Baki turned, said, Mr. Bone, you should listen to Mrs. Kresge on this.
Christ, youre conspiring against me, he said.
Workingfor you, Baki said. I printed everything I could find on the mortgage company performance since McDonald took over. There are a few things we can use not necessarily his fault, but you know how mortgages have been performing…
Let me get a Coke, Bone said. What would you like, Kerin? Marcia already has a
Bloody Mary, Kresge said. And its all gone. Ill help you…
Just sparkling water, Baki said. She began spreading her papers on a coffee table as Bone and Kresge went to the kitchen to get drinks. When Baki finished with the papers, she heard Kresge laugh, a low, husky laugh with a little sex in it; she could see them moving around Bones small kitchen, inside each others personal space, casually bumping hips.
Their relationship had been clear to Baki for a while now; she wouldnt tolerate it much longer. She got so deep into that calculationthe end of Bones relationship with Marcia Kresgethat she almost didnt notice them walking toward her.
Kerin? Bone said curiously. Are you home?
He was standing next to her, holding out a glass and a bottle of lime-flavored Perrier. Oh. Sure. Preoccupied, I guess. She pushed the Perrier aside and went to the papers. This stack of papers is the annualized return on…
BONNIE BONET DYED HER HAIR BLACK, THE DENSE, sticky color of shoe polish. She dressed in black from head to toe, wore blue lipstick, and carried thirty-five extra pounds. But she was almost smart and could write poetry in Perl-5. She sat across the table from Robles and said, Because the motherfucker was going to kill a couple of thousand people, thats why.
I know youre lying, Robles said. Hed broken a sweat.
No you dont. Im not lying.
So tell me what kind of a gun you used, he said.
My fathers. 3030.
Bullshit. You never fired a gun in your life.
She sneered at him: You think I couldnt figure out a gun? Every redneck in Minnesota can shoot a gun, but I cant?
Im gonna tell the cops about this, Robles said.
Go ahead, she said. Youve got no proof.
Jesus Christ, Bonnie. I know youre lying, but youre pushing me into a corner. You get this fantasy going, youll tell somebody else, like one of your fuckin novels… Bonet laughed but looked away. Robles said, Oh, Jesus, whod you tell?
He doesnt believe me either.
You told goddamned Dick…
Well, you started it… the whole fantasy thing.
I was joking, Robles insisted. I didnt want him dead…
You got him.
But I was joking…
Too late now. You tell the cops about me, Ill tell them about you.
Robles left the bar, sweating, half drunk. Okay, she was lying. But shed never admit it. She was crazy. Almost for sure…
Terrance Robles had made just shy of a half-million dollars the previous year, and hed spent only a small part of it. With his access to information, he could grow his stake at twenty to thirty percent per year, on top of earnings. If he could hang on for another five years, he could quit. Get out. Buy an old used Cray computer somewhere, and do someseriousshit.
But he had to hold on.
He could turn Bonet in. Or, alternatively, he could kill hernothing else would shut her up. She was having too good a time.
Robles bit on a thumbnail, stumbled along the street.
LATE NIGHT: THE MIXED SMELLS OF VINEGAR AND gasoline, one pungent, one metallic; the combination smelling like blood. The vinegar went into the washtub and down the drain, followed by a steady stream of water that would carry it away.
A glass cutter: this had been in the book, which went on to say that it was probably unnecessary, but why take chances? Deep scored lines up and down the bottle, thenmore, horizontally, until the bottle was checkered with shaky, intersecting lines. Then the bottle sprayed with Windex, carefully and meticulously wiped with paper towels. No fingerprints here.
Now the gasoline, mixed in the bottle with two fourounce cans of chain saw oil. A strip of old T-shirt for a wick.
The bottle was heavy; a little better than seven pounds.
But it wouldnt have to be thrown far.
Just far enough.
SEVEN
NOW WERE GETTING SOME HEAT, SAID ROSE MARIE Roux. She was drinking coffee from a bone china cup; a matching saucer sat on her desk, and on the saucer, a wad of green chewing gum. Harrison White called, and said if you need to interview Wilson McDonald, or if you would like to bring him before a grand jury, McDonald will come over anytime and testify. Without immunity. He will answer any questions, without reservation. Under oath.
And if we dont need him to do that? Lucas asked. He was facing Rouxs window, the sun streaming in. Another good day. Cold.
Then knock off the innuendosthe snooping around asking other people about him. White says the snooping could cost McDonald the top job at the bank, and if it does, hell see that the city picks up the difference in what he makes now, and what he would have made in twenty-some years as bank president. He thinks it might be forty or fifty million.
Lucas grinned. Would we have to pay it all up front? Roux smiled back: He didnt say. But he also talked to a couple of people on the city council, and McDonalds father has been calling around… but fuck them. Do whatyou need with McDonald. I thought you should know that glaciers are starting to move.
Thanks, Lucas said.
And, of course, what White says is true. McDonald could be completely innocent, and we could be screwing him out of his lifetime job. In fact, we could even have been set up to do it, with the letter.
Tell you what, Lucas said. Let me talk to White. I wanted McDonald bumped, I wanted him nervous, but I dont need to push much harder. We could back off a bit.
Whatever you think, Roux said. She finished the coffee, peeled the gum off the saucer, and popped it back in her mouth. Nicotine, she said. Too expensive to throw away before I chew it out.
So Ill… Lucas was getting to his feet.
Sit down, Roux said. She probed her desk for a moment. We have a couple of things to talk about. First, the opium ring…
Oh, shit, Lucas groaned.
And then Capslock has put in for thirty hours accumulated overtime for investigating it.
Rose Marie…
Hes your guy, goddamnit. Now, this thirty hours. He took the thirty hours when he was supposedly on disability leave after the pinking shears incident. Now what Im trying to figure is how…
Aw, Rose Marie, cmon…
ROUX WAS AMUSING, AND HE LAUGHED WITH HER, and convinced her to sign off on the thirty hours. But the
