They dragged Nina up a few times and made an earnest go at me too, but I was resolute.
Ines brought out coffee and a big bowl of cut fruit, and when these were gone I did the clearing. Billy surprised Ines and Nina by volunteering to help. We were in the kitchen when he asked, in a low voice, about his father.
“You know where he is yet?”
I shook my head. “Not yet,” I said. “You have any thoughts about it?”
He was scraping food into the trash and he didn’t look up. “Not a fucking one,” he said softly.
Billy finished loading the dishwasher and I went into the living room. Ines and Nina were on the sofa, leaning into each other and laughing at something. Nina trailed a finger up the curve of Ines’s bare calf, and Ines closed her eyes.
“We should talk,” I said. Nina and Ines disengaged. Ines stood and gathered up some stray glasses.
“I need smokes,” Nina said. “Walk with me.”
The sun was gone and the tropical-chemical colors had bled from the sky, and only the pinkish city glow remained. But it was still mild outside and the streets were still benign. There was a cluster of people down the block, standing outside a chic-looking bar. They were drunk and cheerful, and they assumed everyone else was too. They were wrestling with the question of what to do next and confusing each other deeply in the process. One of the girls called out to us.
“Hey, what do you think? Williamsburg? Or do we go to the new place on Smith Street?” We didn’t answer, but Nina shot them a sloppy salute and they all laughed. We went around the corner, and our heels made a knocking sound on the cobblestones. Nina was wobbly on the uneven paving and she steadied herself on my arm. She bought Benson amp; Hedges at a twenty-four-hour grocery and slit the pack open as soon as we got outside.
“Want to sit by the ferry landing?” she asked. She didn’t wait for an answer but headed toward the river. I followed.
There were a lot of people in the little park by the water- packs of teenage boys and girls looking for each other and something to do, couples strolling hand in hand, dog walkers, tourists, and more than a few photographers, trying hard to capture the dizzying view. The Manhattan skyline rose, glittering and wet, from the black river, and the office towers seemed to lean toward us. My eyes were drawn to the empty patch of sky downtown, and I felt my throat close up and my teeth clench.
We found a bench. The seating slats were badly splintered, and we perched on the back rests. Nina smoked in silence, and after a while I gave her my report. I told her about my meeting with Lefcourt and about my futile attempts to track Danes to the Hamptons, the Berkshires, and Bermuda. I didn’t have much to say and it didn’t take long to say it, and when I was done Nina kept quiet.
“Have you thought any more about the cops?” I asked eventually.
She sighed heavily and took a last drag on her cigarette and flicked it into the darkness. It landed far off, in a burst of orange cinder. “Yeah, I’ve thought about it.” Her voice was tight.
“And?”
She sighed again. “And I don’t want to do it.” I drew a breath to speak, but Nina kept on going. “I don’t want to do any of this anymore.” She looked at me and I looked back. “You know what I’m saying? I want to stop. I want you to stop.” She turned away and popped another B amp;H out of the pack and lit it. The smoke vanished in the night air.
“You want me to stop looking for Greg?”
She stared at the black water and the cityscape and nodded. “I appreciate what you’ve done, but-”
“What’s this about?” I said. Nina looked at me again. Her mouth was tight and her eyes were narrow. She ran a hand through her hair and looked down at her clogs.
“I didn’t realize I had to explain myself to you,” she said, and the nasty familiar edge came up in her voice.
“I’ve been working hard on this thing for nearly two weeks now, Nina- and getting poked at and threatened and tailed in the processand all of a sudden you tell me to drop it. I think you owe me some explanation of where the hell this is coming from.”
“Don’t throw that crap about threats and being followed my way,” she snorted. “It seems to me all that shit comes with your job description. And as far as what I owe you, I owe you what’s on your fucking invoice, pal, and nothing more.”
She blew out a big cloud of smoke and glared at me. Then she held up her hands and shook her head.
“Christ, we really push each other’s buttons, don’t we? I haven’t gone at it like this with anyone since Greg.” She puffed some more and rubbed the back of her neck. “Look, this isn’t out of nowhere, March. I told you up front I didn’t want to sink a lot of money into this, and you said yourself you’ve done almost everything you can without it costing me a lot more. I decided I don’t want to spend a lot more.” She took another pull on her cigarette and it sizzled and shrank noticeably.
“So it’s just the money?”
Nina shook her head. “It’s the money… and the fact that I’m tired of this back-and-forth about the cops. I know what you think and you know what I think and I doubt either one of us is going to change. Am I way off base about that?” She wasn’t.
“There’s something wrong, Nina,” I said quietly. “There’s something wrong about Greg. The fact that he stopped calling, the fact that other people are out there looking-”
“Jesus, again with this!” She massaged her forehead with her fingertips. “I don’t want to hear it, okay?” Her voice was loud, and a couple of dog walkers looked at us. She traded stares with them but took the volume down a notch. “I don’t give a damn about whatever else he’s involved in. I’m not going to the cops, and I don’t want you to either. Can I be any clearer than that?” I didn’t answer. “You promised me confidentiality,” she said. “And that’s what I expect.”
“That’s what you’ll get,” I said.
Nina sighed and climbed down from the back of the bench and stood before me. “You’ll send a bill?” I looked at her and nodded. She flicked her cigarette away and put her hands in her pockets. “For chrissakes, don’t take it so personal.”
I took a deep breath and started to speak. And stopped. Why bother? “Tell Ines thanks for dinner,” I said. “And tell Billy good-bye.” Nina nodded and walked away, already fishing for another smoke. I heard her lighter spark behind me.
Peter Spiegelman
JM02 – Death's Little Helpers aka No Way Home
18
Warren Bradley was saying something about the CIA, but my mind was wandering. In fairness, it wasn’t Warren’s fault. He was an excerpt from a job interview textbook: well groomed, well spoken, confident, and poised. His dark hair was going gracefully gray at the temples and was expensively cut, and if he were any more distinguished-looking, he’d have to run for office. His white shirt was spotless and his blue suit was pristine. Even the racehorses that galloped on his necktie did so with calm assurance. And as far as I could tell, he was entirely sober. I was the one having problems.
“… of course, that was before counterterrorism became a growth industry,” Warren said. He looked at me expectantly, an uncertain smile on his handsome face.
I wrenched my thoughts away from Nina Sachs and the ferry landing, and back to the conference room at Klein amp; Sons and the interview with Warren. I was pretty sure he’d been making a joke, and I smiled back at him. I guessed right, and he looked reassured and kept on talking.
I read through Warren’s rA©sumA© again. Like him, it was perfect: Ivy League college, law school, a stint in the air force, another with the Bureau, and ten years at a big Wall Street firm, where he’d risen steadily through the ranks to the number-two spot in their internal security department.
“Tell me about your assignment in London,” I said. That kept him going for another ten minutes.
