The Hearing (12 page)

Is he a runner? Carl wondered. Or a talker, or a fighter?

Several people had approached the piano with written song requests. Carl took a card from a stack on the bar and wrote a request
of his own.

“Dear Mr. Young: I am not a cop, I am not from Doreen. I am a friend who is on your side. I have important news for you. Can
we talk?”

He folded the card and asked the bartender if she had a paper clip.

“Will a pin do?”

“That’ll be fine, thanks.”

He pinned a 500-franc note to the card, walked over to the piano, and laid it on top of the others. He stayed until
Larry had glanced up and met his eyes. Larry smiled, said “Thanks,” and kept on playing.

Carl went back to his stool, sipped his beer, and waited. People drifting in from the port, drawn by the music, filled the
empty tables. Larry was winning. The seducers and con men were losing.

Larry finished a song, drank from a glass on the piano, and lifted the cards. Carl slipped off his stool and moved toward
the piano. He was five steps away when Larry unpinned the 500-franc note and unfolded Carl’s card. Carl watched him read it.
A runner, a talker, or a fighter?

Larry finished reading, turned the card over, read it again. He slipped the card slowly into his jacket pocket, not looking
up. Then abruptly, making a decision, he raised his eyes and found Carl.

Carl tried to get the whole message into his smile.
I’m safe, talk to me
.
But he was ready to run.

Larry put the other cards into his pocket, smiled at the faces nearest the piano, and headed back toward the rear door. He
wasn’t hurrying, and by the time he reached the door, Carl was with him. Carl held the door, and they stepped into a narrow
street between the back of the bar and a small café.

Larry said, “Who are you?”

“A friend. Can we talk?”

Standing, Larry looked smaller than he had at the piano.

“Tell me who you are.”

The beaming smile was gone, an act abandoned as he left the stage. His tired eyes were filled with a sadness that made Carl
want to trust him.

“It’s too long a story. It’s not any of the things you’re
thinking. You couldn’t possibly guess. But I’m a friend. Believe me. Can we talk? You won’t be sorry.”

Larry hesitated a moment. Then he said, “I have to do something first.”

Carl had expected more of an argument. This was too easy. What was it Larry had to do?

Larry said, “Wait for me in the café. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

He walked down the street to the corner, made a left, and disappeared.

Carl was going to believe that? Back in ten minutes? But if Larry looked around and spotted Carl following, it would be the
end of whatever fragile shred of trust he might have won. Larry was desperate, and desperate men are eager for someone to
trust.

The café had a zinc bar, four tables, a bartender, and one other customer, an old man with a newspaper and a glass of something
milky white.

Carl told the bartender, “Coffee, please,” and sat at one of the tables.

He faced the street and looked at his watch. When the ten minutes had passed he began to curse himself. What a jerk. Conned
by a piano player. “Be back in ten minutes.” Sure you will, yeah, right. His brains must be softening.

He gave it another five minutes, then paid for the coffee and walked out. He took the left turn Larry had taken. Halfway up
the block he saw a small illuminated sign.
HOTEL.
No name. He walked past on the other side of the street and looked in through the glass front. A tiny entrance hall, a desk
with an old woman, stairs.

He had turned back toward the café when a figure appeared at the desk. It was Larry. Carl watched as Larry said
something to the old woman, came out to the street, and headed toward the café.

Carl ran.

His empty coffee cup was still on the table. He had it to his lips when Larry came through the door.

“Sorry I took so long.”

“No problem. Happy to relax for a few minutes.”

Larry asked the bartender for coffee, hung his tuxedo jacket over the back of a chair and sat down. He was still sweating.
“Tell me who you are.”

“I represent someone in the United States who wants to talk to you. It has nothing to do with anyone else who might be looking
for you. It’s completely independent of that.”

“Who is it?”

“Someone important. You might have heard of him. I know this sounds crazy, but what I’m saying is someone wants to talk to
you and I can’t tell you who it is, only that it won’t hurt you and could help you a lot. I know I shouldn’t expect you to
believe that, but it’s all I can say.”

“What do you want?”

“The person I represent wants to meet you, and he sent me to find you. I’ve found you, and now I’m asking if you’ll meet him.
He’s in the States. If you say yes, he’ll be here tomorrow afternoon. He’ll meet you anywhere you like, and you can take any
precautions you like. He’ll explain everything. There won’t be any mysteries. And I can guarantee that you’ll be glad you’ve
seen him. You won’t be sorry.”

“How’d you find me?”

“From the video.”

“The video?”

“The one you sent Doreen. I traced it back to Hong
Kong, showed pictures around, got a lead to London. Someone in London sent me here.”

“That was a lot of work.”

“It’s important you talk to this guy. Don’t even try to guess what it’s about. You’ll be amazed. And you’ll be pleased.”

Larry drank from his cup, slowly, then set it back on the saucer, right dead in the middle, thinking. “Does it have something
to do with my daughter?”

“Yes. But nothing to do with disagreements with Doreen. This man does not want to get you into trouble. In fact, this man
wants to talk to you specifically
because
he wants to protect you. There’s something he’s thinking of doing but he doesn’t want to do it without consulting you first.
If you say no, that’ll be it. He’ll go home and you can forget you ever met him. Your life will go on as if he’d never been
here.”

“You talked with Doreen?”

“Yes.”

“How was she?”

“Nasty.”

Larry smiled, not a happy smile. “How did you meet her?”

“Looking for you. All I had to go on was the video.”

“Where’d you get that?”

“From someone Doreen gave it to.”

“Who?”

“You don’t know him.”

Larry pulled an end of his bow tie and unbuttoned his collar. “What’s your name?”

“Carl.”

“What’s your last name?”

“Let’s just stay with Carl. I don’t want to lie to you.”

“What’s going on? Really.”

Carl felt sorry for him. He was a man with problems, and now he had another, something else that might hurt him, hurt his
daughter.

“I’ve told you all I can.”

“And if you’re lying to me, I’m in a lot of trouble. Maybe you’re from Doreen. She wants Samantha back.”

“I’ve told you all I can tell you.”

Larry nodded, took another sip of coffee, and sat there, silent, thinking. Then he shook his head and looked a lot more tired
than when he’d come in through the door to the bar. He closed his eyes and sighed. It sounded like four years of desperation.

“When do you have to know?”

“Soon as you can tell me. Right now would be best.”

“I can’t tell you now. Come back tomorrow night. I’ll see you during my first break.”

“Fine.”

“I have to get back.”

“Larry …”

“Yes?”

“I just want to tell you …” Carl waited while Larry buttoned his collar and put on his jacket. The tie hung loose. “It’s important
that you believe me. If you say no, it’ll be a big mistake. Meet this man. Hear what it’s about. You’ll be glad you did.”

“See you tomorrow.”

There weren’t many things Carl had ever wanted to know more than he wanted to know if Samantha was in that hotel. But if he
made a move to find out—talked to the old woman at the desk or came back in the morning to watch
the entrance—and Larry found out, that would be the end. His instincts, rehabilitated after Larry’s return to the café, told
him Larry was not going to run for it. Have confidence, play it cool.

So he want back to his hotel and called Gus.

“He’s here. I spoke to him, just said someone wants to talk to him. He’s gonna give me an answer tomorrow night.”

“Is Samantha with him?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll be on the next flight.”

“Why don’t you wait till I’m sure Samantha’s here?”

“I can’t wait, Carl. I’ll be on the Delta flight leaving New York tomorrow night. It arrives in Nice the next afternoon.”

“I’ll be there. Is Michelle coming?”

“Are you kidding?”

When Larry got back to the hotel on his 2
A.M.
break he stopped outside Samantha’s door and listened.

“Daddy? Is that you?”

He’d tried to be quiet, but she had ears that heard everything.

He cracked the door.

“Go back to sleep, Samantha. It’s two
A.M.
”

“I can’t sleep.”

So he went in and turned on the light. It was a tiny room, across the hall from his own, and she had put up posters of horses
and rock stars. She slept with a stuffed bear the size of a cocker spaniel.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“Nothing. I’m just awake. Let’s play cards.”

Walking back to the hotel, he’d been wondering how much to tell her about Carl. She had a child’s innocent wis
dom, a natural discernment quick to detect frauds and swindlers. He found the cards in a bureau drawer.

“Five-card stud?”

“Yeah, great.”

She smiled, sat up, and smoothed the sheet. He sat on the edge of the bed and dealt. They used to play fish and old maid,
but six months ago, in London, he had taught her poker. They played for used postage stamps. When she won, she pasted her
stamps in an album.

He said, “I met a man tonight.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know.”

She peeked at her hole card and looked up. “Is he nice?”

“I’m not sure. He wanted to talk to me.”

“What did he say?”

She had a pair of queens showing and reached into her envelope of stamps.

“He has a friend he wants me to meet.”

She pulled her hand back.

“A friend he wants you to meet. So who’s the friend?”

“I don’t know. Someone he says I should meet, that it’s important, I’ll be glad if I meet him.”

“But he won’t tell you who the friend is?”

“No.”

She laid three stamps on the bed beside the cards. Knowing she had him beat, Larry raised her another three.

She said, “Sounds fishy.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“What’s he like?”

“He seems like a nice guy. I guess I believe him.”

“You believe everyone.”

“That’s true. Raise you another three.”

“I wonder who it is.”

“Yeah.”

He dealt the last card.

“Maybe someone famous wants you to work for them.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Maybe it’s something really exciting.”

Larry laughed. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic. I think you should meet him. Why not?”

She was smiling, full of confidence, adventure, and hope. He loved her enthusiasm. She did more for him than he did for her,
and he wished he could change that. Sometimes she was all that kept him going, all that kept him away from the bottle.

He waited until she had won all the stamps, then said good night and kissed her cheek. She got out of bed to lock the door
behind him.

In the doorway he said, “See you later.”

“Good night, Daddy. I think you should see the man’s friend.”

He waited in the hall until he heard her snap the lock, then hurried back to the club, quickly arranged his jacket, arranged
his face, and headed for the piano.

The next night Carl waited in a doorway near the corner where he could see both the entrance to Larry’s hotel and the rear
door of the Papagayo bar. At 10:30 he watched Larry come out of the hotel alone and walk toward the bar.

Carl moved out of the doorway’s darkness and caught a glimpse of a man at the end of the street ducking into a black Peugeot
205. He stepped back into the doorway and
looked into the car as it moved past him up the street. There wasn’t much light, and maybe he was overcautious, but the man
behind the wheel looked alarmingly like Warren Gier.

As Carl made his way through the crowds along the port to the bar’s terrace entrance, he kept thinking, It couldn’t be Gier.
There’s no way that could have been Gier. Gier could
not
have been in that car.

He took a seat at the bar and listened to Larry play. Their eyes met but neither gave a sign of recognition. At the first
break, Carl walked outside and waited at the back entrance. He searched the street for a black Peugeot 205. He was certain
now that the dim, fleeting profile could not have been Warren Gier.

Carl stepped up to Larry as he came out through the door. “Can I buy you a coffee?”

“I have something I have to do for a few minutes. But it’s okay. I’ll see your friend. How do we do it?”

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at eleven.”

“At the café?”

“See you there. And listen, just a question.”

“Yes?”

“Has anyone else contacted you in the past couple of days?”

“No. Is there someone else?”

“No, I just wondered. See you tomorrow. I’ll hang around and listen to the rest of your performance.”

But he didn’t hang around, not for long. After half a glass of beer and ten minutes’ thought, Carl went back to his hotel
and called Gus. It was late afternoon in Washington, and Gus was about to leave for the airport.

Carl said, “Gier’s here.”

“Warren Gier?”

“The man himself.”

Carl told him about the Peugeot.

Gus said, “I’m on my way.”

Y
ou awake?”

Michelle, sleepless for more than an hour, had thought she heard an unfamiliar sound outside the house. Something scraping.
They were leaving for France the next afternoon.