Too Easy by Bruce Deitrick Price Page A

don’t want to be found. I do not want to see him again, not ever. And I am not afraid of him. Are you getting this?”
    â€œI think so.”
    â€œYou think I’m telling the truth?”
    â€œYeah, I guess.”
    â€œDon’t fucking guess, damn it. Believe it. Then convince him. Not such a big deal.”
    â€œOh, yeah. . . . Suppose he shows up in your house? What do you do then?”
    â€œWhatever it takes, Louise. Whatever it takes.”
    Louise sits back. “Really? Hmmmph. Maybe I am convinced.”
    â€œBet your last dollar, bitch.”
    â€œWow. . . . Bitch, is it? I guess you’re buying.”
    â€œLouise . . . of course, I’m buying.”
    â€œThis guy really a good lay? The married guy.”
    â€œHe’s a wonderful man, Louise. He also happens to be six-one, a hundred and eighty-five or so. One does so appreciate a big man, don’t you find?”
    Louise shakes her head. “Kathy . . . Kathy . . . Kathy.”

Chapter
12
    â€¢  “Good, do it that way,” Robert tells the reporter. “Done. Next.”
    He sits stiffly, trying not show how agitated he feels. Wearing a striped shirt, the tie knot loose. He’s at the head of a large table, two reporters to his left, another two on his right. Only one woman. He’s grateful he doesn’t find her attractive. The state he’s in, he might gawk at her.
    â€œThe aid package,” one of them says. “Alright, the money comes through, we say PRESIDENT TRIES TO BUY VOTES. The money’s not coming, we say UP YOURS, PRESIDENT TELLS BIG APPLE. Or words to that effect.”
    â€œCome on,” the woman says, “the President can’t win.”
    â€œWinning’s not his job,” Robert says, his voice quiet, carefully controlled. “His job’s selling papers.”
    â€œHere, here.”
    â€œHow about PRESIDENT’S AID PACKAGE SAVES DEMOCRATIC MACHINE?”
    â€œShit, that’s almost the truth. You can’t put stuff like that in the newspaper.”
    They all laugh. Energetic, restless, vaguely rumpled people. The kind of faces you see gambling in Atlantic City. Robert hopes they won’t notice what has happened to him. No, they have to notice. He’s coming apart in front of them, for Chrissake.
    A reporter says, “I want to do something new on the drug wars.”
    â€œWho cares?”
    â€œRight! They keep shooting kids, that’s the only story. They just kill each other, hell, you’re happy to hear—”
    â€œThe city ought to regulate these jerks. You know, make ’em take shooting lessons.”
    They’re all laughing, arguing, interrupting each other. Robert likes it. People acting silly won’t notice him.
    â€œLook, the city regulates a business, they leave. Maybe it’s an angle.”
    â€œA Department of Drug Dealers. Yeah, it’ll work. A whole new bureaucracy for the mayor’s cronies. And finally the dealers move to the Sun Belt. Let’s put the paper behind it.”
    â€œSweet. Genius.”
    â€œHey, I got a serious idea. Why don’t we offer rewards, you know, for the baddest guys? Like those Old West wanted posters. Say $10,000. Information leading to arrest and conviction.”
    â€œThat’s great. Better $25,000. Jesus, that’ll get the community behind the cops.”
    â€œI see it. We call it Dealer Lotto. Here’s the pitch. Don’t waste your dollars on those bogus gambling schemes, better chance of getting hit by lightning, et cetera. The New York News offers a real payout. Just rat on some fuck who should be doing ten to twenty anyway. . . . What do you think? Sure, it’s a promotional gimmick. But it’ll spin off a huge amount of copy for us, too. Human interest. Real news. It’s got everything.”
    â€œYou’re serious?” Robert says, happy to be doubting