Trust Your Eyes

FIFTY-EIGHT

It can’t mean anything, Howard thought, moments after he’d finished talking to Lewis. He paced the floor of his brownstone living room, trying to think it through.

That call to the Kilbride house from someone claiming to be Bill Clinton was no doubt what Lewis believed it to be. A crank call. Or it could even be that it was Bill Clinton, just not the Bill Clinton. Howard himself knew a Franklin Clinton, a Robert Clinton, an Eleanor Clinton. Promise Falls probably had half a dozen Bill Clintons. Every town in America probably did.

And as worried as Howard was about the CIA’s possible involvement in his and Morris’s troubles, it made no sense at all to him that a former president would in any way be involved. That seemed even more preposterous than a Vermont illustrator doing undercover investigative work.

Soon enough, he’d be able to sort it out, once he was able to ask Ray Kilbride and his brother questions face-to-face. He had every confidence that Lewis, and this woman who’d botched things in the first place, and whom Lewis had brought along for this assignment, would be able to persuade them to talk.

Howard wondered about that, about why Lewis had brought her in for this-Howard sincerely hoped-last step in tying up any loose ends in this unfortunate mess. But he had a feeling. Now that this matter was coming to a close, Lewis was going to settle things. The woman’s error had caused them all a great deal of grief. Howard had known Lewis long enough to know that he couldn’t let that go.

Lewis would do what he felt he had to do. And Howard didn’t need to know about it.

NEARLY three hours later, another call from Lewis. “We’ve arrived.”

“I’ll be there shortly,” Howard said.

They’d gotten into the city late, behind schedule. Howard was not going to be able to have his meeting with Morris Sawchuck. He’d call him from the car to cancel.

Howard stepped out onto the front stoop of his Eighty-first Street brownstone. His black Mercedes was parked just up the street. He walked to it and, standing by the driver’s door, got out his cell phone and called Morris.

“Hey,” Morris said. “I’m on my way.”

There were muffled driving sounds in the background. He’d be in his town car, with his driver, Heather, who was available to chauffeur him around whenever he needed her, 24-7.

“I’m sorry, Morris, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to reschedule.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’m a little under the weather. Might be the flu. Let’s talk in the morning. Maybe we can do this tomorrow night. A hundred apologies.”

“Sorry to hear that. I was looking forward to this, but if you’re sick, you need to take care of yourself.”

“Thank you. I’m grateful for your understanding.” Howard forced a chuckle. “Our plans for world domination will hold until tomorrow.” He opened the driver’s door, slipped in behind the wheel, the phone pressed to his ear the whole time.

“Of course,” Morris said. “We’ll talk then.”

Howard ended the call, tossed the phone onto the leather passenger seat, pulled his door shut. He keyed the ignition and took off down the street.

HEATHER was just turning the town car onto Eighty-first when Morris, in the backseat, was telling his friend to take care of himself, that they would talk the next day.

Heather said, “Isn’t that Mr. Talliman up ahead, sir?”

Morris shifted to the center of the seat and peered through the windshield, saw Howard’s car pulling away from the curb.

“Yes,” Morris said. “He certainly appears well enough to drive.”

“Would you like me to pull up alongside him?”

Morris only had to think for a second. “No. No, we won’t do that.”

“Home, then?”

“No,” he said. “Let’s see where he goes.”

Which they did. All the way downtown to East Fourth Street. Howard parked his Mercedes at the curb and walked up to the front door of a darkened shop. There was an alley to the left of it, and a white van parked there.

“What is that place?” Morris asked. His eyes weren’t as sharp as they used to be, but Heather was an owl at night.

“Ferber’s Antiques,” she said. Even though the display window was unlit, she said she thought she could see a variety of children’s toys. The kinds they didn’t make anymore. Metal cars, old trains, what looked like a Meccano crane, a Rock ’em Sock ’em Robots boxing game.

“What the hell is he doing at a toy store in the middle of the night?” Morris said. “The place is closed.”

“Yes,” Heather said, “but someone’s there. A light just came on in the back. More like just a flicker, really.”

Morris watched as someone unlocked the door, opened it wide enough to allow Howard to slip inside, then closed it after him. A moment later, another flicker of light, like a curtain was moving from side to side, and then the shop went dark.

“We’ll wait,” Morris said.