Part 25 (1/2)

I thought he was going to go all kabuki-faced again, the wrinkles coming on severely, the blood rus.h.i.+ng back, but then he croaked out, ”That's not fair.”

I stood there, waiting.

Ashton dropped to his knees. ”No, no, don't. It's not fair.”

He started crying. A hard jag, mostly silent, like he couldn't get breath. And then he sucked in loud like a dinosaur. Head buried in his hands.

I said, ”I'm sorry” again, but he didn't hear. I started for my car, my hands shaking as I fumbled the keys. I glanced at the Administration building one more time, and there was Labat out front, mullet and all, smoking a cigarette. I could tell he'd watched the whole fight. He took a puff on the cig, then lifted it over his head and gave me a fake bow. I looked away, climbed in my car, and got the h.e.l.l out of there.

Once back in Octavia's driveway, bruised, suffering, but still feeling the relief of being downgraded from suspect to ”person of interest”, I bawled my eyes out for so long, Jennings finally came outside to retrieve me.

”There, there,” he said. ”Sometimes we need to cry.”

I laughed through tears, wrapped an arm around his shoulder, and we both stood on the front steps of the mansion, weeping.

And then a swarm of Feds showed up in big trucks.

NINE.

Once again, we stood outside the house while law enforcement types wandered in and out, flas.h.i.+ng pictures, doc.u.menting everything. They were even taking some things away-computers, paperwork, some of the art and antiques-for ”further study”.

Apparently between the day before and right then, there had been so many formal complaints filed against Octavia by investment companies, insurance companies, company insiders, merchants, banks, and plenty of others who had past business with her that the IRS and Federal Trade Commission decided to move in and seize the house, plus any property that might have something to do with the insider trading and insurance fraud of which she was being accused.

Needless to say, Octavia was p.i.s.sed. But on top of that, she was powerless. Speak up and risk another arrest? Not likely. She knew that the only way to defend herself was to stay free. But as several of her prized paintings were taken out, not properly boxed, I could see the anger breaking down into remorse. She blinked away the excess moisture in her eyes and kept sniffling, leaning on the cane she had grabbed in case we'd have to stand for a long time. She'd been right. And she was still wearing her leather jacket, shapeless jersey dress, and Crocs. Strands of hair had escaped the bun and spread all over like weeds.

Jennings and I both had our arms crossed, eyes s.h.i.+fting between the ground and the parade of excess force pa.s.sing like ants between the large trucks and the front door.

”What the h.e.l.l happened to you?”

I must've been more bruised from my run-in with Ashton than I thought. ”Got my a.s.s kicked by a grieving widower.”

”Ah, I see.” A long spot of silence. ”How did your meeting with the Provost go?”

She was unusually calm, as if we were in the study discussing it over coffee instead of watching her collection be picked apart.

”They told me I'm in the clear, mostly. I just can't tell anyone. It's weird. But I guess that helps me to feel a little better.”

”It shouldn't.”

”Why not?”

”The only reason he's telling you that is so you will relax. You'll call off the dogs, believing they're not after you anymore. But in actuality, you're still in the crosshairs. It's a scam. They f.u.c.ked up once. And now they're using the f.u.c.k up to buy more time.”

”So...I'm not okay?”

”Jesus, Mick, you're less okay than you've ever been in your life.”

”He said-”

”He's a cop! What do you expect? By tomorrow, they'll come around with more questions, then more and more, and you'll feel relaxed, all the while as they slip the noose around your neck.” She craned a bit, pretending to examine my neck. ”I can see the marks already.”

I reached up for my throat. She loved that.

”Oh, wait, that's where Ashton strangled you.”

I waved my arms at the circus around us. ”You're one to laugh. I'm sure you didn't deserve any of this. Bye-bye, everything you own. Me, I'm innocent at least. You, I'm sure you don't have anything to feel guilty over, do you, Miss Lawsuit? No b.u.t.terflies in the breadbasket?”

I reached across to pat her stomach. She slapped my hand away.

”f.u.c.k you.”

”Right back at you.”

”Not even a noose, you know. A needle.”

My skin crawled. She knew I hated needles. ”No.”

”A nasty needle, and you'll be strapped down, have to watch it right before they kill you-”

I clamped my hands over my ears. Ground my teeth together.

”Hey,” Jennings said.

I was too busy saying, ”Maybe they'll put you on a diet, too. I'm sure it'll turn into a hunger strike, since their gruel won't be good enough for you.”

”How dare you! I take you into my home as a guest and you verbally abuse me like this?”

”Hey-”

I said, ”Well, it's not looking much like your home anymore, so what do I care? Now I've got nowhere to go.”

”Hey!”

We both looked at Jennings. He took a step back, then said, ”Do we need to be here for this?”

I shrugged. Octavia squinched her eyebrows.

”I mean, have they impounded the Escalade?”

Octavia said, ”If it's in the garage, it's theirs. I'm pretty sure it's on the list.”

”How about Mick's car?”

Of course. Why not? But I saw in my mind the front wheels off the ground, the back b.u.mper sc.r.a.ping the road. And both of them knew exactly what I was thinking.