`Should I go to work today?’ Roscoe asked.
`Got to,’ I said. `Can’t do anything different from normal. And we need to speak with Finlay. He’s expecting the call from Washington. And we need what we can get on Sherman Stoller. But don’t worry, they’re not going to gun us down in the middle of the squad room. They’ll go for somewhere quiet and isolated, probably at night. Teale’s the only bad guy up there, so just don’t be on your own with him. Stick around Finlay or Baker or Stevenson, OK?’
She nodded. Went to get showered and dressed for work. Within twenty minutes, she came out of the bedroom in her uniform. Patted herself down. Ready for the day. She looked at me.
`Promise?’ she said.
The way she said it was like a question, an apology, a reassurance all in one word. I looked back at her.
`You bet your ass,’ I said, and winked.
She nodded. Winked back. We were OK. We went out the front door and left it slightly open, just like we’d found it.
I hid the Bentley in her garage to maintain the illusion that we hadn’t been back to her house. Then we got in her Chevy and decided to start with breakfast up at Eno’s. She took off and gunned the car up the hill. It felt loose and low after the upright old Bentley. Coming down the hill toward us was a panel van. Smart dark green, very clean, brand-new. It looked like a utility van, but on the side was sign in fancy gold script. It said: Kliner Foundation. Same as I’d seen the gardeners using.
`What’s that truck?’ I said to Roscoe.
She wafted through the right at the coffee shop. Up onto Main Street.
`Foundation’s got a lot of trucks,’ she said.
`What is it they do?’ I asked her.
`Big deal round here,’ she said. `Old man Kliner. The town sold him the land for his warehouses and part of the deal was he set up a community programme. Teale runs it out of the mayor’s office.’
`Teale runs it?’ I said. `Teale’s the enemy.’
`He runs it because he’s the mayor,’ she said. `Not because he’s Teale. The programme assigns a lot of money, spends it on public thugs, roads, gardens, the library, local business grants. Gives the police department a hell of a lot. Gives me a mortgage subsidy, just because I’m with the department.’
`Gives Teale a lot of power,’ I said. `And what’s the story with the Kliner boy? He tried to warn me off you. Made out he had a prior claim.’
She shuddered.
`He’s a jerk,’ she said. `I avoid him when I can. You should do the same.’
She drove on, looking edgy. Kept glancing around, startled. Like she felt under threat. Like someone was going to jump out in front of the car and gun us down. Her quiet life in the Georgia countryside was over. Four men in the night up at her house had shattered that.
We pulled into Eno’s gravel lot and the big Chevy rocked gently on its soft springs. I slid out of the low seat and we crunched across the gravel together to Eno’s door. It was a grey day. The night rain had chilled the air and left rags of cloud all over the sky. The siding on the diner reflected
the dullness. It was cold. It felt like a new season.
We went in. The place was empty. We took a booth and the woman with glasses brought us coffee. We ordered eggs and bacon with all kinds of extras on the side. A black pickup was pulling into the lot outside. Same black pickup as I’d seen three times before. Different driver. Not the Kliner kid. This was an older guy. Maybe approaching sixty, but bone-hard and lean. Irongrey hair shaved close to his scalp. He was dressed like a rancher in denim. Looked like he lived outdoors in the sun. Even through Eno’s window I could sense his power and feel the glare in his eyes. Roscoe nudged me and nodded at the guy.
`That’s Kliner,’ she said. `The old man himself.’