W Is for Wasted (30 page)

He waited a day and then he called Willard and suggested the night of August 24 as the date he’d need the ID.

“Why then?”

“Middle of the week. Nothing else going on. Seems as good a date as any.”

“Students will be back on campus by then.”

“So what? I’m doing this at night. All you have to do is wait until she’s asleep and put the ID outside the door. Nothing to it.”

Willard seemed to concede the point, but he wasn’t happy. Pete eased the conversation along without giving him an opportunity to protest. It wouldn’t pay to argue because Pete’s position was weak and he didn’t want Willard to think about it too much.

•   •   •

Late afternoon on August 24, Pete did a dry run. He drove out to the university and used Linton’s hand-drawn map to get the lay of the land. He left his car some distance from the building where the lab was housed and proceeded on foot. He knew the lab was on the second floor. Even at that hour, he could see the offices and labs marked by a stripe of brightly lighted windows that extended all the way around. It seemed odd to Pete he’d be trespassing in full view of anyone who happened by that night. With his height and his odd build, he stood out like a sore thumb wherever he went, and while he’d equipped himself with the requisite white lab coat, he didn’t look like a scientist. Of course, scientists came in all shapes and sizes. Smart people could look any way they wanted and no one thought twice about it.

Satisfied with his reconnoitering, he returned to his car and threaded a course across campus, which was already chockablock with students. Most wore shorts, flip-flops, and T-shirts, bare limbs exposed, all that young flesh in evidence. UCST was known as a party school; beer and dope, kids loitering at every turn. Occasionally he’d see a student reading a book, but that was the rare exception. Pete wondered what life would have been like with so many advantages. Didn’t warrant too much thought at this point, as any options he might have had were gone by now.

•   •   •

He picked up a burger and fries and went back to the office. His message light was blinking, but he had no time for that. He ate at his desk with the cruise line brochure open in front of him. He’d told Ruthie he was on an all-night surveillance, so she wouldn’t be expecting him until morning. He reached the portion of the brochure that detailed a cruise on the Danube and leaned in close to read, tantalized by the descriptions of the amenities. All meals were prepared on board, it said, using the finest and freshest ingredients. Complimentary wine; bottled water replenished daily in each state room. Four countries, nine excursions. “Gentle walking options,” he read, which was good given his physical limitations. He still had a portion of the money Willard had paid him and with Linton’s four grand added to his stash, he was almost there.

At 11:30, he left the office and drove to Willard’s apartment complex. He parked on the side street, walked to the gated entrance, and stepped into the courtyard. He paused, making sure there was no one about. Assured that he was alone, he continued at a casual pace to Willard’s front door, where he anticipated finding Mary Lee’s ID. There was no sign of it. He lifted the welcome mat, thinking Willard had tucked it out of sight. He took out his penlight and flashed the narrow beam around the foundation plantings. Nothing.

He walked around the side of the building and checked the Bryces’ bedroom windows. Dark. No sound. No flickering to suggest the television set was on. Surely, Willard hadn’t gotten his dates mixed up. Pete was at a loss. He couldn’t call at this hour. Mary Lee might pick up instead of Willard and then what? Another possibility was that hubby might be waiting to make sure she was soundly sleeping before he took the badge from its usual place. If that were the case, a ringing phone would spoil everything.

He went back to the center of the courtyard and settled in a lawn chair, arms crossed, hands tucked away for warmth. The temperature had sunk into the low fifties and the air felt damp. All he could do was wait, so he waited. From time to time, he got up and returned to Willard’s door, which remained a blank. What was wrong with him? Pete couldn’t spend all night in the cold. At 1:30, he returned to his car, where he huddled for another hour before he fell asleep.

He woke at 6:30, stiff and desperate for a pee. The sun hadn’t quite shifted into view, so he got out of the car and relieved himself behind a nearby tree. In the car again, he waited until he saw Mary Lee leave the apartment, coffee container in hand, her purse under her arm. She got in the car, fiddled with her seat belt, checked her makeup, and adjusted her travel mug in the cup holder. Pete thought he’d go insane if she didn’t get out of there. She finally drove off, presumably on her way to work.

Pete was frosted. Willard, for whatever reason, had failed to deliver, and where did that put Pete? The night had come and gone and who knew when another opportunity would present itself? Linton Reed wasn’t going to be happy when he heard the plan had gone awry. He left his car unlocked while he crossed the grass and entered the center courtyard. He knocked on the Bryces’ door and waited.

When the door finally opened, Willard said, “What do
you
want?”

“What do you think? You want to tell me why you reneged on our agreement?”

“We don’t have an agreement. I left a message on your office phone. Mary Lee’s decided to quit. She’s giving her two weeks’ notice today. She’s fed up. She says life’s too short.”

Pete was taken aback. “I’m sorry to hear that. I guess it’s a done deal, then.”

“You better believe it is and if you ever breathe one word of this business to anyone, you’ll be sorry,” Willard said, his voice ominously low, and then he shut the door in Pete’s face.

Pete stood for a moment, trying to process the implications. Obviously, if Mary Lee quit, then Linton had no need of him. After today, all bets would be off since essentially there was no way to blame her for the data tampering. He’d been paid to go into the lab, launching a scheme that was suddenly completely irrelevant. Nothing to be done about it now. More problematic was the certainty the good doctor would insist Pete give his money back, which Pete had no intention of doing. That money was for him and Ruthie, with every nickel going toward their trip abroad. Linton had plenty more where that came from. Pete Wolinsky did not. For the moment, Pete was safe. For all Linton Reed knew, he’d done what they agreed.

Pete returned to the office and sat down at his desk. This time he pressed the play button on his answering machine. He listened to the message from Willard about Mary Lee quitting her job. There were two additional messages from Linton Reed, who neglected to identify himself, but he said roughly the same thing both times: the deal was off. In neither instance did the good doctor specify the reason for the cancellation. Pete’s only option was to play dumb. He put in a call to the doctor, whose answering machine picked up. Pete left his number without mentioning his name, asking if the doctor would call at his earliest convenience. Linton must have been sitting right there, letting calls go through to his voice message, because within minutes he called back. “You owe me two grand,” he said.

“And why would that be?”

“Something’s happened.”

“I gathered as much. You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Not on the phone.”

“How about let’s meet, then.”

“When?”

“Ten o’clock tonight?”

“Where?”

“Bird refuge,” Pete said. He depressed the plunger, cutting the connection before the doctor could argue the point.

•   •   •

Traffic was light when Pete arrived at the bird refuge shortly before ten. The Caliente Café was crowded, its parking lot jammed. Arriving patrons had snapped up additional slots in the strip lot across the way. Pete slowed the Fairlane to allow a pedestrian to cross in front of him. Belatedly, he registered the big panhandler’s red baseball cap and red flannel shirt; fellow heading home for the night after a hard day’s work. The panhandler turned and gave Pete a lingering look, which Pete ignored.

Pete hoped there’d be one last parking place, but he spotted the turquoise Thunderbird and realized Linton had beat him to the punch. Pete was forced to park on the street, which mattered not except for the psychological one-upsmanship. In a momentary nod to caution, he went around to the trunk of his car and swapped out the S&W Escort for his Glock.

The two men came together in a wide pool of shadows between two streetlamps. The path was lined with shrubs. A patchwork of rustling leaves created shifting patterns of light, adequate for conversational purposes but preventing either man a clear view of the other’s face. The damp night breeze coming off the lagoon smelled sulfurous.

Linton wore the same dark wool overcoat he’d worn at their earlier meeting. Pete’s sport coat was inadequate for the evening chill, and he envied the other man’s comfort. He was still debating how to play the occasion, so he offered Linton the first move, saying, “What’s this about?”

“Mary Lee Bryce quit her job. Game’s over.”

“Nice if you’d told me before I went out to the lab.”

“I left two messages on your office machine, telling you the deal was off.”

“When was this?”

“Two o’clock and again at five.”

“I wasn’t in the office yesterday. If I’d known she quit, I wouldn’t have put myself out.”

“Too bad. I want my two grand back.”

“No can do. I went in with her badge as agreed. You ask your computer techie and he’ll show you the trail she left.”

“Prove it.”

“I can’t prove it standing out here. You prove I didn’t.”

“You’re a liar.”

“Unlike yourself,” Pete said.

“I gave you two grand for nothing and I’d like it back.”

“No need to repeat yourself, son. Money’s gone. You want it back, you’re out of luck.”

“Where is it?”

“Something came up.”

“That’s it? Something came up and now you keep my two grand?”

“I did my part, so, technically speaking, you owe me two more. Under the circumstances, I’m giving you a break. Let’s consider it payment in full.”

“For what? I told you I didn’t need you. If you did it regardless, why should I be out the dough?”

Pete lifted his hands. “Hey, I’m done and I’m gone. Your money’s gone as well, so how about we call it square? I don’t owe you and you don’t owe me. Anything I have on you stops right here.”

Pete was dimly aware of the panhandler standing in a wash of darkness while the argument went on. Fellow must have decided to forgo his campsite and come have a look. In the dark, Pete couldn’t make out the red cap or the red shirt, but he knew the man’s size and body type and the lighter block of his face.

“Anything you
have
on me?” Linton said, shrilly. “What would that be?”

Pete kept his voice low. He was reasonably certain Linton had no idea there was a witness to their fight. “I know more than you think and I’ll use it if I have to. To be honest about it, I’d prefer not.”

“Are you
threatening
me?”

“I’m just pointing out you got your money’s worth. With that woman gone, you can blame her for anything. She quits in a huff and before she leaves, she trashes your work. Same story plays and I came up with it. That’s what you paid me for.”

“What good does that do me now?”

“If you’re smart you’ll wipe the slate clean and dump everything you’ve done.”

“I don’t want to dump it. Why should I do that?”

“To cover your butt. Keep that data, she’s got your nuts in a vice. Now she’s unemployed, you think she won’t come after you? She’s a loose cannon. What’s she got to lose? She can accuse you, point fingers—whatever the hell she wants and you’re a sitting duck.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“
I
might not, but she does. Now see here? Lookit. I’ll do you one more favor. This for the same two thousand dollars you were kind enough to shell out. She’s been in touch with a reporter. Are you aware of that? Journalist who has connections at the
New York Times
. Fellow’s done his homework. They’ll blow you out of the water.”

“I don’t believe a word of it.”

“Fine. Then our conversation’s over and I’ll be on my way,” Pete said, keeping his tone light.

Linton reached out and grabbed his arm, saying, “Hey! Don’t turn your back on me. I’m not finished.”

Irritably, Pete flung off his hand. “The hell you aren’t.”

“You know what? You’re more dangerous than she is,” Linton said. “She’s righteous. You’re corrupt.”

“I got no interest in you. We did business and now it’s done. End of story.”

“What if you flap
your
big mouth?”

“To who? Nobody gives a shit. She might nail you, but I got no dog in that fight. Trouble with you is you think you’re more important than you are.”

“Who’s the reporter? I want his name.”

“Too bad.”

Linton reached into his overcoat pocket and pulled out a gun, racking back the slide. Pete lifted his hands in a show of submission, but in truth he was more curious than cowed. What was this about? Linton didn’t seem to know what came next. This was apparently his big move and now what? Pull a gun on a fellow, you better be prepared to shoot.

Pete dropped his gaze to the weapon. He couldn’t see it clearly in the faulty light, but he was guessing it was a .45. Pete could feel the comforting bulk of his Glock in the shoulder holster under his left arm. He knew how to draw and fire a lot faster than Linton did. “Where’d you get that?” he asked.

“My father-in-law.”

“Hope he shared some safety tips.”

“He’s out of town. I borrowed it.”

“Trigger pressure’s tricky if you’re not used to it.”

“Like this?”

Linton altered the angle of the barrel and fired once. Both men jerked instinctively at the blast. The cartridge popped up to his right like a jumping bean.

Pete could tell the good doctor was showing off, making a point about how serious he was. While Pete wasn’t worried, his attention was fully focused on the man in front of him. There was something odd at work: Linton role-playing, trying on an alternate personality; tough guy, an overeducated Al Capone. Linton Reed was on unfamiliar ground but getting hyped on the power. The question was how far he’d be willing to push. Pete suspected this was the first time he’d brandished a gun and he liked the feeling it gave him. You’d think a man in his position would be fully accustomed to deference, but this was dominance of another sort.