The Bannerman Solution (The Bannerman Series) (90 page)

“Okay,” she folded her arms and sat back. “I'm writ
ing an expose for the
New York Post.
All about you and
Westport.”

“Come on, now.”

“That's a good line? I'm talking a can't-miss Pulitzer
and you give me dialog like that?”

Billy approached the table, to Paul's considerable
relief. He set down two glasses of wine. “That's the good
stuff,”
he said to Susan. “Yours is on the house. His isn't.”

“Thank you, Billy.”

“Also I'm bringing two bacon cheeseburgers, me
dium rare. A salad's no kind of lunch in the winter.
He
raised a finger to Susan. “Don't argue.”

“That's very sweet, Billy,” she smiled.

Paul gave him an I'll-get-you-for-this look, then
stared at his place mat until Billy left. “Susan,” he
spread his hands, “I know that you're not going to write
about us. Why are you even talking about that?”

“I'm a woman scorned. I'm allowed to get nasty.”

“I didn't scorn you. Didn't your father explain
why?”

“Listen,” she said evenly. “I've been explained to
up, down and sideways. My father says a nice girl like
me doesn't belong with killers, but he couldn't explain
why I belong with him. Molly likes us together but she's afraid I think you're Robin Hood. Carla says a candy-ass
like me would only be a distraction who would mope
and moan every time you're ten minutes late for din
ner, and I'm probably not even a good lay.”

“Carla said that?”

“I read between the lines.”

Molly had replaced Billy at the bar while he went to
grill the cheeseburgers. She was leaning on her elbows,
watchin
g, enjoying Paul's discomfort. He glowered at
her. Glad you're having a nice time.

But this was only making it harder. They'd have
their cheeseburgers, the meal would end and, as empty
and aching as it made him feel, he would have to make
Susan understand. Maybe if he told her how he'd
tapped her phone for four months. Or that he'd used
her as bait in Davos. Her father was supposed to have
told her these things but he hadn't.

Or maybe if he went into detail about the little office
party they'd held two weeks ago. Would she still think Molly was such a good egg if she'd seen her kill three
people with the flip of a switch? And then see all of them
drinking champagne afterward?

Not that he'd wanted to do it quite that way. The
cheering section was Carla's idea. The champagne, sur
prisingly, Billy's. They all had a right, he supposed, to be
in on handing the final bill to a man who'd done his best
to kill most of them at one time or another. Her own
father would have happily thrown the switch. But toy
ing with Reid, prolonging it, was essentially childish, not
to say unprofessional. Susan would have been sickened.

Now Susan has convinced herself that he and her
father are the same. She knows, at some level, about the
things her father has done but there was always a dis
tance between herself and those acts. Between them,
Susan and Paul, there would not be that distance. True, he was backing away, handing it over to Anton. But he
was still Mama's Boy. He could back away just so far.
Roger Clew knew that. He seemed to be betting on it.

“I hear,” Susan glanced toward Molly, “that Uncle
Billy's going to marry his landlady.”

“That's
…
a long way off. They have what I'd call
an understanding.”

“Do I go see her and tell her to run for her life? I
mean, Billy may not be a walking disaster like Calamity
Carla, but I bet he can get rough when he has to.”

“Billy is, um, different.” Paul wished he hadn't even
touched that one.

“Anyway, I've made a decision.”

“Am I going to hate hearing this?”

“I'm going to shoot somebody tonight.”

Paul closed one eye.

“Then one more every week until I get used to it.”

“Every week,” he repeated blankly.

“Until you say, ‘Hey, maybe this kid's my kind of
woman.’ And then you'll take me on the ski trip that you
still owe me, don't forget; and after that I'll dump you
and let you sit outside my building five nights straight
before
maybe
I let you come crawling back, you creep.”

Paul looked skyward. “It must be in the genes.”

“And don't you forget it.”

“You're really going to shoot someone tonight?”

“Someone with six kids and a sick wife.”

“Maybe I should stop you. Maybe I shouldn't let you
out of my sight tonight.”

“There's always tomorrow.”

“Maybe before then we can take a walk. Down along
the beach. We'll talk.”

“About how it can't work?”

“About how to keep your father from beating up on
me when he hears we're even thinking about it.”

“Thinking about it can't hurt.”

“No, maybe it can't.”

She saw Billy coming with two plat
ters. “Maybe we can reach what you call an understand
ing.”

”A day at a time?”

“I
want my damned ski trip.”

“After that, I mean.”

Four in the morning. Lesko didn't even have to open
his eyes. He heard Katz in the kitchen. He heard the
paper bag with bagels or Danish. And he heard Elena,
snoring softly beside him. He'd been waiting for this.
Lesko eased his face off the pillow as Katz entered the
room.

“Where the hell you been?”
he hissed.

Katz jerked a thumb toward the kitchen.
“Looking for a clean cup,”
he said innocently.

Katz had not come since on the airplane to Switzer
land. He had thought about Katz, argued with him, even been insulted by him like about the cops in
Westport. But that was all daytime. All in his head.
“Last
time I saw you was on the plane, you got
all out of joint
about Elena. Then next thing I know you're bothering
Susan when she's in that hospital. Anyway, where you
been?”

“I don't know. I forget. ”

“I could have figured.”

“They why'd you ask?”.

Lesko jabbed a finger at him.
“You know why you don't know? It's because you're not real. If someone's
not dreaming about you, there isn't any you.”

Katz looked down at his hands and body. He lifted
one shoe and looked at that.
“I'm real,
“he said, his voice
small.

“You're not real because you're dead.”

“You really get your jollies out of saying that, don't
you, Lesko?
Anyway, so what?
I'm here, right?”

“The point is I don't
want you here. I don't want you
talking to Susan anymore and I sure as hell don't want
you walking in on me and Elena.”
Lesko gestured to
ward her sleeping body. Katz followed his eyes.

“What are you talking about?”
Katz asked.

Lesko looked again at Elena's form. Something was
wrong. It was too small, even for her. He reached to
touch her. She was gone. Only some bunched-up blan
kets.

“You were dreaming it, weren't you?
”
Katz's expres
sion was smug.

Lesko didn't answer. Absently, sadly, he stroked the
bedding smooth.

”l got news for you, Lesko. Dreaming is about the
only way you'll ever get her in the sack because you
’re
such a nasty son of a bitch.”

Lesko tried to think. Yeah. Katz was right. She was
still in that hospital. Starting therapy. He had called
once but he hung up before they put him through.