The General and the Horse-Lord (21 page)

J
OHN
called Charles Lathrop and told him he would be in Santa Fe and would like to come see him.

“I want to see you too, John. The kettle is set to boil over this mess. I talked to George Fox last night. He sounded like he’d been into the scotch, but I’ve never known him to drink.”

“He had a blowup with Wainright. Maybe I’ll see if he wants to come with us?”

“Sure, sure. Who else you bringing?”

“Gabriel Sanchez. My faithful consigliere.”

“Oh, God. Now we’ve got the lawyers involved! Can you be here for lunch? I can probably take you boys out to lunch, so we can have a glass of wine and figure out a solution like civilized men.”

John thought about Cody Dial, on his way to Elephant Butte to see Brian Walker, and about Billy Dial’s young face. “Sounds good. Always best to stay civilized.”

Gabriel was shaving in the bathroom. John leaned against the counter. “Bad news. We can’t take the chopper up to Santa Fe. We need to take George Fox with us. Lathrop wants us to come for lunch. Can you be gone from work all day?”

Gabriel nodded. “No problem. I’ll do some work tonight.”

“You’re putting a lot of time into this.”

“Seems unlikely I’ll ever be a wealthy barrister. I actually like the knuckleheads I end up defending. I wasn’t expecting that. But they don’t have any money. You don’t mind, do you?”

John was surprised. “No, of course not. You’ve never been about money, and neither have I. We should have enough, don’t you think?” He grinned at the sudden sharp pain in his gut. “Unless they take away my pension.”

“Over my dead body,” Gabriel promised. “Actually, I’m feeling quite free all of a sudden of the burden of giving Martha everything I have. I was planning to slave for the rest of my life to make it up to her, you know? Give her everything I had, other than myself. Now I think, screw it, she can go back to work like the rest of America and learn to live on a budget.”

“She’s a teacher, right?”

“Yep, and as far as I know, she’s maintained her credentials, though she hasn’t worked as a teacher since Juan was born. That little stunt just cost her half my retirement and half the equity in the house.”

“Wear your Matrix-ninja killer suit today, okay?”

“You bet. I’m in the mood to kick some ass.”

G
EORGE
F
OX
had been at the scotch the night before, but he was smooth and in control when they picked him up, just a tiny bit of bloodshot to the eye. They were both wearing navy-blue suits, George with a red tie and John with a blue. George put a drop of Visine in each eye, blotted them with a tissue. They smiled at each other. They were ready for battle.

Dr. Charles Lathrop was a large, charming man who loved to eat and drink, and he’d booked a table at The Plaza Cafe. “John! George! So pleased to see you both. And who is this?” Gabriel was introduced, and Lathrop took his arm in one of his big hands. “You have the look of a military man. Did you serve with the general?”

“I did. I retired from the army a few years ago, went back to law school.”

“What do you think of the law? Does it compare to your military service?”

Gabriel shook his head slowly. “No. Not in any way. This is my soft little retirement career.”

Lathrop looked at him in surprise, then glanced at John. “You military guys, you’re so tough! That’s why I love to see you coming into the academic world. Mix some good strong red blood in with all the blue.”

John raised his eyebrows. Charlie Lathrop didn’t come from the blue bloods. But Prentiss and Brian Walker did.

“George, I hope you’ve had a chance to rethink this resignation. I don’t know what Simon would do without you. You’re his right hand and his left hand, from what I’ve heard.”

George shook his head. “Maybe I need to find a soft little retirement career too. Something easy. Maybe I could be one of those wrestlers. What do they call them? The ones who go into the cages and fight until someone’s bloody and unconscious? That would be a nice break.”

Lathrop sighed. It was clear this was not going to be an easy lunch. John smiled, pulled his napkin to his lap. “Charles, I read that article you wrote for
Foreign Affairs
. It was a subtle rethinking about the dynamics of Cuban-American relationships.”

“Thank you, John! What have you been writing?”

“Xenophon again, off to
Monocle
.”

“Always popular. We talked before about you writing a more extensive history of military leadership. Have you thought any more about that?”

“I’ve been tied up a bit, Charles, but that’s always in the back of my mind. I’ll need a year or more to do the research.”

“Would you be interested in doing a few graduate seminars? Maybe one?”

John shook his head. “I’m not sure, Charles. Not… I’m not sure if I want to remain associated with this university system.”

That dropped onto the table like a lead balloon, and they all stared at the tablecloth in silence. Their waiter, well trained in business lunches, moved in to pour wine and take orders and get them over the next few awkward minutes.

“Thank you for the report you sent, John.” Charles put his reading glasses on, pulled out a memo pad and pen. He looked at George Fox. “And for your follow-up, George. Can you update me?”

George pulled his napkin into his lap, picked up his fork when the waiter slid a salad in front of him. “I told Simon I was going to terminate Brian Walker, as we discussed, and four hours later, Brian Walker disappeared.”

“Have you been able to locate him and deliver the termination letter?”

“No.”

“I suggest we let HR handle that from this point forward. You doing it was a courtesy, and his disappearance suggests we can withdraw the courtesy. Did Dr. Wainright say he had spoken to Professor Walker regarding the termination?”

George shook his head. “Claimed not to know anything about it, or his absence, though he did sign the medical leave papers. Maybe it happened when he was in a fugue state. Or one of those seizure disorders? What are they called, absence seizures? When you do things and later can’t remember anything about it?”

Charles sighed, tapped the pen against the memo pad. “Could anyone else have gotten the information to Professor Walker? An admin?”

“Not sure.” George ate a mouthful of salad. The look on his face suggested what he wanted to say was
I
don’t give a shit.

Charles studied him for a moment, then put down the pen and picked up his fork. “Well, HR will manage things from this point, so I feel confident our students are….” He was looking at John. “How is your salad, John?”

John hadn’t started to eat. He looked across the table, a cool gray gaze, his hands still in his lap. “Does Prentiss Walker have a reason to think he can manipulate personnel issues at the university from the board of supervisors?”

Lathrop rubbed his chin, then picked up his wine glass and took a sip. “There is certainly the appearance of inappropriate influence. I have concerns, and the governor shares those concerns. You can rest assured I’m gathering information.” John didn’t speak, and Charles gave him a crooked grin, drained his glass of wine. “He’s going to be joining us for dessert, John. You can get a look at him then.”

“Excellent.” John picked up his fork. The salad was really quite good. “I’m sorry this problem got dumped into your lap, Charlie.”

Charles shrugged. “It’s the job, I guess. I don’t know why people keep acting like fools and jackasses. I’m thinking about having one of those soft little retirement careers myself.”

P
RENTISS
W
ALKER
was a bluff, heavy man with a shock of carefully styled white hair and a face that was red enough John wondered about his alcohol intake and blood pressure. The waitstaff avoided him, leaving the hostess to greet him and escort him to their table. He looked powerful and spoiled. Charles Lathrop rose to shake hands, and he introduced the other men at the table. Walker studied Gabriel, then looked down at John. There was open derision on his red face. “So you brought the little boyfriend? He’s your lawyer, huh? Isn’t that sweet.”

Gabriel stood up, looking lean and dark and dangerous, and stood between John and Walker. “Mr. Walker. Why don’t you back way the hell off?”

Prentiss Walker grinned at Gabriel. “How’s the little wifey?”

Gabriel was as still as stone. “You’re about to make a mistake, sir, that you will bitterly regret.”

“I doubt that.” Walker turned away, studied Charlie Lathrop, then looked at John. “Now I am going to tell you all how things work in Santa Fe, and what we’re going to do about this situation, so Charlie, you can get your little memo book out and take notes.” He pulled up a chair, sat heavily. “General, you aren’t a general any longer. We don’t all jump when you yell. And you don’t come into my back yard and start spraying like a tomcat and fucking with my son’s career and reputation. So I’m going to tell you….”

John stopped listening, studied the plate of cheese and fruit. He was tired suddenly, tired of dealing with these weak men, these bullies and fools. Prentiss Walker was exactly what John thought he would be. Was there anyone who had the balls to be a better man than he had to be? He put his napkin down on the table and stood. George Fox stood, as well, taking his cue.

Charlie Lathrop looked startled. “Gentlemen, can we just sit down for a moment? Let’s not….”

John shook his head. “I don’t think that would be productive, Dr. Lathrop. You have the information you need for the governor to make a decision about this matter.” John looked at Walker, studied him as the older man’s face got redder and redder. Then he turned and walked out of the restaurant. Gabriel winked at Walker, which John thought might precipitate a stroke, and George Fox nodded to Lathrop, followed John and Gabriel out the door.

George didn’t speak until they were in the car, and John could hear the grin in his voice. “Hey, that was kind of badass, wasn’t it? I like how you military guys negotiate. So, what happens now?”

“Now we wait.” John turned from the front seat. “That was a brilliant comment, by the way. You would be a wicked good cage fighter, George.”

“Just a little fantasy of mine.”

John looked at Gabriel. He was loose as a goose, his hand riding on the bottom of the steering wheel, looking through the CDs for some music for the ride home. His shoulders were moving to a familiar tune, and he was singing “Super Freak” under his breath.

John looked back at Fox. “The best negotiation is when you aren’t negotiating.”

Chapter 17

T
HE
house was overrun with young artistic types running in and out of the garage, and John had to laugh at the noise they made, like a bunch of colorful tropical birds in too small a jungle. The boys and girls seemed to be dressed in rags or maybe curtains, not quite costumes, he thought, but he didn’t want to ask and embarrass Kim by being so uncool.

John called Cody Dial, got him on his cell. “You still in town? I’m going to throw some steaks on the grill. You want to come over? We can drive down to Ho Ho’s together for this shindig.”

“I could eat a steak.”

“I think Billy is already here. He was wearing a black cape a few minutes ago when he went by on his bike.”

“A black cape? You know, his mama was an actress.”

“I haven’t talked to you for a couple of days. You happen to run into a man on a boat?”

“Such a pretty face the boy had. I offered to drop him off at the ER but he said no. I left him making up an ice pack, with blood and snot running down his chin.”

“You like sirloin?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

C
ODY
showed up with a six-pack, passed out beers, and Gabriel showed him the cold frame, with the tiny basil seedlings popping up out of the black dirt.

He twisted the top off a beer. “I could use a couple of these cold frames up in Cheyenne. The winter gets ugly. You use wood screws to put it together?”

John had put their plates on a picnic table on the back porch so they could avoid the preparations for Ho Ho’s. Gabriel set the table, and Cody sat on the porch, watching everyone, keeping an eye out for his boy. John brought the steaks to the table when they were done, and the three of them bent over their plates.

No one spoke until the last delicious tender bite was dispatched, then Cody pushed his plate away and sighed. “You know your way around a grill, General.”

“I never asked you what you were doing now you’ve stopped bull riding.”

“Ranching. Not much else to do in Wyoming other than roughnecking. I bought scrub ranchland with the money I earned riding.”

“Cattle?”

Cody nodded. “Cattle and bison. I like those bison; they’re tough sons of bitches. We’ve got close to a thousand acres. Sounds like more than it is. It’s poor land, but we can squeeze a living out of it. My three oldest boys, they work it with me. It’s funny. When I was riding, just before they opened the chute, with that monster between my legs, I used to think, no matter what else I do in my life, it won’t be as hard as this. But I was wrong. Life just keeps getting harder. I try not to let my boys know. They’ll find out soon enough, seems to me.”