“Yeah.”
“Long enough to see an old farmhouse there filled up with antiques, including gold coins, jewelry, some antique silver.”
Felix didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. I knew what was going on in that mind of his. He was thinking through past information, scenarios, probabilities, possibilities, and courses of action.
“Your Rudy said he was there when he saw the car with Massachusetts license plates roar out of the house, nearly get into an accident because they were moving too fast. Maybe he recognized someone in the car. Maybe he thinks they just did a job at Maggie’s, maybe she’s in there, already bound up and helpless, maybe he could go in and get some leftovers.”
Felix slowly nodded. “But Maggie’s dead.”
“You know Maggie. She certainly had a mouth on her, wasn’t one to take crap from anybody. Rudy comes in right after Pepe and his crew depart, she screams at him to get the hell out, but he’s committed. He’s already been seen. And he has a chance to make a score … and doesn’t let that chance slip away again.”
The sky was really graying. The Isles of Shoals were gone, and I thought of people on those scraggly islands looking my way, thinking, Boy, the mainland is gone.
All a matter of perspective.
Felix looked at me. “You think like that when you were back at the Pentagon?”
“Tried to. Sometimes the higher-ups thought better, or ignored what I said, or pretended my section and I didn’t exist.”
“Too bad,” he said. “Bet if they had listened to you, the Cold War would have been over sooner.”
“But to what end? To have it start up again sooner, too?”
He grinned, got up, and checked his watch. “And that’s you. Always looking at the dark side of things, instead of just accepting little victories where you can.”
“And what are you looking for, then?”
“Who else? My junior partner in crime, Rudy Gennaro. I want to talk him, face-to-face, see what he might know.”
“Will my name be brought up?”
“Why, do you want it to?”
“No, it’s just that I’ve got enough people rattling around my house. I don’t need anybody else angry at me.”
Felix reached over, gently touched my chin, rotated it back and forth. “How does it feel?”
“Like a very big and mean man punched me.”
“Well, I don’t feel anything clicking around in there. Just bruises coming your way.”
“Lucky me.”
He made a sighing motion, like he had a big day ahead of him. “Lucky me, too. Besides looking for my silver, I’m going to be looking for your book as well.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that.”
He gave me a gentle slap on the shoulder.
“You didn’t have to.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The rest of the day just dribbled on in a gray and stormy kind of way, matching my mood. The phone rang once and it turned out to be my new best friend from Albany, Dave Hudson, trying to talk to me about how little time it would take for him to come into my house and measure things and take photos. I just hung up on him. When the phone rang again I ignored it.
After a nap, I tried once again to find out the status of my tumor samples, to see if they had been discovered in their westward trek, and if so, had they been checked out. I went round and round on the phone with my doctor’s office, and had three attempts with my insurance carrier. I managed to navigate the prompt system and actually end up with a human being, which seemed promising, but the human being didn’t seem to have a basic grasp of the English language, and the phone connection between here and Wherever was full of static and cut in and out. The next time I called, the prompts took me somewhere else, and then there was a silence. No music. Not even static. Then a recorded voice came on: “This session has expired,” and the call was disconnected. Sure.
The last call was more successful, but not by very much. After some more prompts and voice commands that didn’t work, I ended up talking to a woman named Mindy with a Midwestern accent that at least I could understand, and after some give and take, she said, “I’m afraid our records here don’t indicate that your tissue sample has arrived in San Diego.”
“Look further,” I said. “The sample was supposed to go to Boston. Not San Diego.”
Tap-tap of computer keys. “Oh … I see. Yes. Well, it seems that your physician is the one who—”
“No,” I said. “My doctor’s office says that it was sent under some sort of program conducted by you, to supposedly save money. They insist that any answer has to come from your company.”
Tap-tap-tap.
“Oh, here we go,” she said cheerfully, and I felt a bare flicker of optimism.
“Yes, what do you have?”
“A tracer has been put on the package with your tissue sample. We should hear back within three to five business days.”
Boy, what a fight to keep my voice level. “It’s been more than a week.”
“Perhaps,” she said, “but you have to take into account the weekend, the past holiday, and—”
“I have taken that all into account,” I said. “Perhaps you should take this into account. Where are you located?”
“Excuse me?”
“Where are you physically located? Not Manila, I’m sure, or Mumbai. You sound too American for that.”
“Topeka.”
“Topeka!” I said. “Well, that’s just great. I’m here in the seacoast of New Hampshire, my tissue sample has been sent to San Diego when it should have gone to Boston, and I’ve got someone from Topeka allegedly trying to help me. We’ve got a real Continental Congress here, trying to find my sample.”
“Mr. Cole, if I can explain—”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not sure if any explanation out there is going to make a difference. Let’s look at the facts. I still don’t know whether or not my two tumors are benign or malignant. The samples that will answer this question should have
