What a bitch I am, what a pure bitch. That poor man's lost everything and I had to insult him. I didn't even have a chance to apologize. Damn. Turning to her friend she asked what the gringo's name was.
'I don't know his last name. It was a funny one. His first name was Pat, he said.'
Gesturing at the door with her head, Lourdes said to her friend, 'Let's go home. I'll come back myself tomorrow, early, and see if I can catch him before he leaves. I hope he'll accept an apology. I feel so terrible.'
When Hennessey awoke the next morning, hung-over and needing a shave, he cursed to see the time. 'Dammit, almost eleven. I wanted to get out of here no later than nine.'
He went to the shower to scrape off the previous day's accumulations. Normally he liked to sing in the shower, old ballads of war, revenge, and rebellion that he had learned at his grandfather's knee. This morning, the idea of singing was enough to make him want to puke. Instead, as he soaped off, Hennessey's mind wandered to the events of the night before. He felt genuinely guilty at having lashed out at the poor girl who'd called him dull. He didn't blame her a bit; he had been pretty dull. Realistically, he did not blame himself too much, either. He resolved to try to be a little kinder in the future. Wrapped in a towel, he left the shower and picked out the clothes he would wear for the day; a short-sleeved green shirt, blue jeans and running shoes. The rest he began to stuff into suitcases in no particular order.
By noon Hennessey had finished packing. He rang for a bellhop, ' el butones,' to come and carry his bags to the lobby of the hotel. At the front desk he tried, and generally succeeded, in being pleasant to the obligatorily polite receptionist. He was about to turn to leave when he heard a very sweet voice behind him hesitantly ask, 'Pat?' He turned then to see who belonged to the voice he didn't recognize.
'Oh, it's the girl from last night.' Hennessey forced a welcoming tone into his voice. He took one of her hands in both of his. 'Look, I'm really sorry for having left the way I did. I really haven't been quite right for a few days now.'
However, as soon as she had recognized him, Lourdes had immediately begun a lengthy and heartfelt apology of her own. Talking at cross purposes, and simultaneously, the two continued for half a minute before the realization that neither had heard a word the other had spoken stopped them both completely. Twice more they began to speak at the same time only to stop cold again. Finally Hennessey decided to be a gentleman and let Lourdes speak first.
Almost taken aback by being allowed to speak after three false starts, Lourdes said, in English, 'I'm so sorry for saying those terrible things about you last night. I feel like such a horrible person. No wonder you didn't want to talk after losing your family like that. Will you please, please forgive me?' Her enormous brown eyes were eloquent with sincerity.
Hennessey shook his head as if he didn't understand why she should feel repentant. 'There's nothing to forgive. Your friend was doing her best to cheer me up. I wasn't in the mood to be cheered, I guess. You were perfectly right to call me stupid. But I don't know any other way to be right now. I should be apologizing to you. As a matter of fact,' he added with a sad but ironic grin, 'I was apologizing to you.'
A sudden rumbling in his stomach told Hennessey that it had been almost a full day since he'd taken any sustenance beyond a heavy dose of alcohol. He asked the girl at the front desk if he could leave his bags there over lunch. Of course an establishment as thoroughly accommodating as the Julio Caesare would have no problem guarding a few bags. On an impulse Hennessey asked Lourdes if she would care to join him.
'Are you sure you want company?' she asked.
'Please. I promise to be civil. And I've never cared to eat alone.'
Nodding assent, Lourdes joined Hennessey on the way to one of the Hotel's four restaurants. Before leaving the lobby Hennessey tipped the bellhop who had moved his bags. Despite the receptionist's assurances that they would be safe it couldn't hurt to keep the help on his side.
The young woman was fine company, perhaps because she was trying her best to cheer the sad man accompanying her. Over a meal of prawns on rice, her conversation kept up a light mood. Hennessey was surprised to find himself sometimes honestly smiling.
Objectively-and without lust, it was far too soon for that-Hennessey found himself appraising the girl. Looks twenty-one, maybe twenty-two. Nice hair, light brown shading to blond. Good facial structure, high cheekbones. Nose a little prominent but overall a good shape. Slender and tall, her breasts would look better on a shorter woman. Nice posterior. Very beautiful eyes, large and liquid brown. Also a good heart or she wouldn't be here with a broken down, miserable old fart like me.
As the meal neared its close, Lourdes asked the question she had wanted to ask since Hennessey had left the disco the night before. 'How did your wife die?'
Hennessey paused before answering. It wasn't easy for him to think about. He returned his fork to the plate and sat back against the chair. 'Lourdes, that's some of my problem. I don't know, not exactly anyway. All I do know is that she and the kids were caught in my uncle's office building when the airship hit. That, and that they were not killed right away.' Hennessey paused to rub away the beginnings of a tear.
Lourdes likewise didn't respond immediately. After a brief pause of her own she simply said, 'Poor man.'
The mood chilled, the meal was finished mainly in silence. Assuming that the loss of his family was too painful for him to talk about any more, Lourdes went along. Soon the lunch was ended. Before the two left the restaurant, Lourdes-feeling quite forward and even daring- wrote her home and business phone numbers on a napkin, and pressed it on him. 'Pat, when you come back to Balboa, and if I can help you in any way, please call me.'
Hennessey nodded as he paid the bill. Then he escorted the woman to his car and drove her to her work. When he returned to his hotel he was informed that he would be able to fly to the Federated States the following morning.
First Landing, 17/7/459 AC
'I won't stand for it. I just won't stand for it. That money's mine. I'll sue, I swear I will. I've made promises. There are 'causes'…'
Annie, seated in a typical lawyer's client's leather chair turned to her cousin, Eugene Montgomery Schmied, and said, 'Oh, shut up, you mincing little fairy.'
I hate squabbling families, thought the attorney and executor, John Walter Tweed. Steepling his fingers in front of his receding chin, he cast his eyes on Eugene and said, 'That would be a very grave mistake, Mr. Schmied. Your uncle arranged his will quite carefully. Should you-or anyone-in person or by proxy attempt to contest his will or its codicil you will be utterly cut off from everything. This state will honor such an 'in terrorem' clause, I assure you. And First Landing is so chilly this time of year.' The lawyer smiled nastily.
The reading of Uncle Bob's will and its last minute video codicil had started with a rash of crocodile tears, all but for Annie-whose tears were sincere, and Patrick-who felt nothing. Indeed, so still and detached was he that he might as well have been the chair he sat upon, that, or a corpse himself.
Tweed cleared and throat and asked, 'Now if I may continue without further interruptions? Good. Colonel Hennessey…'
Deadpan, he said, 'I'm not a colonel anymore.'
'Nonetheless, your uncle referred to you as such in his codicil. His so referring also indicated a true change of heart as concerned his feelings toward you. So, unless you object strenuously, I will continue to so address you.'
Hennessey shrugged his indifference.
'Very good then. To continue, you are, in the main, your uncle's primary beneficiary. What this means, as a practical matter, is fourfold. You have inherited the chair of Chatham, Hennessey and Schmied. You have also the control of your grandfather's trust, the William Hennessey Fund. You are the inheritor of his personal and real property upon the demise of your aunt, Denise-Robert's wife- who retains a life estate…'
1050 5th Avenue,
First Landing, 17/7/459 AC
Annie shivered slightly as her cousin tossed a switchblade knife onto the kitchen counter before removing his suit jacket. 'Where did you get that thing?' she asked.
Hennessey pointed to a place over a cabinet. 'Right there, where I stashed it the last time I visited.'
'You really haven't changed since you were little have you? Everything is violence. Why?'
He quoted, ''Force rules the world still, has ruled it, shall rule it. Meekness is weakness and strength is
