Part 27 (2/2)

”I haven't told you anything about anything,” I said. ”We've never spoken.”

”Let's be honest,” Melford said. ”There's no point in lying.”

I had no idea what I was supposed to do. Should I go along with him or not, though not going along with him would have involved exposing my connection to the murders. But there was something encouraging in Melford's eye, and I was almost certain he wanted me to keep going the way I had been.

”Look, I'm sure you're very good at your job,” I said, ”but there's some fundamental mistake here. I've never spoken to you about my work. I've never spoken to you about selling encyclopedias. And I've never spoken to you on the phone.”

Melford shook his head. ”I'm sorry I got you in trouble, but denying it isn't going to help. I think maybe you should tell us why you called me in the first place. Maybe we can hash out some of your complaints in front of these guys. In any case,” he offered with a self-satisfied smile, ”I'd like to hear how they respond to what you have to say.”

I was floundering. I didn't know what Melford expected of me. Should I keep denying the charges? Would that be enough? And why the h.e.l.l would he do this to me without giving me a heads-up?

”You need to listen to me,” I said. ”There's been a mistake.”

”Jesus f.u.c.king d.i.c.k,” the Gambler snapped. ”B.B., what do you want to do with this a.s.shole?”

The man in the linen suit looked up. ”I don't really know. I'm waiting for Desiree to call me back. I want to talk to her before I make any decisions.”

The Gambler snorted at me. ”I'm getting sick of hearing you deny it. You've spoken to him, and we know it. Now, say whatever it is you want to say so we can tell him what bulls.h.i.+t it is.”

”Well, I think maybe we should go a little more gently with Mr. Altick,” Melford suggested. ”The fact is, he was shy enough about talking to me in the first place that he disguised his voice on the phone.”

I suddenly felt like I was being prompted. ”Disguised my voice?” I asked.

”Yeah, it was a pretty good job. You sounded totally different with your southern accent and all. It was very convincing. And your lisp.”

And that's when I almost got it. I hadn't realized that Melford had overheard enough of my encounter with Ronny Neil and Scott to have picked up on it, but clearly he had. I still had no idea why why he was doing this, but at least the he was doing this, but at least the what what was clear. ”I don't have a lisp.” was clear. ”I don't have a lisp.”

”I can see that now.”

”Hold on one second,” Bobby said. ”The guy who called you had a lisp.”

”That's right.”

”Did he have kind of a high-pitched voice?”

Melford nodded. ”Now that you mention it.”

”f.u.c.k,” Bobby said.

”Scott Garland, that piece of s.h.i.+t,” the Gambler said.

”I don't get it.” Melford looked at them blankly.

”You f.u.c.king a.s.shole.” The Gambler slammed his palm down hard on the table and then jabbed a finger in my direction. ”Did you have to p.i.s.s him off so much that he'd do something like this to get back at you?”

”I think,” Bobby proposed, ”that you may be taking this out on the wrong person.” He looked at me. ”I owe you an apology, Lemmy. I should have known you wouldn't do something like this.”

”Give me a f.u.c.king break,” the Gambler groaned. ”Get out of here,” he told me.

”Wait,” B.B. said. ”I don't get it.”

”If I could suggest something else about Scott and Ronny Neil-,” I began, but I didn't get any further.

”Get the f.u.c.k out of here!” the Gambler shouted again. And I did.

From the railings I could see Chitra down at the pool, drinking a tall boy and laughing at something that Yvette from Jacksonville was saying. No sign of Ronny Neil or Scott, and I had a feeling that the two of them would be disappearing pretty soon. The Gambler wasn't going to take this lightly.

Melford's ruse had been brilliant. He'd taken the heat off me while putting it onto my enemy. Granted, this would have been a lot better if he had warned me. But maybe not. Maybe Melford could tell that I wasn't built for this kind of deception and that preparation would only have made things seem false.

None of that explained why he would bother to show up at all. To help me exact petty revenge against Ronny Neil and Scott because he'd seen them picking on me? It didn't ring true.

I glanced down at Chitra once more. I wanted to get that room with her, more than ever. But first I needed to make a call.

Back in my room, I dialed the number and a weary-sounding Miami Herald Miami Herald operator picked up. I asked if there was such a thing as a night desk editor. I hadn't known that I was aware of any such position, but there clearly was, because without responding the operator put me through to a ringing line. operator picked up. I asked if there was such a thing as a night desk editor. I hadn't known that I was aware of any such position, but there clearly was, because without responding the operator put me through to a ringing line.

In a second, a woman picked up the phone and mumbled her name with a fatigued slur. Something McSomething.

”I don't know if you can answer this,” I said, ”but I'm calling from outside of Jacksonville, and I'm wondering if you have a reporter named Melford Kean on staff.”

The woman laughed. ”Kean, huh? What's the trouble?”

My stomach did little loops. I was on to something. ”No trouble. I'm just wondering is all.”

”Kean,” she said again. ”Is he bothering you? Please tell me he's bothering you.”

”He's not bothering me. Just confusing me a little.”

”Yeah, he's good at that.”

I thought for a second. What exactly did I hope to learn? ”What story is he working on?”

She laughed again. ”What is he working on, or what is he supposed to be working on? Anything is possible with that guy.”

”But he is a reporter at your paper?”

”Yes, like it or not, he is.”

”And you don't like it?”

”Nah,” she said, moderating her tone. ”The kid's great. Just a little weird. But that doesn't mean he doesn't do a decent job, when he puts his mind to it. Or goes after the story he's a.s.signed. Or makes deadline.”

”That bad?” I tried to sound sympathetic, like the kind of person to whom she would want to open up. ”How does he keep his job?”

”This is where being a pampered, overeducated rich kid comes in handy for him. He's the son of Houston Kean, a big shot in the business community here. The guy owns about a million car dealers.h.i.+ps and he advertises a ton with us. A ton. So if the publisher wants this big advertiser's son to remain employed . . .” She paused for a few seconds. ”It's late and I'm cranky. Forget I said any of that.”

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