because I’d have kicked him in the balls so hard he’d have been wearing dresses and high heels the rest of his life.”
He was surprised to hear himself laugh.
Darius laughed too.
Jessica said, “Well, I would have.”
“I know,” Harris said. “I know you would.”
“I don’t see what’s so funny.”
“I don’t either, honey, but it is.”
“Maybe you’ve got to have balls to see the humor,” Darius said.
That made Harris laugh again.
Shaking her head in amazement at the inexplicable behavior of men in general and these two in particular, Jessica went to the kitchen, where she was preparing the ingredients for a pair of her justly renowned walnut-apple pies. They followed her.
Harris watched her peel an apple. Her hands were trembling.
He said, “Shouldn’t the girls be in school? They can wait till the weekend to buy clothes.”
Jessica and Darius exchanged a look, and Darius said, “We all felt it was better they stay out of school for a week. Until the press coverage isn’t so…fresh.”
That was something Harris hadn’t really thought about: his name and photograph in the newspapers, headlines about a drug-dealing cop, the television anchorpersons conducting their happy talk around lurid accounts of his alleged secret life of crime. Ondine and Willa would have to endure heavy humiliation whenever they returned to school, whether it was tomorrow or next week or a month from now.
Whoever his mysterious enemies were, whoever had done this to him, they must have been aware that they were destroying not only him but his family as well. Though Harris knew nothing else about them, he knew they were utterly without pity and as merciless as snakes.
From the wall phone in the kitchen, he made a call that he had been dreading — to Carl Falkenberg, his boss at Parker Center. He was prepared to use accumulated personal days and vacation, in order not to return to work for three weeks, in the hope that the conspiracy against him would miraculously collapse during that time. But, as he had feared, they were suspending him from duty indefinitely, although with pay. Carl was supportive but uncharacteristically reserved, as if he were responding to every question by reading from a carefully worded selection of answers. Even if the charges against Harris were eventually dropped or if a trial resulted in a verdict of innocence, there would be a parallel investigation by the LAPD Internal Affairs Division, and if its findings discredited him, he would be discharged from duty regardless of the outcome in federal court. Consequently, Carl was keeping a safe professional distance.
Harris hung up, sat at the kitchen table, and quietly conveyed the essence of the conversation to Jessica and Darius. He was aware of an unnerving hollowness in his voice, but he couldn’t get rid of it.
“At least it’s suspension with pay,” Jessica said.
“They have to keep paying me or get in trouble with the union,” Harris explained. “It’s no gift.”
Darius brewed a pot of coffee, and while Jessica continued with her pie-making, he and Harris remained in the kitchen, so the three of them could discuss legal options and strategies. Although the situation was grim, it felt good to be talking about taking action, striking back.
But the hits just kept on coming.
Not even half an hour passed before Carl Falkenberg called to inform Harris that the Internal Revenue Service had served the LAPD with a legal order to garnishee his wages against “possible unpaid taxes from trafficking in illegal drugs.” Although his suspension was with pay, his weekly salary would have to be held in trust until the issue of his guilt or innocence was determined in court.
Walking back to the table and sitting opposite his brother again, Harris told them the latest. His voice was now as flat and emotionless as that of a talking machine.
Darius exploded off his chair, furious. “Damn it, this is not right, this does not wash, no way, I’ll be damned if it does! Nobody has proved
For a long spiral of seconds, Harris and Jessica stared at each other. Neither of them spoke. They had been married so long that sometimes they didn’t have to speak to know what they would have said to each other.
She returned her attention to the dough in the pie pan, which she had been crimping along the edge with her thumb and forefinger. Ever since Harris had come home, Jessica’s hands had been trembling noticeably. Now the tremors were gone. Her hands were steady. He had the terrible feeling that her steadiness was the result of a bleak resignation to the unbeatable superiority of the unknown forces arrayed against them.
He looked out the window beside the table. Sunshine streamed through ficus branches. The flowers in the beds of English primrose were almost Day-Glo bright. The backyard was expansive, well and lushly landscaped, with a swimming pool in the center of a used-brick patio. To every dreamer living in deprivation, that backyard was a perfect symbol of success. A highly motivating image. But Harris Descoteaux knew what it really was. Just another room in the prison.
While the JetRanger flew due north, Ellie sat in one of the two seats in the last row of the passenger cabin. She held the open attache case on her lap and worked with the computer that was built into it.
She was still marveling over her good fortune. When she had first boarded the chopper and had searched the cabin to be sure no agency men were hiding there, before they had even taken off, she had discovered the computer on the deck at the end of the aisle. She recognized it immediately as hardware developed for the agency, because she’d actually looked over Danny’s shoulder when he had been designing some of the critical software for it. She realized that it was plugged in and on-line, but she was too busy to check it out closely until after they got off the ground and disabled the second JetRanger. Safely in the air, northbound toward Salt Lake City, she returned to the computer and was astonished when she realized that the image on the display screen was the satellite look-down of the very shopping center from which they had just escaped. If the agency had temporarily hijacked Earthguard 3 from the EPA to search for her and Spencer, they could only have done so through their omnipotent home-office computer system in Virginia. Mama. Only Mama had such power. The workstation that had been abandoned in the chopper was on-line with Mama, the megabitch herself.
If she had found the computer unplugged, she wouldn’t have been able to get into Mama. A thumbprint was required to get on-line. Danny hadn’t designed the software, but he had seen a demonstration of it and had told her about it, as excited as a child who had been shown one of the best toys ever. Because her thumbprint was not one of the approved, the hardware would have been useless to her.
Spencer came back down the aisle, with Rocky padding along behind him, and Ellie glanced up from the VDT in surprise. “Shouldn’t you be keeping a gun on the crew?”
“I took their headsets away from them, so they can’t use the radio. They don’t have any weapons up there, and even if they had an arsenal, they might not use it. They’re flyboys, not murderous thugs. But they think we
“Yeah, well, they also know we need them to fly this crate.”
As Ellie returned to her work on the computer, Spencer picked up the cellular phone that someone had abandoned on the last seat in the port-side row. He sat across the aisle from her.
“Well, see,” he said, “they think I can fly this eggbeater if anything happens to them.”
“Can you?” she asked, without shifting her attention from the video display, keeping her fingers busy on the keys.
“No. But when I was a Ranger, I learned a lot about choppers — mostly related to how you sabotage them, boobytrap them, and blow them up. I recognize all the flight instruments, know the names of them. I was real convincing. Fact is, they probably think the only reason I haven’t already killed them is because I don’t want to have to haul their bodies out of the cockpit and sit in their blood.”
“What if they lock the cockpit door?”
