belly had let out more than his belt.

“Olde times,” Jack said in toast. “With an ‘e’.”

“To the end of the world,” said Fletch. “It will make a hell of a story.”

They talked about Jack’s new job, where he was living, now, their time together on the Chicago Post. They had a second drink.

“God, that was funny,” Jack was saying. “The time you busted the head of the Internal Revenue Service in Chicago. The Infernal Revenue Service. The guy was as guilty as hell. They had him in court. They couldn’t get the evidence on him because his wife had all the evidence, and they couldn’t call her to testify because she was his wife, even though they were separated.”

“The newspaper was being very polite about it,” Fletch said, “following the court in its frustration, as the man Flynn might say.”

“Journalistic responsibility, Fletch. Journalistic responsibility. Will you never learn?”

“Sloppy legwork,” Fletch said. “I didn’t do anything any junior-grade F.B.I. man couldn’t have done.”

“What did you do, anyway?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Come on, I’m not your boss anymore.”

“You might be again one day, though.”

“I hope so. Come on, we’re not in Illinois, the guy’s in jail…”

“Why the hell should I give you ideas? You were reporting the court record as docilely as the rest of the idiot editors.”

“Yeah, but when you got the story, I ran it.”

“Yes, you did. Of course, you did. I’m supposed to be grateful? You won a prize and then made a bloody long speech about team efforts.”

“I let you hold the prize. Ten or fifteen minutes. I remember handing it to you.”

“And I remember your taking it back.”

You’re ashamed. You’re ashamed of what you did.“

“I got th story.”

“You’re ashamed of how you got It. That’s why you won’t tell me.”

“I’m a little ashamed.”

“How did you do it?”

“I poured sugar in the wife’s gas tank and followed her home. When her engine died I stopped to help her. Did the whole bit, fiddled under her hood, pretended to adjust things, told her to try it again.”

“That’s funny.”

“Drove her home. It was eight o’clock at night. She offered me a drink.”

“You entrapped her.”

“Is that the word? The friendship ripened…”

“How was she in bed?”

“Sort of cold.”

“Jeez, you’d do anything for a story.”

“She had her good points. They weren’t far her chin.”

“I’m sure you told her you were a member of the press.”

“I think I told her I sold air-conditioning units. I don’t know how the idea occurred to me. Something about the cool breezes from her every orifice.”

“But you plugged her in.” Jack’s eyes were wet from laughing. “And plugged her in. And plugged her in. And plugged her in.”

“Look, the lady was blackmailing her husband and therefore he was embezzling from the United States government. The courts couldn’t get at her because she was still legally his wife. What did she deserve?”

“Yeah, but I still don’t know how you did it.”

“Well, we took a vacation together. In Nevada. The dear thing was divorced before she knew it.”

“I remember the expense account. Oh, boy, do I remember the expense account. The Accounting Department did a dance all over my ass. With hiking boots. You mean the Chicago Post paid for somebody’s divorce?”

“Actually, yes. Well, it freed her as a witness.”

“Oh, that’s funny. If they only knew.”

“I listed it properly—legal fees incurred while traveling.”

“Jeez, we thought you got busted, for pot or something. Maybe got caught with your pants down in a casino…”

“Don’t ask. I told the lady we had to go back to Chicago to get married. Had to get my birth certificate, that sort of thing, you know.”

“You actually told her you were going to marry her?”

“Of course. Why else would she get a divorce? I mean under those circumstances?”

“You are a bastard.”

“So my father said. Anyway, once the lady realized he was divorced and about to land at O’Hare International Airport in Chicago, she panicked. She envisioned all sorts of men in blue suits waiting for her when she got off the plane. So I convinced her the best thing to do was to give me the evidence, pack her bags, and split immediately.”

“Which she did?”

“Which she did. All the evidence, plus a signed deposition, all of which, you may remember, we published.”

“We certainly did.”

“I told her I’d meet her in Acapulco as soon as I found my birth certificate.”

“What happened to her?”

“I never heard. As far as I know, she’s still waiting in Acapulco.”

“Oh, you’re a terrible man. You’re a son of bitch. You’re a shit, Fletcher. But you’re funny.”

“It was a pretty good story,” Fletch said. “Shall we eat?”

They dug into their Chateaubriand.

“Did you see the Star this morning?” Jack asked.

“No. Sorry.”

“We gave more space to your story this morning. Ran a picture of the girl.”

“Thanks.”

“Had to. Pretty damning evidence they’ve got on you, Fletch. Your fingerprints were on the murder weapon.”

“The police gave you that?”

“Yup.”

“Trying to build a public case against me, The bastards.”

“Poor Fletch. As if you never did such a thing yourself. What’s the next development to expect?”

“My confession. But don’t hold your breath.”

“I figure if Flynn hasn’t arrested you, he’s got a reason.”

“If you look through the window, to your right, you’ll see my flat-footed escort.”

“Oh, yeah. Even paranoids have enemies, I’ve heard.”

“Actually, I think I’ve got the case cracked. It was an impersonal, coincidental frame.”

“So, who did it?”

“One of two people. Rather not go into it now.”

“You always did play stories close to the chest. Until you had them on paper.”

“Twists and turns, Jack. Twists and turns. Every story has its twists and turns. By the way, do you think you’d let me use your library? There are some people I’d like to look up.”

“Sure. Who?”

“This guy Bart Conners, for one. I’m using his apartment.”

“Don’t know much about him. Partner in one of those State Street law firms. He’s taxation or

Вы читаете Confess, Fletch
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