A Long Line of Dead Men

"So it's hardly surprising they're as yet unanswered. There's another question which I would certainly call a major one, although it's less a matter for investigation than for decision. Is it time for us to go public? Have we gone as far as we can reasonably expect to go with a discreet, low-profile investigation?"

"That's a big question," I agreed. "But it's not one for me to answer. I'm glad there'll be eight of you at Gruliow's house Tuesday. I'd rather there were more. I wish you could all be there."

"So do I."

"Because the question of where we go from here is one of the things you'll have to decide," I said. "And I guess that's when you'll have to decide it."

I spent the rest of the day in my room at the Northwestern. Every hour or so I tried the number in Forest Hills, and each time it went unanswered. I made other phone calls throughout the day, and watched the Yankees on the MSG channel. (Elaine asked me once, in all apparent seriousness, why they had named a cable channel after a food additive. Madison Square Garden, I told her. Oh, she said.) Wade Boggs tied it for New York with a rare home run in the top of the ninth. Two innings later, Travis Fryman hit a hard grounder down the third-base line. Boggs bobbled it, then threw it over Mattingly's head. Fryman wound up on second and scored on a shot to left by Cecil Fielder, all of which made them very happy in Detroit.

I turned off the set and the phone rang. It was Jim Shorter.

"I hope I'm not, you know, interrupting anything," he said. "But you gave me your card and said to call anytime."

"I'm glad you did," I said. "How's it going?"

"Not so bad. I haven't had a drink yet today."

"That's great, Jim."

"Well, it's early. The day's not over yet. Anyway, there's days when I don't drink at all." And, after a pause, "I went to a meeting."

"Good for you."

"I guess it was good for me. I don't know. I can't see how it could have been bad for me, right?"

"Right. Where'd you go?"

"The same place we went last night. I put a buck in the basket and I had two cups of coffee and a handful of cookies. You can't lose on a deal like that, can you?"

"The price is right."

He told me about the meeting. The crowd was lighter than last night, he said, but he recognized a couple of the same people. He gave me some highlights from the speaker's story.

"I wanted to raise my hand," he said.

"You could have."

"People who'd been sober for less than ninety days were raising their hands and giving their day count and getting a round of applause. I was going to raise my hand and say it was my first day, but I thought, shit, let me wait a few days."

"Whatever you're comfortable with."

"Maybe I'll go again tonight," he said. "Is it okay to go to more than one in a day?"

"You can go all day long," I said. "There's no limit."

"Are you going? Maybe I could check out a West Side meeting, see if there's a difference."

"I'd like that," I said honestly, "but I've got plans tonight."

"Another time, then. How's the case coming?"

"Let's say it's a slow day."

"Well, I won't keep you," he said. "Maybe I'll, uh, give you a call tomorrow."

"Anytime," I said. "I mean it."

* * *

I was crossing the lobby on my way home when I remembered I hadn't put Call Forwarding back on. I went upstairs, punched in the code, dialed the apartment across the street, and told Elaine I'd be home in two minutes. "So why call?" she said. "Oh, right. Call Forwarding."

She was already dressed when I got there, wearing the leather outfit she'd modeled for me earlier, along with more perfume and makeup than was her custom. "What I decided," she explained, "is that a dungeon is no place for understatement."

"You don't think people will be exercising a little restraint?"

"I'll forgive you for that," she said, "but only because I love you. You probably want to shower, and your clothes are laid out for you on the bed."

I showered and shaved and put on the pair of dark slacks she'd laid out for me, then walked into the living room holding the shirt. "What's this?" I asked.

"It's a guayabera."

"I can see that. Where did it come from?"

"Yucatán, originally, except I think this particular one was produced in Taiwan. Maybe it's Korea. It says on the label."

"What I mean is-"

"I bought it for you. Try it on. Let me see. Hey, it looks great."

"What are all these pockets for? And all this piping."

"It's the style. Don't you like it?"

"If you'd told me in time," I said, "I could have let my sideburns grow and grown a little mustache. Then, with just the right haircut, I could look like a pimp in a 1940s movie."

"I think you look casual yet commanding. It's a present, incidentally, but you don't have to thank me."

"Good," I said.