When he woke up inside his locked bedroom, he wasn’t finished yet and in agony. It was awful. Please Lord, why couldn’t it be true? But it decidedly was not. It was a fact that he had sat in the tiny park staring at Hammer’s house and she had come out to drift on her swing.
It was not a fact that any of the rest of it had occurred, except in fractured dreams. She did not know that he was there in the dark, hearing her North Carolina flag snap in the wind, over her porch. She did not care. He had never touched his lips to hers, he had never caressed soft skin, and never would. He was terribly ashamed. He was frustrated and confused. She was probably thirty years older than Brazil. This was sick. Something must be terribly wrong with him.
Brazil played the messages on his answering machine when he came home at quarter of three in the morning. There were four, all of them hang-ups. This only worsened his mood. He could not help but think that the pervert was after him because he, too, was some sort of deviant. There had to be reason a sick person would be drawn to him.
Brazil was angry as he yanked on running clothes at dawn. He grabbed a tennis racquet, the hopper of balls, and trotted out the door.
The morning was wet with dew, the sun already making its potent presence known. Magnolias were dense and heavy with waxy white blossoms that smelled like lemon as he passed beneath them. He cut through the Davidson campus, sprinting along the small road winding behind Jackson Court, heading to the track. He ran six fast miles, and furiously served tennis balls. He worked out with weights in the gym, sprinted several laps, and did pushups and sit-ups until his body’s natural opiates kicked in.
tw Hammer was preoccupied with her ruined morning. This was what she got for altering her routine and having lunch with West, who clearly could not keep out of trouble. Hammer had worn her uniform this day, which in itself was exceedingly unusual. She had not found it necessary to argue court dates with the district attorney in fifteen years, and wanted no problem here. She believed in the power of personal confrontations, and determined that the DA was about to have one. By nine a. m. ” Hammer was inside the big granite Criminal Court Building, waiting in the reception area of the city’s top prosecutor.
Nancy Gorelick had been reelected so many times, she ran unopposed and most of the population would not have bothered to go to the polls were there not other officials to vote for or against. She and Hammer were not personal friends. The DA certainly knew very well who the chief was, and in fact had read about Hammer’s heroics in the morning paper.
Batman and Robin. Oh please. Gorelick was a ruthless Republican who believed in hanging first and sorting out later. She was tired of people who thought special excuses should be made for them, and there was no doubt in her mind about the reason for Hammer’s impromptu visit.
Gorelick made Hammer wait long enough. By the time the DA buzzed her secretary to say that the chief could be shown in. Hammer was pacing the reception area, looking at her watch, and getting more irritated by the se con The secretary opened a dark wooden door and Hammer strode past her.
“Good morning. Nancy,” the chief said. , “Thank you.” The DA nodded with a smile, hands folded on top of her neat desk.
“What can I do for you, Judy?”
“You know about the incident at the Greyhound bus station yesterday.”
“The whole world knows,” said Gorelick.
Hammer pulled a chair around to the side of the desk, refusing to sit directly across from Gorelick with a big block of wood between them.
There was little more valuable than office psychology, and Hammer was master at it. Right now, the DA’s setup was blatantly overpowering and unwelcoming. Gorelick was leaning forward with hands on the blotter, assuming a posture of superiority and dominance. She was visibly bothered that Hammer had rearranged the order, and was now facing the DA with nothing between them but crossed legs.