morning's Times? They're off my divorce now and onto June's. Planted letters to the editor. Nonpartisan advocacy groups are up in arms. Concerned Citizens for Traditional Values are… well, concerned. Bilton's nipping at my heels.' He handed the ultrasound back to me.
'But? '
The nearest post-stander's head swiveled at my tone.
Caruthers asked, 'What is this, Nick?'
'It's an ultrasound.'
'Right. It's not an issue. And you want this campaign to be about issues as much as I do. This is something Bilton could use and lose no sleep. We can't. Because I don't care if Andrew played grabass with some woman nearly two decades ago. If / pretend to care or if a leak traces back to my supporters, the voters'11 smell the hypocrisy before
Chris Matthews can open his yap.' He shook his head, irritated at his options. 'No, this thing is precisely the kind of petty political distraction I've spent the last two years decrying.'
'Charlie might not think it's so petty.'
'By your description Charlie was an extortionist who threatened to blow a hole in a nuclear power plant. Now, I'm sure Bilton had his Service henchmen dick around with this somewhere, but we're in spin terrain, and a spin game goes to the incumbent. Here's another bit of transparency-I can't use something that's not airtight.' His green eyes took on a calculated, if self-amused, glint. 'I can always reconsider come the last week of October.' His smirk vanished, his face texturing with concern. 'I appreciate the risk you took in getting this to me. I hope I don't seem unappreciative.'
I waved him off.
His penetrating green eyes held on me. 'Right, ' he said. 'You need something. You wanted to trade.'
'Yeah, but you're not interested in dirt. Some politician you turn out to be.'
His lips curled with amusement. 'Maybe I can still help?'
'It's just, this girl…' I shook the ultrasound in an attempt to resuscitate my position. 'She's still just a kid. Seventeen is a scary age to have people after you. I think she's in danger, and I don't have any way of tracking her down.'
'Last name Evers?'
'Everett.'
'And the mother's name is Jane? I can't exactly go running this up the flagpole, but I have plenty of avenues, and I promise you I will figure out how to get the proper authorities on this.'
I nodded my thanks.
'That's all you're asking for?' His voice held a note of incredulity.
'Yeah. That's it.'
'How about that,' he said. 'You finally found something you want.'
The agents firmed, one after another. A Honda reached the slant-parked SUVs and turned, the driver intimidated into offering an apologetic little wave.
'If I get clear of all this,' I said, 'maybe I'll register.'
'Bilton needs all the votes he can get.' He smiled and turned to go.
'Wait, I…' It came out louder than I'd wanted it to.
He paused. I felt his eyes on me, and then he leaned toward me, trying to pick up my gaze. 'What?'
'So no one…'I had to stop, clear my throat. 'No one ever brought anything like this to you when you were vice president?'
'Oh,' he said. 'Oh. You mean Frank. No, I'm afraid he never did.' I must have looked crestfallen, because he paused to piece it together.
'Because Frank had no good reason not to show me that ultrasound seventeen years ago'-his face softened with sympathy-'unless he was using it to extort Bilton.'
The breeze blew against my face, numbing it further.
Caruthers said, quietly, 'Frank and I never discussed something like this.'
My lips were dry. 'And should I believe you?'
'You're too smart to believe any politician, Nick. And I'm too smart to trust a conspiracy nut. And yet here we are.'
He took a step away, then paused for a moment with his back to me before turning. 'I don't know if it's inappropriate to say in light of all this, but I think Frank would've been proud.'
I looked away so he couldn't see my reaction.
Caruthers nodded solemnly, and then stepped toward the agents. The joggers swung over to his sides, running in place until he got moving. The SUVs purred around in front of and behind him, and he started steadily uphill, a lone man pulling a convoy.
Chapter 37
I accelerated along Ocean Avenue, the Pacific whipping by beyond the cliffs to my right. I was gripping the prepaid cell phone so tightly my hand cramped. 'Why should I stay and risk my life for some seventeen-year-old girl I've never met? I told Caruthers about Baby Everett. I told Steve. They can handle it now. I'm not a cop.'
On the other end, Induma said, 'True. You're not.'
Craving open air, I screeched over into a slant parking space and climbed out, slamming the door behind me. 'Bilton's agents are on my heels. If I keep looking, I could lead them right to her. I could wind up getting her killed.'
'A valid concern.'
'I don't give a shit about politics. Or Bilton. I don't owe anyone anything.'
'No one's maintaining you do.'
'I've done everything I can.' My voice was shaking.
Induma just said, 'Nick.'
I crossed the strip of lawn and leaned against the rickety rail fence. Below and beyond, past the Pacific Coast Highway, stretched a quarter mile of sand and endless water. The sun was low, filtering through the puffy clouds in magenta and violet. It reminded me of the circle of sunset I'd watched from the tunnel where Homer had hidden me. I looked down at my shirt, the one I'd pulled from the cardboard box behind the church. That stupid scrolled lettering-Forgive Us Our Trespasses.
'Frank knew about Baby Everett,' I said, 'but he kept it from Caruthers.'
The weight of the implications hung between us.
I heard Induma shift on the couch, maybe stand up. She said, 'You're trying to clear Frank. I know that. But if you're gonna keep prying at this, you have to do it knowing that you could damn well confirm your worst fears.'
The phone was trembling at my cheek. I said, 'I have to get out of here.' I hung up. Drew in a few deep breaths. Then returned to the Jag. I could leave it somewhere for Induma later, in some other city. I stared at the rucksack in the passenger seat, then at the broad curb drain, at the ready for all those L.A. hurricanes. Three steps and I could shove the rucksack through into the sewer and be rid of all this. Five yards and a push. I could leave the bundled hundreds curbside for the homeless folks camped out along the grass.
Instead I backed out and rode down the Santa Monica incline, merging onto the Pacific Coast Highway. Blending into traffic, I headed north, away from the city, away from Bilton and ultrasounds and the charred remains of Mack Jackman. I was now one of those cars I'd heard thrumming overhead from the tunnel, one of those fortunate souls with somewhere better to go. Just as Homer had told me four days and a lifetime ago, I was a runner, not a fighter. And just as he'd said, people don't change.
I had better reason to run now than I ever did. I was trying to run away from Frank's being dirty. I couldn't stay and face the possibility that everything I'd gone through these past seventeen years was for someone who wasn't worth it. The thought alone knocked the fight out of me, left me resigned to the only life I'd always feared. I deserved- motel rooms and transient work, dark memories and 2:18 wake-ups. As bleak as that seemed, I'd take it
