I nodded.
“Honey, that musta been some scene.” He smiled. “He hurt you?”
I shook my head.
“Did he take your money?”
“No,” I said, “they just drove me around and asked me questions.”
“Now that’s bizarre. Should I get the cops?”
“No, I’d like to call a friend.”
“Oh, are you a local?”
I nodded.
“Hell, the way you came in here staring I thought you were a tourist who’d taken the wrong turn at Fisherman’s Wharf.”
“Next time,” I mumbled, “I’ll remember you have a dress code. Help me to the phone, okay?”
“Sure,” he said, rising to his full height. I grabbed his extended hands and he raised me up, effortlessly. The bar was empty and all the lights were on, revealing a homey and rather shabby tavern. Apparently I’d cleared the place out. He led me around the bar to the house phone. “You make your call. I’ve got to clean up.”
“Thanks. I know your name’s not Norma Jean.”
“Dean,” he said, grabbing a broom.
“Thanks, Dean. I’m Henry.” He nodded acknowledgement while I dialed Grant’s number.
Grant picked up the phone on the second ring, and I remembered he was a light sleeper. I told him, briefly, what had learned and asked if he would come and pick me up. Wide awake, he told me to wait and that he was on his way. I hung up.
Dean brought me a glass of brandy and had me sit on a stool behind the bar as he went back to his work. I watched him lifting boxes of empty beer bottles and stacking them against the wall.
Someone was knocking at the front door. Dean glanced over at me and then went to answer it, behind the curtain. He emerged a second later followed by Grant Hancock. With his Burberry overcoat and perfectly groomed hair, Grant looked as if he had just stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine. Dean winked at me, approvingly.
Grant came up and inspected me. “You look terrible, Henry. Should we get you to a hospital?”
“I think everything’s working,” I said. “I just need a ride back to my car.”
“Your car? What you need is sleep. Come on.”
I got up and followed him out. Dean walked us to the curb where Grant had parked.
“Thanks, Dean.” I reached out and patted his arm awkwardly, wanting to say more but not sure what.
“Come back sometime,” he said, smiling. I climbed into Grant’s car. We drove through the soundless streets to his building.
“I really should get back home tonight,” I said.
“Henry, it’s three-thirty in the morning,” Grant replied as he steered into the underground garage and parked in a numbered stall. “No one has to do anything at three-thirty, especially you. You’re hardly awake now. I doubt that you could make it all the way back.”
“You’re probably right,” I said. “I’ll stay.”
“Of course you will,” he replied, getting out of the car.
When we got to his condo, I took a hot shower, changed into borrowed clothes and asked for a drink. We sat on the floor in the living room drinking brandy by candlelight. The room was very still as Grant had me explain the events which occurred after I left his apartment.
“I think,” he said, “that you are lucky to be alive.”
“I agree, and now I know, beyond any doubt, that the judge was responsible for Hugh’s death.”
“So now you can stop and go on with your life.”
“What?”
Grant swirled the brandy in his glass, watching it streak and run down the sides. “The mystery is solved.”
“But I still have to prove the solution.”
“To whom?”
“The police, to begin with, and maybe, at some point, a jury.”
“Are you serious?” he asked, putting his glass down. “You think you can prove this against Robert Paris? Do you know anything about the man?”
“As a general proposition? No.”
“You’re talking about one of the most powerful men in the state,” he said. “You’re talking about a man who declined appointment to the United States Supreme Court.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said.
“That’s the point. Think of it this way, Henry. You and the judge both have piles of stones to throw at each other. You’ve pretty much used yours up but he hasn’t even started. He’s been playing with you.”
“Schoolboys throw rocks at frogs in sport,” I quoted, “but the frogs die in earnest.”
“No,” Grant said. “Not for sport. For power. I know Robert Paris,” he continued, staring into his glass. “You don’t stand a chance.”
“Is this the voice of experience talking?”
Grant looked up. “My father,” he began, “got it into his head that he wanted to be mayor of this city. Have you met my father?” I nodded. My recollection was of an elegant but rather dim patrician whom Grant inexplicably idolized. “Robert Paris was backing another candidate who would have trounced my father anyway. But just to make sure,” he set his glass down and looked away, “they told my father I was gay and that if he persisted, the whole town would know. That’s how my father found out his only son was homosexual. My father is a man,” he continued, “who still thinks gay is a perfectly acceptable adjective for divorcees. Or did, anyway. It broke his heart,” Grant said. “It really did.”
“Grant, I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “That’s water under the bridge,” he said, “but the moral is: Don’t fuck with Robert Paris. Hugh’s dead. You’re not.” And then he added softly, “I’m not.”
“But if it had been you rather than Hugh, I’d do the same.”
He smiled a little. “You miss my meaning.”
“No,” I said, reaching out to touch his hand, “I don’t.”
“What time is it?” Grant mumbled, turning over in bed.
“A little after six,” I replied, buttoning my shirt.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes, there’s someone I have to see.”
“Your associates keep odd hours.” He sat up in bed, watching me tie my shoes.
“Will you call Smith for me?” I asked.
He thought about it a second.
“I still don’t see the point of it,” he said.
“The police wouldn’t reopen their investigation without pressure from somewhere. Who better than Smith?”
“If you could only give me something more concrete,” he said.
“If I didn’t know you better, Grant, I’d say John Smith intimidates you.”
“He does. It’s not often I ask for an audience with a local deity.”
“Okay,” I said, “then don’t.”
“I’m sorry, Henry. I just can’t see getting involved at this point.”
“You’ve already been helpful, Grant.”
“Thanks.”
We looked at each other.
“Is this it, then?” he asked.
“No,” I replied. “No.”
I leaned over and kissed him.
