to be worth the dough. A little extra insurance, if you want to think of it that way.”
He carefully placed the instrument back on his desk. “If you meant to scare the bejeezus out of me, you succeeded. As soon as I got off the phone with you, I had everyone drop whatever they were doing while Jah and I went through the place. We switched on every computer, every light, picked up each phone, and turned on all the faxes … not a goddamn thing here went untouched, and that includes your apartment and the lab downstairs. I even had Jah run antivirus tests through all the computers and PTs … at least, the ones the feds didn’t steal from your place last night. And you know what we found?”
He raised his right hand, circling his thumb and forefinger. “Nada. Nyet. Zippity-doo-dah. Not so much as a loose wire. Now, either the feds have managed to put some pretty godlike equipment in here, or you’re an anatomical wonder … someone who can talk on the phone with his head shoved straight up his butt.”
I remained silent throughout all this. He needed to have a good rant right now, and I was unlucky enough to be the target. When he was done, he stared at me from across the desk, his hands folded together over his stomach. He finally let out his breath and kneaded his eyelids with his fingertips.
“The only reason why I haven’t thrown your ass out into the street,” he said very calmly, “is because you must be onto something. Or at least John must have been onto something, because some bastard took the time and effort to kill him. And I think you must have stumbled into it, because your door got kicked down last night and the feds carted off everything that could be plugged in. So now I’m stuck with a smart reporter who’s dead and a dumb reporter who doesn’t know how to call his editor when the shit’s coming down-”
“Pearl,” I began, “look-”
All at once, Bailey surged to his feet, grabbed a pile of paper at random, and hurled it at me so fast I didn’t have time to duck the printouts and photostats as they slapped me in the face.
“Fuck you, Rosen!”
The paper rain cascaded down around me, falling into my lap and onto the floor. It was dead quiet outside the cubicle-every person in the office must have heard the explosion-but that wasn’t what I noticed. For the first time, I saw that Pearl’s eyes were puffy and red-rimmed.
The son of a bitch had been hit hard by the news of John’s murder. He was taking it out on me, and maybe he was right to do so because, God help me, I hadn’t wept a single tear since the moment Farrentino had called to ask if I could come down to the bar and identify his body.
If Pearl felt like a jerk for going on a futile bug hunt, then I now felt much the same way for not giving myself the time to realize that my best friend was dead. Yet, by the same token, I couldn’t allow myself the luxury of wallowing in my own grief. There was something happening out there, at this very moment, of which John’s death was only a small and incidental part.
I didn’t know what was happening either, but it was time to stop being a victim of circumstance.
“Sit down, Earl,” I said. “I’ve got a lot to tell you.”
And I told him all of it, except a couple of the juicy parts.
There was no reason for him to know everything that had occurred during my encounter with Colonel Barris at the stadium … in particular, my signed agreement against revealing the details of Ruby Fulcrum. It wasn’t just a matter of keeping facts from my editor; I was concerned about his safety. If things went bad, I didn’t want ERA troops to come knocking at his door. There was no reason why they wouldn’t anyway, but neither did it make any sense to have Pearl mixed up in this shit more than necessary.
And, although I related the story of the strange IM I had received through Joker just before the riot at the Muny, I didn’t tell him about the phone call I had received in my apartment just before the ERA raid. I didn’t want him to think I had gone around the bend, even if I could explain how I might have heard my own voice and Jamie’s over the phone. When Pearl asked me why I hadn’t returned to my apartment after I was released from ERA custody, I told him I was too frightened to go back to my place but had simply fled to my ex’s house in Webster instead.
Everything else came out, though, and when I was through he simply gazed at me, his fingers knitted together above his lap. After a few moments he picked up his phone and pushed a couple of buttons. “Craig? This is Dad … yeah, come up right away, I want you to do something for me.”
He put the phone back on its cradle and stood up. “When he gets here, I want to give him Joker so he can run some tests on it. The bastards might have messed with it somehow, and I don’t want you running around with a Trojan horse in your PT.”
The same thought had already occurred to me, so I pulled Joker out of my pocket. “I take it this means I’m not fired yet,” I said as I typed in the “chickenlegs” password.
“I don’t fire people, Gerry. I just make ’em quit.” Pearl walked around his desk and opened the door. “Now let’s go upstairs and see if that disk is still where you hid it.”
We met Jah outside Pearl’s office. He took Joker and went back downstairs to the photo lab, then Pearl and I climbed the stairs to the third floor.
My apartment was much as I had last seen it. The door was ajar; the desktop computer and the phone were still AWOL; along with the manuscript of my novel. I imagined some ERA officer at the stadium diligently reading the novel, trying to find hidden references within its pages. It would probably be the only audience the book would ever find; I hoped he liked the sex scenes, at least.
“I can’t tell whether this place has been ransacked or not,” Pearl murmured as he looked at my habitual mess.
“It’s a do-it-yourself job.” I walked into the bathroom, knelt on the tile floor, and peered beneath the toilet tank. The thin plastic case had gone undiscovered; it was still taped beneath the porcelain pony. I peeled away the tape and let the mini-disk drop into my hand, then held it up for Pearl to see. “We’re lucky,” I said.
“No luck to it,” he muttered. “They just didn’t have a containment suit at hand.” Pearl took the plastic case from my hand and gazed at it thoughtfully. “All that, to find what’s on this thing.”
He gave it back to me. “Give it to Jah and let him take a look at it,” he said quietly, folding his arms together. “He might be able to make something out of this sucker. Meanwhile, we’re going downstairs and see if we can get a line on those people from Tiptree.”
“Okay. Right …” Suddenly, I felt exhausted. For the last two days I had been punted from one side of the city to the other, and I didn’t have any real clues as to what was going on. I gazed at the unmade bed near the broken window. Only about twelve hours earlier I had been lying there dead asleep, more or less innocent of all that had been occurring just beyond my range of vision. And now …
“I’m like you,” Pearl said. “I don’t buy this story about one of their scientists going schizo and shooting people. If there’s some other reason why John was killed, then we’re going to get to the bottom of it.”
“Uh-huh. Yeah …”
He looked down at the floor, absently kicking aside an old beer bottle. “You’re assigned to this story, Gerry. I want to find out who killed one of our reporters, what he was trying to find out when he was killed, and why someone is shooting people in the street. You’re relieved of all other editorial responsibilities until then, understand?”
I nodded. “You want me to bring down the guy who killed John.”
He gave me a sharp glance. “Listen, kid: the worst thing a reporter can do is go out on story carrying a vendetta. I know John was your best friend, but you’ve got to put that behind you right now. You’ve got to-”
“Yeah, right. Remain objective.”
Pearl shook his head. “No. Objectivity is what you do when you’re writing the story itself. Keeping your head is what you do before that. If this is some sort of conspiracy, then the people who are involved are way ahead of you. They’ve got their tracks covered. Your only advantage right now is that they assume you’re stupid. Don’t give them a chance to think otherwise …”
He grinned. “At least until you come up from behind and take a bite out of their ass.”
I looked up at him. In that moment our eyes met, and we were for that instant completely simpatico. All talk of journalistic objectivity aside, there was only one thing we both wanted.
“C’mon,” Pearl said as he turned to walk toward the door. “Let’s go to work.”
