The Call of the Mild

Chapter Twenty-Four

Gus felt an odd pounding in his feet. After a second he realized it was his heart, which had plummeted all the way down there at Shawn’s words and was looking for a way to break out of his body through his toes. When Rushton hired them he hadn’t made any explicit threats about what would happen if they besmirched his firm, but Gus had little doubt that his retribution would be swift and horrible.

There was a stunned silence at the table. Then Shatner jumped up angrily.

“You are all witnesses to this outrageous accusation,” he roared. “I demand a full retraction and an immediate apology.”

“Wait a minute,” Shawn said. He touched his index fingers to his temples and fluttered his eyelids; then his eyes snapped open. “Sorry, sometimes the visions come to me as metaphors, and apparently whoever is in charge of sending out vibrations today is a frustrated writer-and a bad one, too, if we can judge by the originality of his imagery. When I saw you as a man-eating killer, that was only meant to be a representation of your ferocity in the courtroom. You are widely known as a shark, aren’t you?”

Gus could feel his heart abandon its efforts to bore a hole in his big toe and begin to travel back up towards his ankle. But even if Shawn had momentarily saved the day, or at least kept it from turning into a complete disaster, Shatner didn’t seem mollified.

“Is this the level of insight we can expect from our new so-called psychic?” he demanded.

“ ‘The Psych agency has a nearly unbroken string of successful cases.’ ” It was Tinkerbell, who was trying to look like she wasn’t reading this information from the screen of her iPhone. “ ‘They’ve solved multiple murders that have baffled the police, recovered items owners thought were gone for good, and made believers out of even the most dubious skeptics.’ ”

Gus forced himself to suppress a grin. He had just learned two valuable pieces of information. One was that Shawn had been absolutely right to pay ten-year-old Hank Stenberg to write and submit the Wikipedia page he’d just heard read back to him. More important, he now knew that Tinkerbell was no feisty rebel like her namesake. She was a calculating corporate suck-up who would say anything as long as she was sure it was what the boss wanted to hear. Gus had met plenty of this type in his other career as a pharmaceutical sales rep, and he’d had plenty of practice getting them to do what he needed. This job just had just gotten a little easier.

“Is that from the same trusted reference work that claims Jade Greenway is ‘one of America’s greatest lawyers’ and that her annoying affectation of dressing all in green is not a pathetic plea for attention but actually ‘a powerful tool in her ongoing battle for justice’?” Captain Hook sneered. “Because I read in the same entry that she admitted she dressed in green only because she couldn’t remember her own name otherwise.”

“That was cyber-vandalism,” said Tinkerbell, who was apparently also called Jade Greenway. “I made them change that the instant it went up.”

“You know she’s right,” Gwendolyn said. “The way she Googles herself, there’s no way there’s anything about her online for more than five seconds before she sees it.”

This was another valuable lesson. The lawyers were bickering like schoolchildren, and Rushton wasn’t doing anything to stop them. Gus was pretty sure the old man was waiting to see how Shawn and he would handle them. But it also told him a lot about Rushton’s management style. It seemed to be to drop a bunch of snakes into a pit and let them fight it out among themselves.

Gus glanced at Shawn to see if he’d realized Rushton was waiting for him to prove himself. It was hard to tell, because Shawn was bent over double, his hands pressed against his forehead. It was possible he was about to utter one of his psychic pronouncements, but given the bickering around the table, it was just as possible he’d developed a terrible headache.

Then Shawn straightened up and stared at Shatner. Stared and saw. Saw the ragged line of white flesh near his hairline. Saw the sharp edge of the leather watchband of his Patek Philippe. Saw the puckered spot on his silk tie and the dull spots on his nails where the clear polish had chipped off.

“The wrong ocean,” Shawn moaned. “It’s the wrong ocean.”

The lawyers snapped out of their argument and wheeled to face Shawn, who was clutching his head as if in pain.

“What is he doing?” Shatner snapped.

“I believe the metaphor has returned,” Gus said.

“I see a shark,” Shawn said. “He’s a happy shark, although it’s kind of hard to tell, since they always look like they’re smiling. Anyway, he’s king of his neighborhood, snacking on all the other fishes. Then one day he’s scooped up in a net. When he wakes up, he’s still the same shark he always was. Got the same instincts and appetites. But he’s been dumped in a different ocean. All the nooks and crannies he used to hide in to wait for his prey are gone. And the waters are filled with other sharks who are just as tough as he is, but they know the place so much better. Now every mouthful is a fight for him. Every time he spots a target, one of the other sharks swoops in and steals it from him. He’s getting hungry-starving, actually. And every day that goes by without a meal makes him weaker. If he doesn’t find a big school of fish soon, he’ll be so feeble he won’t even be able to swim fast anymore. And you know what happens then? The other sharks stop preying on the local fish and turn on him.”

Gus noticed that Shatner had gone pale under his tan. He sank slowly down into his seat.

“But why am I still talking about seafood?” Shawn said cheerily. “I think someone had an objection?”

“No objection,” Shatner said, staring down at the table.

“In that case, I believe our business is concluded,” Rushton said. “Let’s take an hour to finish up last-minute details. The chopper departs precisely at noon.”

Rushton waited until the other lawyers had left the conference room before clapping Shawn on the back. “I won’t ask how you knew Morton Mathis was a recent transfer from the Detroit District Attorney’s Office, but I will congratulate you on silencing him,” Rushton said. “It gives me great confidence that I made the right decision in hiring you.”

“Yes, you did,” Shawn said.

Something was troubling Gus. “But I don’t see what we’re going to be able to accomplish here if everyone else is leaving.”

“That’s all taken care of,” Rushton said. “There’s room on the chopper for the two of you as well. This week is our corporate retreat, a time I set aside every year so that the lawyers can bond together into a family.”

“I can see how well that’s working,” Shawn said. “They’re just like every family I’ve ever known.”

“It’s a perfect time for you to get to know them, ferret out their secrets, and report it all back to me,” Rushton said. “I want to know who killed Archie Kane.” He touched a lever on his armrest and his wheelchair glided back from the table.

“We didn’t really pack for a retreat,” Shawn said. “Unless by ‘retreat’ you mean staying at home eating Funyuns.”

“I do not,” Rushton said. “But you don’t need to worry about packing. Everything you could possibly want will be provided for you.”

“I don’t know,” Shawn said. “I can want some pretty strange things.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” Rushton reached into the leather satchel that hung from his chair and pulled out a large manila envelope, which he placed carefully on the table. “Background information on the lawyers, and a little brochure about the retreat. And if you need to make any arrangements for your sudden absence, just dial nine on that phone. I’m afraid I block all electronic signals in my conference room, so you can’t use your cells-it’s the only way I can keep anyone’s attention during meetings.”

Rushton wheeled silently to the rear door, which opened automatically as he approached it, then closed behind him. Gus reached for the envelope, but Shawn snatched it out of his hands.

“You won’t be needing any background information,” Shawn said. “I’ve already solved the case.”