'Someplace as flat as a pool table.'
'Can you be more specific?'
'Sign says Indiana.'
'You didn't go all night, did you?'
'I believe I did.'
'You've got to get some sleep!'
'Uh-huh.'
'When?'
'I'm looking for a place as we speak. Did you talk to Laura?'
'I wanted to see how you were first.'
'Tell her I'm fine. Tell her not to be worried.'
'She'll be worried. I'm worried.'
'What's going on in the office?'
'Sue looks like shit. Everyone's got their doors closed.'
'I heard about me on the radio all night. They're playing this large.'
'If they've got a dragnet out on you, what are they doing with Shackleton?'
'I guess the chances of finding him with his feet up on his porch aren't too high.'
'What then?'
'I'm going to use my years of skills and resourcefulness.'
'What does that mean?'
'It means I'm going to wing it.' He went quiet and then said, 'You know, I was thinking.'
'About what?'
'About you.'
'What about me?'
There was another long pause, the whooshing sound of an eighteen-wheeler passing. 'I think I'm in love with you.'
She closed her eyes, and when she opened them she was still in lower Manhattan. 'Come on, Will, why are you saying something like that? Sleep deprivation?'
'Nope. I mean it.'
'Please find a motel and get some sleep.'
'That's all you have to say?'
'No. I think I might love you too.'
Greg Davis was waiting for the kettle to boil. His relationship with Laura Piper was only a year and a half old and they were facing their first significant crisis as a couple. He wanted to step up to the plate and be a great guy and a supportive boyfriend, and in his family you dealt with a crisis by brewing tea.
Their apartment was tiny, with minimal light and no views, but they'd rather have a garret in Georgetown than a nicer place in a soulless suburb. She had finally fallen asleep at 2:00 A.M., but as soon as she awoke, she turned the TV back on, saw the crawl on the screen informing that her father remained at large and began crying again.
'Do you want regular or herbal?' he called out.
He heard sobs. 'Herbal.'
He brought her a cup and sat beside her on the bed.
'I tried calling him again,' she said weakly.
'Home and cell?'
'Voice mail.' He was still in his boxers. 'You'll be late,' she said.
'I'm calling in.'
'Why?'
'To stay with you. I'm not leaving you alone.'
She wrapped her arms around him, and his shoulder got wet from her tears. 'Why are you so good to me?'
'What kind of question is that?'
His cell phone began to vibrate and move on the bed table. He lunged for it before it fell off the edge. It read: UNKNOWN CALLER.
A woman was asking for him.
'This is Greg.'
'It's Nancy Lipinski, Greg. We met at Will's apartment.'
'Jesus! Nancy! Hello!' He whispered to Laura, 'Your dad's partner,' and she sat bolt upright. 'How'd you get my number?'
'I work for the FBI, Greg.'
'Yeah. I see that,' he said. 'Are you calling about Will?'
'Yes. Is Laura there?'
'She is. Why'd you call me?'
'Laura's phones could be tapped.'
'Christ, what did Will do?'
'Am I talking to his daughter's boyfriend or a journalist?' Nancy asked.
He hesitated then looked at Laura's pleading eyes. 'Her boyfriend.'
'He's in a lot of trouble but he didn't do anything wrong. We got too close to something and he's not backing down. I need you to promise me you'll keep this confidential.'
'Okay,' he assured her, 'you're off the record.'
'Put Laura on. He wants her to know he's all right.'
The Realtor was a platinum blonde entering her Botox years. She talked a mile a minute and bonded with Kerry in an instant. The two of them were yapping away in the front of the big Mercedes while Mark sat in the back, anesthetized, his legs straddling his briefcase.
He was aware on some level that there was chatter going on and that they were passing cars and people and shops along Santa Monica Boulevard, that it was cool in the sedan and hot and sunny outside the tinted windows, and that there were two clashing perfumes in the cabin and a metallic taste in his mouth and a throbbing behind his eyes, but each sense existed in its own dimension. He was no more than a series of unlinked sensors. His mind wasn't processing and integrating the data. He was somewhere else, lost.
Kerry's squeal penetrated his veil. 'Mark! Gina's asking you a question!'
'Sorry, what?'
The Realtor said, 'I was asking about your time frame.'
'Soon,' he said softly. 'Very soon.'
'That's great! We can really use that as leverage. And you said you wanted a cash deal?'
'That's right.'
'I mean, you guys are so totally with it!' the Realtor gushed. 'I get out-of-towners coming in and all they want to see is Beverly Hills or Bel Air or Brentwood-the three B's-but you guys are so smart and focused. I mean, did you know that the Hollywood Hills in your price range with your aggressive attitude is the single best luxury value in L.A.? We're going to have a great afternoon!'
He didn't respond and the two women picked up their conversation and left him alone again. When the car began its climb into the mountain range, he felt his back pushing against the seat. He closed his eyes and was in the rear of his father's car, driving into the White Mountains to their rental cabin in Pinkham Notch. His father and mother were droning on about something or other and he was on his own with the numbers swimming in his head, trying to arrange them into a theorem proof. When the theorem yielded and QED started flashing in his mind, he was suffused with a gush of joy he wished he could summon now.
The Mercedes snaked up narrow winding roads and houses hidden by gates and hedges. It came to a stop behind one of the ubiquitous landscaping trucks they had been passing, and when Mark opened his door he was blasted by furnace heat and the roar of a leaf blower. Kerry sprinted to the gate clutching a listing sheet, looking like a skipping child.
The Realtor told Mark, 'She is so cute! You guys better pace yourself. I've got a lot of appointments lined
