’ before you paid off those senators. And made Sam an unwilling participant.”
Mat blinks his eyes in surprise, wets his lips. Never, sheassumes, has he had the facts put to him so harshly.
“It’s done,” she says. “No one can lay a finger on you now.”
“I-” Mat touches his forehead. “Thank you doesn’t seemenough.”
She is being hard on him, she can see. This is how you hurta man like Mateo Pagone. He is, in many ways, utterly broken now. But thatseems to drive Allison away from sympathy. Because Mat Pagone is the luckiestman in the world right now.
“I’ll need your help, of course,” she says. “You think youcan handle that?”
Mat turns to her. “Allison,” he says softly, “you reallythink so little of me?”
She pauses a moment, looks at him, then leaves the car.
ONE DAY EARLIER…
I don’t approve.” Paul Riley paces the conference room nearhis office. “I’d advise you not to go this way, Allison. This is insane. It’snot too late to change your mind.”
“I’m not changing my mind.”
Paul sighs, runs a hand over his mouth.
“I have no choice,” she adds.
“Plead it out, Allison. Let me call Ogren. Let’s get in aroom and hammer this out.”
“No. For the reason you said, Paul.”
“I know what I said. But you’re playing a serious game here.With grownups. Allison.” He opens his hands. “Motion to reconsider.”
Allison stands and stretches. It’s nice to be free again,however free that may be.
“I’m going to do it,” she says.
“Against my advice.”
“Against your advice.” Allison walks over and touches Paul’sarm. “I can make this work,” she assures him.
ONE DAY EARLIER…
The gate opens, and Allison walks out of the detentioncenter. Paul Riley is waiting for her, leaning against his car, his armscrossed.
Allison breathes in the fresh air, however cold it may be. Aweekend in a holding cell does wonders for appreciation.
“They agreed?” she asks, referring to the prosecution.
“They agreed,” he says. “One million dollars bond, and youcan’t go outside a five-mile radius of your house.”
“I can live with that.” She walks around to Paul’s side ofthe car. “Mat put it up?”
“Mat put it up.” Her ex-husband put up a hundred thousanddollars in bond, one-tenth of the million, as the law requires. He knows she’sgood for it. And she’s not going to flee, regardless.
They drive in silence. With Paul’s blessing, not hisapproval, Allison rolls down the window and lets the frigid air lick her face.The sun is setting, coloring the clouds a pale orange. The city isn’t known forits sunsets, but she finds it beautiful. One weekend is all she needs to knowthat she does not want to do even harder time in a maximum-security prison.
Allison is beyond exhaustion. She hardly slept the entireweekend, any momentary drifts into unconsciousness clouded by the image of Samlying still and bludgeoned on the floor of his living room.
In the relative solitude of Paul’s car, Allison closes hereyes and thinks of Sam. The smell of his hair, the touch of his lips, thewarmth of his smile. It is all so staggering. She does not look forward to whatwill come next because she will have, for the first time since his murder, thechance to mourn, and that will be harder than everything else she must do.
They drive to an underground garage, where Paul gives hisname to an attendant and shows his driver’s license. They head down the ramp,park, and take the elevators up. When the doors open, they are met by a youngman, who escorts them down a long hallway.
The office door is closed. As the young man reaches for theknob, Paul whispers into Allison’s ear. “Remember, I do the talking.”
When they walk in, a man and a woman, seated on a couch, getto their feet.
