The big surprise was that Chief was with her.
He sat tall and erect in his wheelchair, and while time seemed to have taken its toll, the old man still
looked like everybody?s grandfather ought to look, his white hair cresting a craggy face that was
indomitable.
I knew the Findley background well. I should have, it was a story I had heard repeated often enough.
Chief?s grandfather, Sean, an Irish collier, had emigrated to Dunetown, won a waterfront tavern in a
card game and parlayed that into the city?s first million. After that it was cotton, banking, real estate,
God knows what else. The same flint that had fired old man Sean had also struck wit and wisdom in
every crevice of Chief?s face and his eyes were as fiery and intense as ever. Only his body seemed to
be failing him.
“Hello, Chief,” I said. “Been a long time.”
“Yes,” he said, “and a sad one.”
I knew the breed well enough to know that Chief would not mention Teddy or my unanswered letter.
Apologies come hard and infrequently to men like that; they?re not prone to admitting mistakes. Or
maybe Chief just didn?t see it the way I did; maybe he had just closed the book on that chapter.
“Doe tells me you?re in government service,” he said, with obvious sincerity. “That?s quite
admirable.”
That was the end of our conversation. A moment later someone pushed past me to pay homage to the
old warrior, and then someone else, and someone else, until I was gradually edged out of the circle.
Doe eased her way to my side. I could feel the sexual electricity humming around her. Time had not
changed one thing—they were still the lightning people.
“Where?s Harry?” I asked.
“He cancelled out at the last minute. There was an accident at the track. Some horses were killed.”
“I know, I was there.”
“It must?ve been just horrible,” she said, then added hurriedly, “Albert?s coming in ten minutes to take
Chief home. I?ll meet you out on the terrace after he leaves.? She turned abruptly and wormed her way
back into the circle of sycophants.
Suddenly I was alone and staring across the room at Sam Donleavy. I shouldered my way toward him
through the crowd, catching snippets of conversation along the way. The women cheeped like
sparrows, while the men sounded more like trumpeting elephants. Donleavy seemed relieved by my
company.
“It?s hot in here. Let?s step out on the terrace and get some air,” he suggested.
Lightning was playing in the clouds south of the city and the wind was jangling a delicate glass wind
