calling him? he wondered as he stared at the tray with the mannitol, coke, spatula, and envelopes in
front of him. Gently, he pushed the tray back and got up. The main supply of his stash would be safe enough in his secret
hiding place, he thought, then laughed as if the phone had eyes. Things were so much simpler when you were just a little bit
smarter than everybody else. And right now he felt a lot smarter.
“Hello,” he said, picking up the phone as he fumbled with his caller ID box. He saw the number was blocked. “Hello,” Walker
repeated.
“Marty, old buddy, how are you?”
It was Connors. Walker’s brow furrowed slightly. He hated to be called Marty.
“Richard? What do you want?”
There was a pause on the line, then Connors’ voice came back.
“You watch the news lately?”
“What?”
“Television,” Connors said. “The fucking news. Did you watch it today?”
Walker sighed heavily into the receiver, demonstrating his irritation. “I generally wait till ten,” he said. “Why? Look, is
this really necessary, because I’m right in the middle of something.”
“Are you alone?”
“Richard, I’m getting tired of this game.”
“Just answer my fucking question,” Connors repeated.
“Yes, I’m by myself. Now what is it?”
“All right, listen up. You’re probably going to see the new task force they created to look into Miriam’s death on the news
tonight.”
Martin Walker felt a momentary chill, as though someone had just touched an ice cube to his balls. But he knew the cocaine
was making him react more than he should.
“So, is that something I should be concerned about?” he asked.
“Just relax,” Connors’ voice said. “I’ve got everything under control, just like always. We’ve got nothing to worry about
as long as nobody panics. You’ll probably be getting some visitors eventually, though.”
Connors’ tone did little to reassure Martin, who suddenly felt the high turning sour.
“Who? Nuke and his stooges?”
“No,” Connors said, the irritation obvious in his tone. “The police. The new investigators. If they come to see you, just
stick to the story. Nothing has changed, only a few faces, that’s all.”
“So you’re saying that I shouldn’t have to worry about some dumb cops?” Martin asked, his voice raising a few octaves at the
end of the sentence.
“Just stick to the story,” Connors repeated.
“The beauty of that is it’s practically true,” Martin said, trying unsuccessfully to sound more confident than he was feeling.
It was the coke. That damn Connors had called at precisely the wrong time to take the edge off. Now he’d be going through
the wringer instead of riding high.
“You’re not coming apart on me now, are you?” Martin heard Connors ask.
“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t try to change anything.”
“I know. I won’t.”
After another pause, Connors asked, “So how’s everything else?”
Walker knew that this was a veiled code used to inquire about his investments.
“You’re set to have a very profitable quarter,” Martin said. “I’m ready for some more deposits.”
“Okay, great.” Connors said. “And, Marty, don’t start sweating over this new task force thing, okay? My source tells me that
we’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s all smoke and mirrors.”
“All right, Richard. Good night.” He hung up the phone and began exploring his ambivalence about Con-nors, and how their symbiotic
relationship had developed.
Strangely enough, they’d met in high school. Not that they were friends back then, or anything. No, far from it. Martin had
been the bespectacled, nerdy, smart kid, in charge of all the scholastic things, and Connors the school troublemaker. The
only passion they shared at the time was the chess club. And Martin had been astounded at Con-nors’ proclivity for the game.
He seemed to always be thinking one or two moves
front of him. Gently, he pushed the tray back and got up. The main supply of his stash would be safe enough in his secret
hiding place, he thought, then laughed as if the phone had eyes. Things were so much simpler when you were just a little bit
smarter than everybody else. And right now he felt a lot smarter.
“Hello,” he said, picking up the phone as he fumbled with his caller ID box. He saw the number was blocked. “Hello,” Walker
repeated.
“Marty, old buddy, how are you?”
It was Connors. Walker’s brow furrowed slightly. He hated to be called Marty.
“Richard? What do you want?”
There was a pause on the line, then Connors’ voice came back.
“You watch the news lately?”
“What?”
“Television,” Connors said. “The fucking news. Did you watch it today?”
Walker sighed heavily into the receiver, demonstrating his irritation. “I generally wait till ten,” he said. “Why? Look, is
this really necessary, because I’m right in the middle of something.”
“Are you alone?”
“Richard, I’m getting tired of this game.”
“Just answer my fucking question,” Connors repeated.
“Yes, I’m by myself. Now what is it?”
“All right, listen up. You’re probably going to see the new task force they created to look into Miriam’s death on the news
tonight.”
Martin Walker felt a momentary chill, as though someone had just touched an ice cube to his balls. But he knew the cocaine
was making him react more than he should.
“So, is that something I should be concerned about?” he asked.
“Just relax,” Connors’ voice said. “I’ve got everything under control, just like always. We’ve got nothing to worry about
as long as nobody panics. You’ll probably be getting some visitors eventually, though.”
Connors’ tone did little to reassure Martin, who suddenly felt the high turning sour.
“Who? Nuke and his stooges?”
“No,” Connors said, the irritation obvious in his tone. “The police. The new investigators. If they come to see you, just
stick to the story. Nothing has changed, only a few faces, that’s all.”
“So you’re saying that I shouldn’t have to worry about some dumb cops?” Martin asked, his voice raising a few octaves at the
end of the sentence.
“Just stick to the story,” Connors repeated.
“The beauty of that is it’s practically true,” Martin said, trying unsuccessfully to sound more confident than he was feeling.
It was the coke. That damn Connors had called at precisely the wrong time to take the edge off. Now he’d be going through
the wringer instead of riding high.
“You’re not coming apart on me now, are you?” Martin heard Connors ask.
“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t try to change anything.”
“I know. I won’t.”
After another pause, Connors asked, “So how’s everything else?”
Walker knew that this was a veiled code used to inquire about his investments.
“You’re set to have a very profitable quarter,” Martin said. “I’m ready for some more deposits.”
“Okay, great.” Connors said. “And, Marty, don’t start sweating over this new task force thing, okay? My source tells me that
we’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s all smoke and mirrors.”
“All right, Richard. Good night.” He hung up the phone and began exploring his ambivalence about Con-nors, and how their symbiotic
relationship had developed.
Strangely enough, they’d met in high school. Not that they were friends back then, or anything. No, far from it. Martin had
been the bespectacled, nerdy, smart kid, in charge of all the scholastic things, and Connors the school troublemaker. The
only passion they shared at the time was the chess club. And Martin had been astounded at Con-nors’ proclivity for the game.
He seemed to always be thinking one or two moves
Similar Books
