A Safe House

36

Stone’s house phone rang again. “Hmmf?”

“You’re napping already?” Charlie Cole demanded. Charlie never just asked.

“They wore me out, Charlie. I took about three thousand calls this morning.”

“You may have taken thirty. Leave the hyperbole to me.”

“Well, it seemed like three thousand. Anyway, it’ll spread across the country.”

“I’m doing a running check on that. We’re even with the first piece, and I think we’ll do better.”

“Whatever happen to hearsay?”

“Oh, don’t worry. They’ll be gathered at every watercooler in the USA, guzzling. Then everybody will have to pee at the same time, which may put a strain on the national plumbing grid.”

“Any word of any kind from Wallace Slade?”

“Not a peep, which means he’s scared shitless. He doesn’t know what she knows about Jamie’s death in the car, but he knows she knows. Half the calls he’s getting are going to be asking about Jamie. Don’t worry, we’ll get Jenna off the hook and Wallace onto it — at the same time.”

“A twofer?”

“At the very least. Maybe a threefer. There’s always Harley Quince.”

“Whatever you say, Charlie.”

“I like the sound of that.” She hung up.

Dino called. “Is it working?”

Stone told him about Charlie’s call.

“It sounds great, but you know she’s probably full of shit, don’t you?”

“Don’t say things like that — not when she’s working for me, anyway.”

“Okay, she’s full of your shit.”

“In that case, she’s telling God’s truth to the nation.”

“Do you think the nation can handle God’s truth?”

“That, like everything else in my life, remains to be seen.”

“Well, you’re asking them to think the worst of somebody, and the nation is good at that.”

“We do have that on my side. We’ve kept me off the airwaves, so the nation won’t confuse me with Wallace Slade.”

“Good idea. I wouldn’t like you as a Republican senator from Texas.”

“I know. I’d have to shoot myself. Gotta run.”

“Yeah, you get back to your nap.” Dino hung up.

As Stone was drifting off, his cell rang. “Yeah?”

“Scramble.”

“Already done.”

“Would you like a report from abroad?”

“Yes, please!”

“The European and British papers have gone nuts with the story. Even Rupert Murdoch’s papers are on board with it. Wallace is slipping with the rags he can usually count on. His credibility ratings are in the toilet.”

“I knew God put me on this earth for something,” Stone replied. “I just didn’t realize how much fun it would be.”

“I don’t suppose you tuned in to Fox News this morning?”

“Whenever I try to do that, my TV resists and changes to the repair-your-own-motorcycle channel.”

“Lucky you. Where do I get a TV like that?”

“In heaven, and you don’t want to go there, yet.”

“Hope your luck holds.”

“Me, too.”

Lance hung up.

Stone was awake now, and he had no more calls to make, except one. He called Jenna.

“Is it really you?”

“It is. I spent the first half of the day fencing with the media.”

“How’d you do?”

“Bloodied, but unbowed.”

“How’d Wallace do?”

“Worse than I, from all available reports.”

“I’ve seen the Times and USA Today, plus the Key West Citizen.”

“Did they claim you as a native Key Wester?”

“Not yet.”

“Good. That means they don’t know you’re in town, which is what we want. If they start referring to you as a conch, then we’ll have to move you to another city.”

“I’m not ready to go. I’m liking it here.”

“No nude sunbathing by the pool, unless that’s the way you want your security to see you. The caretaker, George, could turn up at an inopportune moment, too.”

“I could do worse.”

“Are you really keeping your head down?”

“Just the way I promised.”

“Then I’ll expect it to still be attached to your shoulders next time I see you.”

“Which will be when?”

“To be determined. I’ll do my best. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The TV was on, but the sound off. Suddenly, the flabby face of Senator Wallace Slade appeared on-screen. Stone fumbled for the remote control.

“...want to say, here and now, that I know nothing of the death of Jamie Jacoby, who was one of the people I loved best on the earth.”

“Don’t you watch TV and read the papers?” A reporter shouted from off camera.

“I stand by what my statement was!” Slade shouted back. “Don’t you try to twist my words, you son of a bitch.”

“I’m just a bitch,” she shouted back, “and I’m trying to untwist your words into something resembling the English language.”

“We speak American in Texas! I guess that’s why you’re so confused.”

“Where were you when Jamie’s car exploded?” a male reporter yelled.

“I was driving a herd up from Texas to the railhead in Missouri!”

“I’m not talking about your campaign commercial!”

“Then you better learn to say what you mean!” Slade yelled, then walked off camera.

“Has that poor horse died yet?” the female reporter screamed after him.

The female reporter’s image replaced that of Slade’s. “If he’s ever tried in court for murder, he’d better not defend himself!” she shouted.

The camera went back to the studio, where the two news anchors dissolved in laughter.