playing computer games. After we got out of the D.C. office I shot the
colonel’s name at him and got a blank stare, but it wouldn’t surprise me
if the two of them attended some of the same parties. Tell you one
thing, Alex, asshole’s more than just a field agent, got some real juice
behind him.”
Juice and motivation,” I said. “Four and a half years to avenge his
father. How de you think he managed the million-dollar budget?”
“Who knows? Probably kissed the right ass, stabbed the right back. Or
maybe it was just a matter of the right person’s ox getting gored.
Whatever, he’s a smart cookie.”
“Good actor, too-getting that close to Jones and Plumb.”
“So one day he’ll run for President. Did you know you were going
twenty over the limit?”
“I get a ticket, you can fix it for me, right? Now that you’re a real
policeman again.”
“Yeah.”
“How’d you pull it off?”
“I didn’t pull off anything. When I got to the D.C. office, Huenengarth
was already there. He gets right in my face, demands to know why I’ve
been tracing him. I think about it and tell him the truth, because
what’s my choice? Play hard to get and have the department cite me for
improper use of departmental time and facilities? He then proceeds to
ask me lots of questions about the Jones family. All this time, the D.C.
is just sitting behind his desk, hasn’t said a word, and I figure this
is it, start thinking private enterprise.
But soon as I finish, Huenengarth thanks me for my cooperation, says
its’ a shame, the crime rate being what it is, that a guy with my
experience is sitting in front of a screen instead of working cases.
The D.C. looks as if he just sucked pigshit through a straw, but he
keeps quiet. Huenengarth asks if I can be assigned to his
investigation–LAID liaison to the Fed. D.C. squirms and says sure,
getting me back on active duty was the departments plan all along.
Huenengarth and I leave the office together and the minute we’re alone he
tells me he doesn’t give a fuck about me personally but his case on
Jones is just about to break and I’d better not get in his way while he
moves in with the killing thrust.”
“Killing thrust, huh?”
“Gentle soul, probably doesn’t wear fur. . . Then he said, Maybe we can
cut a deal. Don’t fuck me up and I’ll help you.” Then he told me how
he knew about Cassie from Stephanie, but hadn’t done anything because
there wasn’t enough evidence, but maybe now there was.”
“Why all of a sudden?”
“Probably because he’s close enough to getting Grandpa and wouldn’t
mind doing a total destruct on the family. I also wouldn’t be surprised
if on some level he enjoys seeing Cassie suffer–the curse
of the Jones family. He really hates them, Alex. … On the other
hand, where would we be without him? So let’s use the hell out ofhim,
see what happens. How does this look on me?”
“High fashion, Ben Casey.”
“Yeah. Take a picture. When it’s over:” Movement on the screen.
Then nothing.
My neck was stiff I shifted position while keeping my eyes on the TV
Huenengarth continued to do his homework. It had been hours since
anything I did caught his attention.
Time passed, slothfully cruel.
More movement.
Shadowing one corner. Upper right-hand.
Then nothing, for a long TIME
Then.
“Hey!” I said.
Huenengarth peered over his pamphlet. Bored.
The shadow grew. Lightened.
Took shape. White and fuzzy.
Starfish. . . human hand.
Something grasped between thumb and forefinger.
Huenengarth sat up.
“Go!” I said. “This is it!”
He smiled.
The hand on the screen advanced. Grew larger. Big, white.
“C’mon!” I said.
Huenengarth put down his article.
The hand jabbed. . . poking at something.
Huenengarth seemed to be savoring the picture.
He looked at me as if I’d interrupted a terrific dream.
The thing between the fingers probed.
Huenengarth’s smile stretched under his little mustache.
“Damn you,” I said.
He picked up the little black radio and held it to his mouth.