Dues of Mortality (9 page)

“
It
wasn't
all
for me, you know.”

Shaw
looked royally annoyed. “I didn't need to know that.”

Block
averted his eyes, fondling his nose with embarrassment. It was eerily
similar to how he fondled his dick in Glenda Jameson’s closet,
watching her trim body stretched out on the sofa like a sunbathing
beach bunny. How giddily unaware she was as he released himself
practically on top of her. What choice did he have but to seize the
moment? To do otherwise would have been a sin. A smirk snaked up his
lips. “Ay, I was just trying to go easy on her at first. Shit,
it’s hard enough just putting a
mark
on something that looks that good, let alone what
I
was there to do. I mean, you wouldn’t use the Mona
Lisa to wipe your ass, would you?”

“
First
of all, don't ever give me information I didn't ask for,” Shaw
said with obvious reproach. “Secondly, no matter your reasons,
you've managed to place
certain
people
in
a very precarious position. I only know enough about this case to
make some appeals to the judge, but I know more about the kind of
people you work for. My guess is they’re not very happy with
you right now. That’s why
I’m
here. Your reckless indulgence
has made people think twice about helping you.”

Block’s
neck swelled like a bullfrog’s. “Well, you tell those
certain people
that
they’re gonna be in a much more
precarious
position
if they think they’re gonna just leave me
here!” He took a moment and then said, “You think I don’t
know who he is?”

Shaw
immediately felt the sting of his ulcer. Block was about to say
something he didn’t want to hear; something...over the line.
“Mr. Block, I don’t recommend that you...”

“
Don't
think I'm just another dumb head-breaker that your boss hired off the
street.
That
you need to understand more than
anything before you leave this room.”

“
He’s
not my boss and it was my understanding that you never met him.”

Block
lilted back in his chair and gazed up at the pegboard ceiling. His
thick forefingers became drumsticks tapping out a non-rhythmic beat
on the table’s edge.

“
Now
let me see,” he said facetiously. “What was that name
again, Keller, Klemer?” His ugly eyes popped wide in Shaw’s
direction. “Kelmer! That was it, Kelmer!”

Perplexity
was spelled out in cursive on Shaw’s troubled forehead.
“
What?”

“
That’s
what the guy said his name was. He even called back while I was
there. Said he worked for Millenitech.”

Shaw
recoiled.
Wallace
.
Gabriel’s biggest and these days,
only
client worth mentioning.
Who
the hell else?
he
thought.
In Cleveland, Jerome Wallace was God...and, by
comparison, men like Shaw were but lowly pagans.
Do
I really need Gabriel so badly as to risk involvement in Wallace's
extracurricular activities
? Shaw asked himself. The short
answer was “yes”. The way things were looking, Shaw's
gravy train was about to be derailed and Gabriel's A-list clientele
was the closest and quickest way to keep the mortgage paid, the
strippers grinding and the pain-killers in the cabinet. Shaw pressed
his fingers into his eye.
I
hate Gabriel. I hate Gabriel. I...hate...Gabriel.

“
I
don’t see where this is going,” Shaw said. Perhaps he
could play it down and make Block think he had nothing to bargain.

“
Well,
why don’t you take it to your boss? Maybe he can tell you. Or
maybe I should just ask the state prosecutor.”

Shaw's
finger migrated from his eye to his temple. State prosecutor Camille
Cosgrove was no fan of Jerome Wallace or Millenitech. She was still
salty over the years of court tie-ups that were preventing her from
righteously prosecuting Wallace on the illegal dumping of medical and
radioactive waste that supposedly came from his mothballed research
labs
.
Though, Block probably didn't know that; he was just
another dumb lump of flotsam that got off on jumping into half-empty
pools. He had gotten the Glenda Jameson job through the usual
nameless, faceless contacts, probably just another loser—like
Shaw—who owed Gabriel a favor.

Block
smiled and said, “You see, while I was...'visiting' the young
lady's apartment, she checked her phone calls. She has one of those,
in-home land lines with the widescreen. Now, I didn’t see no
picture, but I heard this guy on the other end with a little
bitch-ass stutter. Said his name was Kelmer.”

Shaw
added a slow shake of his head to his temple massage.
I
hate Gabriel
.

Block
grinned with satisfaction. “Know him, do ya?”

Shaw
said nothing.

“
Anyway,
he sounded reeeeeeally nervous, like he was tryin' to warn the babe
about something.”

Shaw
turned away from Block’s bad breath.

Block
just leaned closer. “They don’t know I was hired,”
he whispered. “They ain’t gonna put it together. You
gotta figure she's already told them about the phone calls. But when
I tell them I
was
hired, man, them gears are gonna start rolling and it won't be long
before they make their way down to Millenitech’s front door.”
Block was foaming with priggishness. He grinned even wider, safe in
the knowledge that in a few hours he’d be downing shots of Gran
Platinum with a large-breasted stripper at his favorite nightspot.

Shaw
stared blankly at the table; it was the only thing in the room that
didn’t hurt his eyes now. This was going to get messy and he
was fresh out of hip waders.
I
hate Gabriel
.

“
Well,
I’ll be damned,” Block cackled, “a lawyer with
nothing to say. Will wonders never cease?”

“
Was
that all he said?” Shaw asked, knowing he’d rather drop a
firecracker down his pants than hear the answer.

“
What?”

“
The
man who called...what else did he say?”

Block
wiped his hand down his face to keep from pimp-smacking Shaw into the
corner.

“
Fuck
me!” he blared. “You still think I'm the stupidest shit
on the face of the Earth, don't you?”

You
don’t really want me to answer that,
Shaw thought.
“Look, Mr. Block...”

“
Naw,
you look muh’fucka’!” Block shot to his feet,
knocking over his chair. “I’ve told you everything you
need to know and everything you’re gonna know until I’m
on the street! Now you tell the man to cut the shit! Tell him to get
off his ass and get me out, now! Otherwise, by the time he sits down
to dinner tonight, the cops are gonna be serving him dessert!”

“
All
right!” Shaw said and felt a twinge of relief.
Let
this moron dig his own grave,
he
thought.
Shaw was basically just the messenger.
Gabriel
couldn't blame him for Block being an idiot.
It
would be easy for Shaw to cover his own
ass
and let the cow-chips fall where they may. Shaw motioned for his
client to retake his seat. “Now, if we could please finish
things?”

Block
complied, snatching the chair from the floor and straddling it
backwards.

Shaw
obligingly threw open his briefcase and began removing papers.

“
I
don’t suppose any of your arresting officers roughed you up or
forgot to read you your rights or anything?” he asked snidely.

Block
just smirked. “
My asshole
was kinda sore when I came to. You think I should read anything into
that
?”

Washington, D.C., August 25,
10:25 p.m.

Beaumont's
BMW, rented by proxy and under a false name, cruised into the motel
parking lot and occupied a space by a vending machine. The senator
killed the engine, stepped out and put his head on a swivel. He was
nervous, felt exposed. He peered up at the cloudless sky. The golden
rays of sun may as well have been spotlights. He turned and scanned
the balcony for the room number. On the far right corner of the
second story was a door with a number five to the left of an eight.
The eight was twisted on its side to resemble the symbol for
infinity. Beaumont buttoned his blazer as if he was strapping on body
armor and walked quickly to the door. He stopped in front of it and
swelled his chest. The meeting would be a tense one. He would have to
make it absolutely clear how deep in the shit they were and that
hunkering down until the heat wore off was the only real option.
Neither of them would like it. Beaumont had had the president against
the ropes, for weeks and this “misstep” with MIT had
dealt the agenda a stinging rabbit punch. The senator gave two
methodical taps on the door and three more taps after. The beep of a
code lock then sounded, followed by a click. Beaumont opened the
door, slipped in and closed it behind him.

Piss-yellow
walls and ugly carpeting stung the senator’s eyes on contact.
Two full-sized beds braced one wall while a television panel was
mounted on the opposite. Beaumont saw a thirtyish man with
slick-backed hair and deep-set eyes sitting on the bed farthest from
the door. The man's back was pressed to the headboard and his legs
were crossed at the ankles. He wore a brand new pair of jeans, a
black T-shirt and a black leather jacket. He looked like someone
who’d spent his formative years watching too many episodes of
Happy Days.
The man
was
snacking on a block of yellow cheese, shaving off one small slice
after another with a folding knife. Beaumont was about to address
him, until he heard the orgasmic moans oozing from the television.
Its pornographic display consisted of a heterosexual couple engaged
in the human rendition of a two-digit number.

“
Ross,
I see you're working hard,” Beaumont said.

“
Ha.
Working 'hard',” Ross laughed. “That's funny.” He
thought it so, not for the obvious erection pun, but because Ross was
never
not
working. If anything, Beaumont's
insistence of face-time was delaying Ross's plans. The embers of MIT
were still burning and he hadn't intended on hopping the first
red-eye from Boston to Dulles International just to hold Beaumont's
hand. Ross yawned parenthetically in the senator's direction. He then
tapped on the closed fliptop computer sitting next to him on the bed.
“Thanks for the upgrades by the way.”

“
The
software is updated from the Bureau’s tech sector,”
Beaumont replied. “It should alert you of any attempts to hack
your secured network directly or otherwise and if any such attempts
carry FBI signatures.”

Ross
lapped another cheese slice. “God, I love this stuff. Natural,
aged, Brunkow cheddar. You know it’s just about the only food
we got left in this country that hasn’t been injected with more
chemicals than a janitor’s mop bucket.” He stuck out his
arm, pointing the bar of cheese at Beaumont. “You want some?”

“
Don't
pretend this isn't important,” Beaumont snapped. Ross’s
“everything’s cool”, pitch-and-roll made him sick.
“An innocent man was killed for Christ sakes!”

“
Hey,”
Ross said smoothly. “Calm down, senator.” His steady hand
raised and lowered in the air, the tiny knife’s blade catching
the light.

“
This
is going to set us back,” Beaumont grouched. “The
biotechs are going to use this as an opportunity to gain sympathy.”
He gesticulated fiercely, his fingertips pressed against one another
like he was addressing a crowd of voters. “How did this even
happen?”

Ross
refused to answer, instead continuing, to devote his attention at the
pornography on the wall.

“
This
is ridiculous,” Beaumont said. “Would you turn that off?”

“
I
don’t see the problem, senator. Everything went off like it was
supposed to.”

“
What?
Aren’t you listening? No one was supposed to get killed!”

“
Have
you forgotten who you're talking to?”

“
That
was different! Thurman was dirt; he was selling classified material
to our enemies! If he'd have been caught he would have been convicted
of treason! And that head researcher at Jenetix knew full well what
he was doing was illegal! For God’s sake, The Pentagon had a
standing order to disavow the son-of-a-bitch if anything he was doing
for them got out!” Beaumont paused. “But that security
guard was just a lowly working stiff! You should have been more
careful!”

“
Well,
if they want the guy back so bad, I’m sure they can just scrape
up what’s left of him and make another one.”

Beaumont
look disgusted. “You have no appreciation for this at all, do
you?”