Better Than This (33 page)

He took my silence, however, as tacit acknowledgment that he was right. His eyes mocked me.

“But I proved I was better than any of you. Look at me now. Vice President for one of the biggest agencies on the coast. And look at you. Sitting here in your fancy designer office, running this rinky-dink outfit without a pot to piss in.”

Finally I thought I saw the answer to a question that had long puzzled me, and I laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“You Dexter. When I decided to leave KCM, I thought you’d be pleased to get rid of the competition, but I remember thinking you acted like you resented me more than ever. Now I know why. It’s this isn’t it?” I gestured around. “Maybe it’s rinky-dink, maybe we don’t have a pot to piss in, but you hate it that I have something you never did.”

“This? You don’t have anything. I know you’re in deep shit remember. Your clients are leaving you quicker than rats off a sinking ship.”

“But what about before that, Dexter? It must have been eating you up the last few years, hoping like hell Carpe Diem didn’t do well.”

“Are you serious? Do you have any idea what I earn?”

“But you could get fired. And all the time you were climbing that greasy corporate pole I bet you hated it that I didn’t have to kiss ass to get ahead the way you always have. There’s always somebody one step above whose cock you have to suck isn’t there? No matter how much money you make or what fancy title they nail on your door, you’re still somebody’s errand boy.”

He stared at me in silence, and I knew I’d hit home. I could feel his anger grinding away inside. When he spoke his voice was full of venom.

“You’re wrong. Why would I want anything you have? You’re a loser. You always were. Even when you get something handed to you on a plate, you still fuck it up. Did you think you were going to get away with it?” He shook his head and clicked his tongue reprovingly.

“Get away with what?”

“Please, don’t insult my intelligence. You didn’t drive down here in the middle of the night to catch up on paperwork did you? Where is it?” He looked around and when I didn’t say anything he sighed theatrically. “The program, Nick. The one you stole from Hoffman’s apartment. I know you were there. You found his body and you took the program. You see I know it all. I know about the deal you made with Hoffman, and I know he died before he signed the contract. How am I doing so far?”

When I didn’t say anything Dexter just smiled and went on.

“You knew you couldn’t do anything with it. Hoffman’s lawyer would have seen to that so you decided to sell it to the one person who has a vested interest in ensuring it never sees the light of day. Nelson Morgan. You went to his house.” Dexter spread his hands. “Do I have to go on?”

I no longer had any doubt that he knew everything, and suddenly I knew how. There was only one way he could have known in such detail. “Brinkman.”

He didn’t bother to deny it. “Of course.”

“Let me guess. When Brinkman saw what Hoffman planned to give away, he couldn’t bear the thought of it slipping through his fingers.”

“Something like that,” Dexter conceded. “Brinkman’s a lawyer, you shouldn’t expect too much of him. Hoffman was dying, his state of mind was suspect.”

“So, how did you come into it?”

“Brinkman came to me when he learned that KCM represented Morgan Industries.”

Recalling my first conversation in Brinkman’s office I realized it must have in fact been me that put him on to Dexter. Life was full of ironies these days. “So what would have happened if I hadn’t taken the program after Hoffman died?” I asked, figuring there was no point in denying any of it.

“Brinkman would have stalled, then found a way to alter the terms of the trust.”

“And the two of you would have set up a company to market it,” I guessed.

Dexter laughed. “You see, Nick, that’s your problem. You’re not quick enough. We were never going to set up any company.”

For a second I didn’t follow, and then the light went on. “You were going to sell the program to Morgan.”

“Of course.”

I saw that though I had underestimated Brinkman’s duplicity I had at least been right not to trust him. “So what now?” I said after a while. “What’s stopping me from going ahead and selling it? You can’t prove I have it, and Morgan isn’t going to say anything.”

“True,” he admitted. “But consider this. If you suddenly come into a lot of money, Brinkman will file a suit against you on behalf of the trust. How’re you going to explain your new-found wealth? That’s if you ever get any money. Once Morgan hears the courts are going to be involved he’ll never pay over a cent. He wouldn’t want to risk getting caught up in a damaging law suit, and anyway he could afford to wait and see what happened. The case could drag on for years and meanwhile he continues selling his own program, and by the time it’s all resolved the market has moved on.” Dexter spread his hands. “Face it, Nick. You’re screwed.”

He was right, and we both knew it. “So what do you want?” I asked.

He didn’t answer right away. He sat back, savouring the moment, aware of how much it stuck in my throat to have to admit he had the upper hand.

“Firstly, how much did Morgan agree to pay?”

I considered lying, but I knew he’d find out eventually. “Thirty-five million. A mix of stocks and cash.”

“We split it,” Dexter said. “I take thirty million, you and your friends get the other five.”

I was speechless. At first I thought I’d misheard him, but gradually it sank in that he was serious. “Are you crazy? You can’t believe I’d agree to that.”

“Another thing. Brinkman doesn’t want to be involved personally, so I’ll take care of him myself.”

I guessed what that would mean. Brinkman’s share would amount to whatever Dexter decided to give him and he would never be the wiser.

“Forget it,” I said flatly. I made a fist with my right hand, sorely tempted to go over and knock Dexter on his ass.

“I don’t think you understand the situation here. You don’t have a choice,” he said. “Let’s not forget that without this money you’re finished. Your business is broke, you’re nothing but the loser you always were.”

He rose to his feet, smiling grimly. “We’re partners now, Nick. Partners shouldn’t fight over money. Five million is still more money than you would have ever made yourself in a lifetime.”

I worked it out. Five million split two ways meant Sally and I got two and a half million. We could pay off the business debts and the house mortgage but we would have to start over. There was no sense in pretending Marcus and I could ever work together successfully again, he’d made it clear he wanted me out. So what would I do? Two and a half million dollars was a lot, but it wasn’t close to what I really needed.

“I won’t do it,” I said.

He shook his head. “This isn’t negotiable, Nick. You see I don’t really need the money. I make more than I can spend now. But you do need it. The bank is going to close you down. You’ll have nothing left. You should thank me really.”

“Thank you? What the hell do I have to thank you for, Dexter?”

“Because I’m tempted to let Brinkman sue you, and watch you lose everything. That’s almost worth thirty million.” He grinned. “Almost. But not quite.”

I wanted to tell him to go and screw himself. I wanted to retain that much pride, but the fact was he had me and we both knew that I had no choice.

“Last chance,” he said.

I swallowed hard. “All right.” The fight and anger went out of me. Maybe Dexter was right, maybe I was a loser. Everything I touched turned to dust in my hands. Perhaps it was a family trait.

“Very sensible.” His eyes were alight with triumph. “A person should understand their own limitations.”

I followed him out to reception where I unlocked the door and we stepped out onto the landing at the top of the steps.

“You know what your trouble is, Nick,” Dexter said, turning towards me. “You know why I always come out on top when I’m up against you?” He grinned. “It’s simple. You don’t have it. You don’t have that killer instinct. You dress in your designer clothes, and you talk the good talk, but in the end you’re like all the rest. You know what makes the really successful stand out from the common herd? I’ll tell you. We do whatever it takes to get ahead. It’s the difference that sets us apart. And you, Nick, you don’t have it. In the end you’re another loser punching the clock. And you know what else? If it wasn’t for me, you’d screw up this deal too somewhere along the way. It’s a certainty. You ought to thank me for saving your skin.”

I should have hated him for rubbing my nose in it, and part of me did. But I had no energy for verbal boxing. I consoled myself with the knowledge that at heart Dexter would always be a sad figure, weighed down by his malevolent spite against a world he believed had treated him wrongly. Even though I imagined thirty million dollars would help him to get over it.

He laughed quietly and turned away. But as he did he stumbled. Perhaps it was the dim light that made him miss his footing. I was behind him as his hand flew out and grabbed the rail but somehow his fingers slid free and he twisted around towards me. For a second he teetered on the edge of the step, both arms held out high and away from his body in a precarious act of balance. It had happened in a second, even less than that. It was only then, at that moment as we faced each other, that his expression really changed. Panic and fear flashed in his eyes with the understanding that the slightest movement could cause him to overbalance. He was poised absolutely at the furthest limit of his centre of gravity. A millimetre, a sudden breath, would be enough to tip him over. His mouth gaped, his eyes widened in a silent plea, his outstretched fingers twitched infinitesimally as if clawing the air for purchase. I could have reached out and without the slightest effort helped him. But I hesitated.

Comprehension and accusation flooded his expression. And then he was gone.

He didn’t scream, or even cry out, though I heard an exhalation that sounded like acceptance. “Oh.”

He fell away, succumbing to gravity. He hit the steps and momentum carried his heels over his head. I saw the soles of his expensive shoes flash in front of my eyes and he did a backward roll and fell again, half standing on the way. I think he was still all right at that point. Bruised, and winded no doubt, but when he went over again there was a sound like an unripe melon being dropped from height onto a hard surface. It started as a thud but ended with a pulpy softness. I think I looked away. There were more thuds and soft bumps and a clatter which must have been his heels on the metal tread. Then silence. Total, utter, silence.

When I looked, he was sprawled on his back, legs and arms akimbo, half on the steps, half on the metal landing below. I couldn’t tell if there was any blood, but he made no audible sound and he didn’t move at all.

I don’t know how long I stood at the top of the steps looking down at Dexter. Probably it was no more than half a minute at most. I kept thinking about that split second before he fell, when I could have saved him and I didn’t, and the mute accusation I’d glimpsed in his eyes. Why hadn’t I reached out? Was it because I froze, my reactions just not fast enough? Or had I made a deliberate decision not to help him? It happened so fast I told myself, that I would never know for sure, but I wasn’t convinced. The instinct to reach out should have been automatic, not requiring conscious thought. I might even have started to move, the impulse that originated in my brain firing off electrical messages to nerve receptors in my muscles, but even as my hand twitched my brain had sent another message that said, wait up!

Let’s think about this for a moment.

What if he fell? What then?

And that was as far as it got because by then my hand had been stayed and he was gone.

I went back into the office, leaving Dexter lying where he’d fallen. I poured myself a stiff scotch which I drank quickly, and then another which I took my time over. At one point I picked up the picture of myself and my dad, wondering what he would have made of all this. But when my eye fell on the one of Sally I didn’t have to ask myself the same question. For perhaps half an hour I sat in the darkness. It occurred to me eventually that Dexter might still be alive, though he’d looked dead enough from where I stood. But still, he could be critically injured and every minute that passed might lessen his chances. I thought I ought to pick up the phone and call for an ambulance, but I didn’t move.

When my mind began to function again, I considered the position I was in. To all intents and purposes I was home asleep next to Sally. Nobody knew I’d driven to the office in the middle of the night and I assumed nobody knew Dexter was there either, since it wasn’t something he’d planned. Following on from that I reasoned that if he wasn’t found there, I wouldn’t have to answer a lot of awkward questions about what happened. The best thing would be to move him. Let him be discovered someplace where it looked as if he’d had some kind of accident. I saw right away that the problem with that idea was there was no way I could do it alone. His car was outside. Maybe I could get him to it, and drive him somewhere, but then I would have to get back without being seen to retrieve my own car and get home before Sally woke in the morning. I looked at my watch. It was already two-thirty. There was no time.

It didn’t take long to run through my head the people I knew who might be willing to help me dispose of a dead body. There was Marcus, who I rejected straight away. Even if I explained that it was an accident he would tell me to go to the police. It wouldn’t do any good to point out that if questions started being asked, which they undoubtedly would, sooner or later Brinkman was going to get scared and come forward and then the whole deal with Morgan and the money would come out. Marcus might even wonder if Dexter’s death was really an accident. Perhaps there had been a time when that possibility wouldn’t have occurred to him, but back then Dexter wouldn’t have fallen anyway, because I would have reached out and stopped him.

After Marcus I thought of Sally. For about a second and a half. And that was the end of the list.