Dead Red (25 page)

“I don’t think he can help it.”

“I’m talking about
you,
Ray. It’s fine, but you’ve got some unresolved issues you might want to look at.”

She was starting to sound like Dr. Burke. Looked like this was my day to be analyzed. “I’m half Irish, Ally. It comes with the territory.”

“You blow it off, but it’s there. Ignoring it won’t help.”

“I’m not ignoring it,” I said, sounding exactly like I was ignoring it. “I’ve come to terms with my dad’s faults
and
his strengths. That happens when you work with kids who don’t even have a father. I think he did the best he could with the skills he had. I’m good with that.”

“Okay, tough guy. Just don’t be afraid to talk about it.”

“With you?”

“With anybody.”

I finished my ale, placed it on top of a table, and grabbed Allison around the waist. “Okay. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She looked over my shoulder. “Your new best friend is here.”

I turned to see Tony Blake enter the outside area and get immediately swallowed up by the other partygoers. The man who came in with him and stood by his side looked familiar. It took me ten seconds: the limo driver I’d seen outside Golden’s office this morning. He was wearing a dark blue suit and looked as if he’d just gotten his daily crew cut. His eyes scanned the room and rested on me for a few seconds, trying to place where he’d seen me before. I pegged him for an ex-cop turned driver/personal security.

As for Blake, he was wearing a different suit than the one he’d had on this morning, and it highlighted the intensity of his blue eyes. I doubted he bought his suit at the same store where I’d bought mine.

“Can you introduce me?” Allison asked.

“When he’s done being mobbed, absolutely. I’m not sure he’s going to remember me, though. We only met for a few minutes, and by the looks of it, he meets new people—new voters—by the hour.”

“Well, in the meantime,” she handed me her glass, “fill me up, will ya?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I walked up to the bar and glanced over at Blake. He caught my eye and gave me a can-you-believe-this? look. He did remember me. He looked like a man in his element. Here he was, getting all this attention from admirers with money. Nice job if you could get it.

The bartender handed me our drinks, and I dropped a ten on the bar. Rich people at open-bar charity events are notoriously bad tippers, and I always feel the need to help fill the void. The bartender slipped the bill into his shirt pocket and gave me a smile that said he’d remember me next time.

When I got back to Allison, she was chatting up the photographer from
The Times.
She introduced us, then Booker took a few steps back to take our picture. Allison held up her hand.

“Probably not a good idea, Book. I’m with the competition.”

“Not for pub,” he said. “For you. I’ll send you a copy.”

So we smiled, posed, and had our photo taken. He came back over and whispered, “So, what d’ya think of our next mayor?”

“You guys calling the race a year before the primary?”

“I’ve covered a lot of these guys, and he’s got the best infrastructure I’ve ever seen, even this far ahead of the primary.”

“Nice to have money,” I said.

“And connections in the business world, good looks, and a wife who looks like a supermodel.”

He pointed over to a very attractive blonde in the bar area who reminded me of Charles Golden’s wife. She was rocking a sky blue dress, a necklace that rivaled the sun, and appeared to be enjoying her cocktails very much, judging by the way she threw her head back and held on to the bar when she laughed.

“What is she?” I asked. “Twenty-five?”

Booker laughed. “Early thirties. It’s amazing what a personal trainer and a little nip and tuck can do, huh? And she has the distinction of being the second Mrs. Tony Blake.”

“What happened to the first one?”

Allison said, “A very quiet divorce and settlement.
That’s
one of the things you buy when you hire Charles Golden and Associates. The ex hired one of the top divorce lawyers in the city—who lives to make the papers and was preparing for a media event—and before you knew it,
poof
—the whole thing disappeared.”

“The Magician,” I said.

“Bingo,” Booker said and looked at his watch. “Okay, I gotta go and record the next few hours for posterity.” He stuck out his hand. “Nice meeting ya, Ray.”

“Same.” After he left, I said to Allison, “Nice guy, for the competition.”

“I think we all know we’re lucky to still be in the print biz and feel a sense of camaraderie.” She let out a humorless laugh. “At least until we’re fighting over what’s left of the online news jobs.”

“You can always go into teaching.”

“Yeah,
that’s
gonna happen.”

I took another sip from my ale. “Do me a favor and watch this for me.” I handed the bottle to Allison. “I need to hit the men’s room.”

She kissed me on the cheek. “Don’t be too long.”

I was on my way out the same door we’d entered from when someone called out my name. I turned and saw Tony Blake emerging from his circle of admirers and heading in my direction. His security guy circled around and positioned himself closest to the door. He moved like a guy not wanting to be noticed. Blake stuck out his hand. “Glad you could make it, Mr. Donne.” He gave my suit and me a careful look. “You seem quite at home at these functions.”

“It’s Raymond, Mr. Blake. And not really. The suit’s new. It was strongly suggested I purchase it for tonight’s event.” I motioned with my head at Allison, who was already chatting up another guest.

“Ah, yes,” Blake said. “The lovely Ms. Rogers.”

“You know Allison?”

“In my position, it helps to know as many journalists as possible.”

“She gave me the impression you two have never met.”

“We haven’t. That doesn’t mean I don’t know
of
her and her work. If I met everyone I knew, I wouldn’t have time for anything else, you know what I mean?”

I didn’t, but nodded as if I did. Some loud laughter came from the bar, and Blake and I looked over. Apparently, someone had told Mrs. Blake the funniest joke ever. Blake and his driver gave each other a look, but the driver stayed where he was. I took the opportunity to introduce myself. “Raymond Donne.”

He shook my hand. “Nice to meet you, sir,” he said. I waited for him to give me his name. He chose to look over at Mrs. Blake instead. I took the time to admire his crew cut. Up close, it looked like the kind that was touched up every morning, giving it that fresh commando look.

“Ex-cop?” I asked.

“No, sir.”

“Military?”

“No, sir.” Eyes still on the bar area. Who was this guy securing? Mr. Blake or the future candidate’s wife?

“Huh,” I said. “I had you figured for one or the other.”

“I get that a lot.”

“Joseph’s been with me since I won the city council seat,” Blake explained.

“I wasn’t aware city councilmembers had personal security.”

“Only those of us who can afford it.” He laughed. “I have other responsibilities—family business, charities—that require me to be extremely flexible and even more mobile. Joseph’s been a big help in that regard. I was lucky to find him.”

“I see,” I said. Joseph was still observing Mrs. Blake, and I got the feeling from her new fit of laughter that he’d be ushering her out within the hour.

“Flexibility and mobility,” Blake repeated. “Two things a mayor needs to serve a city of this size and diversity, don’t you agree?”

“Are you practicing a campaign speech on me, Mr. Blake?”

He put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m always campaigning, Raymond. When I’m not serving the fine people of my district, that is.”

“Of course.”

He looked over my shoulder and waved to someone. “Speaking of which,” he said. “You’ll have to excuse me, Raymond. There’s a gentleman at the bar who has expressed interest in getting in on the ground floor of my campaign. My wife has been good enough to prime the pump, so to speak, and now I need to see if his pockets are as deep as his martini glass.” He shook my hand again. “Make sure I meet Ms. Rogers before you leave.”

“I’ll do that,” I said, and off Candidate Blake went to work the bar. I turned to Joseph. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’m fine, sir. Thank you.”

“Just out of curiosity, do you call everyone ‘sir’?”

He looked at me rather coldly, but I could swear I saw a little uptick on the left side of his mouth, where smiles originate. “Until they give me a reason not to,” he answered. “Sir.”

“Good answer.” I headed back over to Allison, who was just finishing up her second martini. “Another?” I asked as she handed me my ale.

“I thought you were going to the men’s room.”

“I was. I got sidetracked and the urge passed.” I reached for her glass.

“Let me get this one, Ray. I see Blake’s up there, and this might be a good time to bump into him.”

“He wants to meet you.”

“He said that?” she asked, her voice a little high and loud.

“Yeah. Right after school by the swings.”

She slapped me on the arm. “Dick. You done with that?”

I drank the rest. “I am now.” I handed her the empty. “Do me a favor. I’m going to hit the head after all. Ask the bartender if he’s got any Brooklyns hidden away.”

Off she went, and I did the same. This time I made it all the way to the men’s room, and by the time I got back, Allison was deep in conversation with Tony Blake at the bar. I decided to let her work the guy a bit and set off to mingle.

Over at the food table, I spotted Charles Golden speaking to a guy about my age who apparently spent way more time in the gym than I did, judging by the way he wore his suit. Golden saw me and waved me over.

“Raymond,” he said, shaking my hand. “This is Gregory Ericsson, the man behind One More Mission.”

“Wow,” I said, as we exchanged handshakes. “Congratulations on all your success.” I looked around the room. “And on getting a group like this together.”

“Thank you. But the success of this event is largely due to Charles.”

“Still, your organization does great work. I’m always impressed when someone sees a need—a hole in the system—and fills it.”

“That’s very kind of you to say,” Ericsson said, “but I’m hardly doing this by myself. I’ve surrounded myself with some very dedicated professionals.”

“I’m still impressed.”

“Charles tells me you were a cop and now you’re a teacher.”

“When he’s not moonlighting as a private investigator,” Golden chimed in.

“
That
is impressive, Mr. Donne.” He put his hand on his benefactor’s shoulder. “Have you made much progress in finding Charles’s daughter?”

I glanced at Golden’s face. His eyes now had that distant look one gets when reminded about a reality outside the present moment.

“Some,” I said, as much for my sake as Golden’s. “I came in a little late, but we’ve got some solid leads.”

“Good.” Ericsson looked as if he wished he hadn’t brought up the subject. I decided to rescue him by changing it.

“So what makes one join the Marines these days?”

“I joined because my dad was a jarhead and, at the risk of sounding corny, he was my hero. I don’t remember wanting to be anything else.”

“That’s not corny,” I said. “That’s pretty cool.”

“What about you? Your dad a cop?”

“No. A lawyer.”

“But your uncle…”

“
He’s
the reason I became a cop.” I looked around and spotted Uncle Ray regaling a group of young ladies with some tale. “I never really thought of it in those terms, but I guess he
was
my hero growing up.”

“It piss your dad off when you joined the force?”

“He died when I was thirteen. But, yeah, I think it would have bothered him. Probably one of the reasons I did it.”

Ericsson smiled. “We all need something to rebel against, huh?”

“I’m a middle-school teacher. You’re preaching to the choir. What about your dad? He still around?”

“Oh, yeah. My mom made him move down to Florida. He’s down there whipping a bunch of Sarasota retirees into shape in case Cuba decides to invade.”

“First line of defense?”

“That’s what he tells me.”

A well-dressed young lady came up and touched Ericsson on the arm. “There’s someone you need to meet, Greg.” She looked at me. “Sorry.”

“Not a problem.” I shook Ericsson’s hand. “Go get ’em.”

“Thanks for your support.”

After Ericsson left, Golden—I’d forgotten he was still there—tapped me on the upper arm and pointed at Ericsson. “That,” he said, “is what makes this business worthwhile, Raymond. I could spend my entire time controlling the flow of information, keeping it in my clients’ best interests. But a young man like that…” He let that thought drift off into the city sunset. I gave him a few moments.

“Are you okay, Mr. Golden?” I asked. “I don’t know how you can enjoy yourself with all that’s going on.”

He looked me in the eyes. “Is that what you think?” He looked around the room, which suddenly seemed much smaller than a minute ago. “That I’m
enjoying
myself?”

“I guess that was a poor choice of words.”

“I am doing what
must
be done. What my clients pay me for. If I spent all my time waiting at home for my daughter to return, I’d blow my brains out.” He took a step away and then turned back. There was that primal look again. “Find Angela, Raymond.”

I held his gaze. “We’re doing our best, Mr. Golden.”

“Excellent,” he said, staring a hole through my forehead. “Nothing less will be tolerated.” He walked away, through the door, and disappeared.

Allison came over with my beer, a Brooklyn Pennant. “You okay?”

“I guess.” I took a sip and smiled. I looked over at the bar and raised my glass in thanks. The bartender threw me a salute.

“I don’t know,” Allison said. “All beer tastes the same to me.”

“But you insist on a name-brand vodka?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t make me—”

“A vodka snob? Forget it. Let’s just enjoy and not question.” I took her by the arm and led her over to a couple of seats that had just opened up. As we sat, I said, “Maybe we can finish these and head home?”