Blood Loss

restaurant.

She checked in, went to the airport shop, and bought two boxes of candy. She sat in the lounge and began to read what she had written. She underlined, she separated phrases, she closed her eyes, she remembered the nuances in his delivery: where he paused, when he stared.

She finished by writing out again the words she believed that Shep Collier wanted her to hear.

“I said everything I have to say one month ago. I was standing in front of the whole country.”

He’s talking about his press conference. When he resigned, a month ago …

‘I just can’t have this coming into my home any more.’

Whatever ‘this’ is, he is protecting his family.

‘It’s difficult for a man like me to lose control over events in his life.’

What he’s gone through is out of his hands.

‘If just one person could take another look at what it was that first impressed them about me … ’

Me! He didn’t mean his voters. His eyes had riveted hers. And the first thing that had impressed Ren about him was his resignation speech. She had told him that on the phone.

‘I was impressed by parts of your resignation speech. They didn’t sound scripted.’

He had ended today with: ‘ … it would be a positive step. Who knows what that could lead to?’

Holy shit. Whatever ‘this’ is, if I can work that out, it would be a step forward, it would lead to something.

Ren pulled out her laptop, and fired it up. Her flight was being called.

No. No. No. Not now.

She went on line, she opened YouTube. She searched for Shep Collier’s press conference. Then she heard her name being called out over the tannoy.

No. I have something I have to watch right now.

Ren heard her name again. She looked up at the desk, and the three uniformed staff members with their bored faces, filing things away, shutting things down, and stretching a piece of fabric from one pole to another to stop anyone …

Ren slammed the laptop shut and ran for the desk.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

‘Have you got Wi-Fi on board?’ said Ren as she held out her ticket.

The attendant looked at her as if to say, ‘You barely have a seat.’

‘No, ma’am,’ she said.

‘Shit,’ said Ren. ‘I’m sorry, but shit.’

‘Ma’am, you really will have to make your way to the aircraft.’ A fake smile stretched across her face.

I want to punch you all. You assholes.

53

The plane landed at Denver airport and Ren ran. She found a bank of seats and sat down. She pulled out her laptop. Beside her, a mother leaned forward suddenly and picked up her son who had been whining on the floor in front of her. For a moment, Ren wondered if the woman thought she looked dangerous, with her black eye and air of panic, but she was focused only on her son. She stood the little boy in front of her, and held his shoulders.

She said very seriously, ‘You mustn’t pretend to be sick, just because you don’t want to be here. It is dangerous. What if you really were sick, and mama just thought you were pretending?’

The little boy stared at his feet.

‘Now, sit up here beside your mama, read your book.’

She smiled at Ren.

‘Beautifully done,’ said Ren.

The mother laughed. ‘He is a trying child.’

Ren went to YouTube. She put on her headphones and watched Shep Collier’s speech. She watched it again.

Nothing. What am I supposed to be hearing here, what am I supposed to be seeing?

She watched it again. She took off the headphones.

Nothing.

Ren drove down I-70 toward the office. She was thinking about Shep Collier. He was framed. He had clearly been stepping on toes.

And what about Mark Whaley? What had he done?

She dialed Gary’s cell.

‘Gary, it’s Ren. There’s something going on with Shep Collier, but I don’t know what. He stuck to his story, but it seems to me that he has no choice. He was dancing around something. I think he was implying that I should watch his press conference, but I did, several times, and I got nothing. He must be under surveillance. If I was listening in, everything he said was solid, it sounded like he was giving me nothing. But I think he was giving me something. I just … don’t know yet what that is.’

‘So, it was a wasted trip …’

‘No,’ said Ren. ‘I don’t think so. I’ve built up a trust with him … to some degree.’

‘That’s great, Ren.’ His voice was flat.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Ren dialed Colin’s cell phone. ‘Colin? It’s Ren. Will you come with me to MeesterBrandt headquarters on Monday?’

‘Why?’ said Colin.

‘I need your charm to talk to the boss.’

‘Well, it’s in no short supply,’ said Colin.

‘R-O-T-F-L,’ said Ren.

‘Why are you calling me now?’ said Colin.

‘Why not?’ said Ren.

‘Hey, hold on,’ said Colin. ‘Naomi wants to talk to you.’

‘Hey, girl,’ said Naomi. ‘We missed you the other night! Heard about your fender bender. Get your ass out here. You owe me. We’re in … where are we, Col?’

‘I can’t,’ said Ren. ‘I’ve got to-’

‘I’m not taking no for an answer,’ said Naomi.

‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to,’ said Ren. ‘I gotta go!’

She’s more nuts than me.

Ren’s phone beeped with a text: It’s Saturday night. Do you know where your tutu3 is?

Ren laughed and texted back. Tutu3 — love it. Am back.

Paul Louderback replied: Drinks it is!

Paul was sitting in a Larimer Street bar, with a lite beer in front of him.

‘Girl’s drink,’ said Ren.

Paul smiled. ‘Ouch. Your face is worse than I thought.’

‘I look like a thug.’

‘Let me get you a glass of champagne to counter that.’

‘Then I’ll look like a moll.’

‘Why I oughta …’ He called the waiter and ordered the drink.

Ren sat down. She filled him in on Shep Collier.

‘The thick plottens,’ said Paul.