Irregular Verbs Page 9

  “Please, Buddy. You know as well as I that, in my business, discretion is—”

  Before he could finish speaking his eyes went wide. I congrat-ulated myself for watching them, instead of the many more interesting things in the room: they gave me just enough warning to dive out of the way. Falcone had a few more seconds than I did but nowhere to go, and when the shot came a big red splotch opened up on his chest.

  I prayed the shooter was as distracted as I was and turned around, staying low. He was in the doorway, a dark shape in a long coat and hat turning away.

  “Hey!” I shouted. “You’re gonna shoot me, make it stick!”

  He didn’t slow. Swearing under my breath I stood up, checked on Falcone. He was dead. His two girls were comforting each other, and it took me a minute before I remembered why I had come.

  To my relief Zoe was still in the car. She looked startled when I opened the door. “What happened to you?” she asked.

  “Which part?” I asked.

  She reached her hand up to my cheek and I flinched. “You might have cracked your jaw,” she said.

  “Why don’t you kiss it better?” I said, sitting down next to her.

  She smiled and gave me a kiss. It was just a peck on the cheek, but you would never confuse it with the kiss you’d get from your grandmother. “So where to now, shamus?”

  I shook my head. “You go home,” I said. “I don’t know whether that guy was gunning for me or Falcone, but now I know he wasn’t after you. Better you go where it’s safe.”

  “I can’t stand the thought of re-shelving all those books,” she said. “Besides, you need a driver. You’re in no condition to walk.”

  I mulled it over for a minute. “Okay,” I said. “You know how to get to One Padmasambhava Place?”

  “City hall?”

  “Falcone wasn’t a very nice guy but he was well-connected. Nobody would take a shot at him without the mayor’s say-so.”

  She frowned. “He won’t be in his office at this hour.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping for.”

  After what had happened at Falcone’s Zoe wasn’t too happy to be staying in the car, but she wasn’t crazy about breaking into city hall either. I left her outside to watch the door while I slipped in the back way and up the stairs to the mayor’s office.

  I slipped the pick from my coat pocket and worked the lock. The stencil on the door read HON ROBT. BOONE, MAYOR, and when I got it open I saw that name repeated a dozen times or more on plaques, awards and honorary diplomas mounted on the wall. Pictures of the mayor with dignitaries and people so famous even I had heard of them filled what was left of the space, and the marble-topped desk was cluttered with trophies, mementoes and even a bust of the man himself. It made me wonder how a guy ever got anything done in a place like that, surrounded by his own name and face.

  It wasn’t the mayor’s face I was interested in, though, but his brain: that is to say the files he kept in the room beyond. The mayor’s life had been one long climb up an endless ladder, and you don’t get to be boss of a town like Bardo City without having the dirt on everyone else in it. If he had his hooks into Roger, the reason would probably be in there.

  I switched on my flashlight, played it over the filing cabinets. They were unlabelled, so I got the top drawer of the first one open and started to flip through the folders. They were full of a lot of juicy material, things that would surprise you about people you think you know, but nothing about Roger. I was just starting to think that I had had a few better ideas in my life when I heard a noise from the office.

  “Who’s there?” a voice called. I froze, trying not to breathe too loudly. A second later the office lights went on. “Come on out,” the voice said. “I know you’re in there.”

  I sighed, walked out into the office with my hands up and saw the mayor standing there. He had a long face and he looked like he needed a shave, but it wasn’t going to happen: his kind hadn’t shaved in a million years and weren’t about to start now. He had on a shaggy blue coat, its arms trailing down past his knees, and bright red pants. Standing behind him was a taller guy, thin and with about as much expression as an ice cube. He was dressed in a long grey coat, smooth except for the lump in the right pocket.

  “Nice night for a party,” I said as the tall guy patted me down.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing here?” the mayor said, hunching forward. His wide nostrils flared as he took a long whiff of me. “Do you have any idea who I am? What I can have done to you?”

  “Since I’m in your office, I’d guess that I do,” I said. I turned my head to the guy who had been frisking me. “What’s your story?”

  “He does what I tell him,” the mayor said. “That’s all you need to know. Who are you?”

  I shrugged. “A monkey’s uncle.”

  The mayor hissed at me, his fangs showing. There was a noise from out in the hall, and the blank-faced guy turned towards it and then back to the mayor. “Should I check it out?” he asked.

  “Sure,” the mayor said. He showed his teeth again. “He’s harmless.”

  I waited until the mayor’s stooge had left before I spoke again. “Let’s cut the games,” I said. “What did you have on Roger Adams?” I watched his little eyes for a reaction. “What was it you offered him? Fame? Power?”

  “Listen,” the mayor said, grabbing me by the neck, “I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m asking the questions here. So why don’t—”

  There was a shot out in the hall, and we both froze. Still holding my shirt the mayor turned his head around. Zoe appeared in the doorway, a dull grey pistol in her hand. A moment passed before she levelled it at the mayor and fired. The shot hit him in the back and threw him into me, both of us toppling to the ground.

  “Oh my God,” Zoe said. “Buddy, are you all right?”

  With effort I lifted the mayor’s body off of me, climbed to my feet. I patted my chest all over, feeling for blood. “Bullets don’t always stop at the first body, you know,” I said.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just saw him holding your neck and I thought—”

  “Where’d you get the gun?”

  She looked down at the pistol still in her hand, took a deep breath and dropped it. “I saw those men going into the building, so I came up to see if you were all right,” she said. “The man in the coat found me, he drew his gun—I was so scared, I just grabbed it and—”

  “You took a big risk,” I said. “You should have stayed in the car.”

  “I wanted to, but I just couldn’t—couldn’t stand the thought of losing you.” She kissed me once, quickly, and then again. “But it’s all over now. You’re safe, and I guess with the mayor dead your case is over.”

  “I guess so.” I kissed her again, then took her hand in mine, raised it to my lips and kissed it. “Now that I know you killed Roger.”

  She tried to pull her hand away but I held it fast. “What are you talking about?”

  “Did you meet him at Falcone’s?” I asked. “That’s why you wouldn’t come in, wasn’t it, even when I was going to let you? That’s why you shot Falcone, before he could tell me anything.” I kissed her hand again. “Powder burns, angel.”

  “I just shot two men,” she said. “I saved your life.”

  “Sure. But you had those burns before, in the car.” I reached out with my free hand, stroked her cheek. “You met Roger at Falcone’s, but it wasn’t sex, was it? Oh, maybe at first, but that’s not why he couldn’t let go of you. He let go of his gut, of sex, his ego—but he couldn’t let go of love.”

  She turned her head away. “What are you going to do with me?” she asked. “Turn me over to the police?”

  “And risk that sweet neck?” I shook my head. “All that matters is I know. He can let go of you, now, and move on.”

  “And me?”

  “You’ll move on, too,” I
said. “Everybody’s looking for love.”

  My office had never looked so much like home as when I got back. Roger was still sitting in the chair in front of my desk, his fingers interlaced, looking nervous.

  “What happened to you?” he asked.

  “Slightly more complicated case than usual,” I said, lowering myself into my chair. “Don’t worry, I worked it out. You should be able to go on now.”

  Roger let out a held breath, got up and picked up his suitcase. A frown crossed his face.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “It’s still heavy.” He held it out to me. “Here.”

  I took the briefcase from him, felt its weight in my hand. I put it on my desk, popped it open: it was empty, but still felt like it was packed with bricks.

  “You said it would be lighter,” he said.

  “It should be.” I furrowed my brow, trying to work things out. “Tell me, Roger—you ever hear of a thing called tape echo?” He shook his head. “That’s when you record on a tape more than once, and a little bit of the old recording doesn’t get covered up. Well, that can happen with souls, too—if you’ve been through here a few times, you might have something from a past life still stuck in there.”

  “But if it’s not even mine, what can I do about it?”

  I held my hand out palm down, holding him still. “I think we’re about to find out,” I said. A dark shape had appeared in my office door: a man about my height in a dark coat, wearing a broad-brimmed hat that cast his face into shadow. A gun was in his hand.

  “Who are you?” Roger said, turning around.

  “Quiet, Roger,” I said, keeping my eyes on the gun. “Why don’t you let this guy go,” I said to the intruder in a carefully level voice. “This is just about you and me, isn’t it?”

  The man said nothing but moved closer, keeping the muzzle of the pistol pointed my way.

  “Get out of the way, Roger,” I said.

  Roger moved aside as the man took another step in my direction. I took a breath, snapped my hand out and jabbed at the switch of my desk lamp. The man blinked in surprise at the sudden light and I saw his face.

  He was me.

  I had intended to grab the gun while he was dazzled, but I was more stunned than he was. The barrel was level with my forehead. “Who are you?” I asked.

  “Open the desk,” he said with my voice. I was frozen. He pressed the gun to my head. “Open it.”

  Feeling my sweat run around the ring of cold metal I reached down to my desk drawer, pulled it open.

  The man with my face pulled the gun away, just a few inches. “Look inside.”

  With effort I pulled my gaze away from the pistol aimed at me, looked down. A jar like those that had been in Roger’s suitcase sat there, a clay tube with a top carved in the shape of a cat’s head.

  “What’s going on?” Roger said, his voice cracking. “Aren’t we already dead? Who is this?”

  I looked myself in the face, suddenly unafraid. “You’re what I couldn’t leave behind, aren’t you?”

  “You said you’d cleared your own suitcase,” Roger said. “That you just stayed here out of compassion.”

  “No—not compassion,” I said. “Curiosity. I realize that now.” The man with my face smiled, nodded. “That’s what I couldn’t let go, why I stayed here—the puzzle. Wanting to know how it all works out.” I laughed. “I’m just as much of a sap as you are, Roger.”

  The man with my face lowered the gun, tapped it against the jar. I nodded, and he grabbed the lid with his free hand. I took the base and we each pulled, and when it had popped open he was gone.

  I took a deep breath, picked up Roger’s suitcase. It was light, lighter than a feather. “Here,” I said, handed it to him.

  He took it by the handle. “It’s empty,” he said. “But does that mean you’re—we’re—”

  “This part of me stayed here,” I said. “That part of me—the part that couldn’t let go—wound up as you.”

  He took a step for the office door. “So we’re—free? Both of us?”

  “Come on,” I said. I flipped the sign on my door to CLOSED, stepped out into the corridor and locked up. The two of us started to walk down the street, towards the airport. “This looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

  WHEN WE HAVE TIME

  “We have to tell her.”

  Kevin shook his head. “We don’t. She’ll never know. It’ll just—she won’t even notice it.”

  “We’ll know,” Jen said, crossing her arms.

  It was true, of course. He looked over at Heather in the living room, wondering if she was able to hear everything they said. So far as he could tell she was still engrossed in her Ed-U-Tutor, but he always had the feeling that she knew a lot more than she ever showed.

  She looked so much like Jen. Jen always said she looked like him, of course; Heather was a backwards mirror, each of her parents seeing the other in her face.

  “I can’t. I don’t think I could make her understand.”

  “I know. Do you think I’d have brought this up if I wasn’t ready to tell her myself?” Jen kissed him on the cheek, turned away. He watched her, unable to make the few steps that would let him follow from the kitchen to where their daughter sat.

  “Heather, can I talk to you a minute?”

  “Just a second, mom.” Heather clicked a button on the ’Tutor, saving her work. If she heard the strangled sound in her mother’s voice, she gave no sign of it. “What’s up?”

  It was impossible that she was ten. He knew he was biased, but to Kevin she had always sounded as mature and self-possessed as someone twice her age. He didn’t get to see her that much, of course; she was usually asleep by the time he got home from work. He had thought, maybe, that that would change now that he wasn’t working. Now he would never know.

  “There’s something I—your father and I have been meaning to tell you,” Jen said.

  Heather raised an eyebrow. “If it’s about boys and girls, the ’Tutor already told me.”

  Jen smiled, despite herself, and Kevin felt himself doing it as well. “No, that’s not—that’s not it. It’s about—well, you know how your father isn’t working anymore.”

  “I know. But Dad’ll find something soon.”

  “Of course he will. But for now there are some things, things we were paying for that we can’t afford to anymore. And you—do you know how you came to be with us?”

  How you came to be with us; what an awkward way of saying it, Kevin thought. But then, everything about this was awkward.

  “I told you,” Heather said. “The ’Tutor—”

  “No,” Jen said, an unmistakable choking coming into her voice. “You didn’t, not that way. We—you know your father and I have always been very busy, working very hard. To keep this house, buy you clothes and things.”

  “Yes . . .”

  Kevin pulled the photo album from the shelf over the phone. The leatherette spine cracked like it was new when it opened; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at it.

  “Well, you see we never had quite enough time—for you. I mean, to have you. There was never a time when either of us could stay home, never mind spending a few weeks off my feet.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  The baby pictures were getting hazy, indistinct. The ultrasound was already gone, replaced by a snapshot of that trip to Algonquin Park they’d never taken.

  “We really, really wanted to have you, Heather, you need to know that. So we went to—you know that machine in the kitchen, that makes sure you have a lunch, even if we forget to make you one?”

  Heather nodded, not understanding. “You always forget,” she said.

  “Yes, I know, honey.” Jen took a breath, plowed on. “Well, when we decided we wanted to have a little girl, we went to someone who had a big one of those machines. Big
enough so that instead of making sure you had a lunch, it made sure we had you.”

  The picture of Heather on her first bike flickered and disappeared. Kevin could already feel the memory of it doing the same thing, another one rushing to fill the vacuum in his mind. An office, beige wall-to-wall and a pine desk.

  “This is one of our most popular packages,” the man in his memory was saying. Light from the window shone off the gold lettering on his coffee mug, TIME SOLUTIONS. “Especially among couples your age. You don’t have to worry she’d be singled out in any way.”

  Jen looked over at Kevin, shifted her weight in her chair. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Would she be—different?”

  The man frowned, his solid features coming slowly into focus as the memory grew stronger. “No more than—I’m sorry, Ms. James, I forgot this is your first time in here. No, your child won’t be different in any way. All we’ll do is pinch off a little pocket of time—let’s say, five years ago—and make that the time when you had your child; then we re-attach the pocket to our time, and so far as the world is concerned you have a five-year-old daughter.”

  “Just a minute,” Kevin remembered saying as he flipped through the papers in front of him. “What’s the monthly fee for, then?”

  “To keep that pocket attached to our time,” the man said, a note of impatience in his voice—the sound, Kevin thought, of a teacher explaining something for the tenth time.

  Heather’s voice called Kevin back to the present. “So I’m not—not—” He knew she was close to tears, confused and frustrated.

  “You’re real, Heather. You have to remember—have to know that. It’s just that—well, once you were in our lives it didn’t seem so urgent to have you. So long as the machine kept working, we forgot that you had come to us any differently from anyone else’s baby. And so long as we could keep paying the man with the machine, it didn’t matter. But now that your father’s out of work—”

  “So I’m going to—I’m going to—”

  “It’s not like dying, baby,” Jen said. “You’ll just—disappear—but when your father finds a new job we’ll bring you back again. It’ll be just the same as before.”