Potboiler

“Carlotta sends her love,” Bill said.

“Same to her.”

“She wanted me to tell you that she appreciated the letter.”

Pfefferkorn said nothing.

“She wouldn’t tell me what was in it. But clearly it meant a lot to her.”

There was a silence.

“I’m sorry about that,” Pfefferkorn said.

“It’s all right.”

“I thought you were dead. I’m sorry.”

“Water under the bridge,” Bill said. He tossed the book back on the bed. “You want to get out of here?”

“Sure.”

They headed down to the beach. It was a cool day. The light was flat and even, sharpening the gray gulls turning circles against a scrim of gray clouds. Flaking pangas lay like casualties in the sand. The wind came whipping off the water, driving back Bill’s hair and causing Pfefferkorn to snuff brine through his sinuses. They had walked perhaps half a mile when the hour began to toll, nine rich peals.

“You’re back together, then,” Pfefferkorn said. “You and Carlotta.”

“Well, yes and no. More no than yes. I’m sort of in limbo, myself.”

“What happened to you?” Pfefferkorn asked.

Bill shrugged. “I said the wrong things to the wrong people. Someone decided I was no longer reliable. Next thing I know, I’m treading water in the middle of the Pacific. Five and a half hours. I got very, very lucky someone happened by. Terrible sunburn. Hurt for weeks.”

“What did you do to piss them off?”

“I wanted to write a book,” Bill said. “A real one.”

“Carlotta mentioned something about that to me.”

“She did, did she.”

“She said you were working on a literary novel.”

“‘Working’ is a bit of an exaggeration.” Bill tapped his forehead. “Still all up here.”

“What’s it about?”

“Oh, you know. Trust. Friendship. Love. Art. The difficulty of meaningful and lasting connection. I don’t have much in the way of plot, yet.”

“It’ll come to you.”

“Maybe,” Bill said. He smiled. “Maybe not. That’s part of the adventure.”

For the first time, Pfefferkorn noticed that Bill had gotten rid of his beard. He had not seen him clean-shaven since college.

“You look good, too,” Pfefferkorn said.

“Thanks, Yankel.”

The surf surged underfoot.

“So how come you’re not in hiding, like me.”

“I was, for a long time. They found me. They always do.”

“And?”

“I guess they felt bad about the way things ended, because they invited me to come back on board. They even threw me a bone and said I could write whatever I wanted. Clean slate.”

“Good deal.”

“There’s a catch.”

“I would assume so.”

“They want me to prove my loyalty,” Bill said.

Pfefferkorn snorted. “Figures,” he said. “How.”

The gulls banked sharply and dove, screaming, toward unseen prey.

“You have to leave town,” Bill said.

Pfefferkorn smiled at him strangely. “What?”

“Listen carefully. You have to go. Today.”

“Why would I do that?”

“And you have to stop calling her.”

Pfefferkorn slowed and turned and faced him.

“That’s how they found you,” Bill said. He came in close, taking Pfefferkorn’s sleeve in his hand, speaking quickly and quietly. “They mapped all the places you’ve called from and triangulated.”

Pfefferkorn regarded him as one regards a madman.

“No calls,” Bill said. “No books. You get on a bus and you go somewhere. Don’t make friends. You stay out of sight as long as you can and then you get on another bus and repeat the whole process over again.” He pulled tighter on Pfefferkorn’s bunched sleeve. “Are you hearing me? Not tomorrow. Today. Do you understand? Say something so I know you understand.”

“They asked you to do it,” Pfefferkorn said.

“I checked the bus schedule. You can be gone by sunset. How much cash do you have?”

“They really did. They asked you.”

“Answer me. Cash. How much.”

Pfefferkorn shook his head admiringly. “Unbelievable.”

“Stop talking and listen.”

“The chutzpah . . . Unreal.”

“You need to listen. You need to concentrate.”

“Let me see,” Pfefferkorn said. “They said something about a ‘loose end.’”

“You’re not listening.”

“‘We’ve got a loose end we need you to tie up.’ Is that right?”

“Christ, Art, who cares? That’s hardly the point.”

“So? What did you tell them?”

“What do you think I told them? I told them I’d do it and then I came straight here to warn you. Now can we be practical for a minute here?”

Pfefferkorn pulled away from him. He put his hands on his hips and looked out at the ocean.

“I don’t want to leave,” he said. “I like it here.”

“That’s not an option.”

“Anyway, I hate the bus.”

“For God’s sake. Be reasonable.”

“Let’s not talk about it right now,” Pfefferkorn said. “Please?”

“This isn’t the time to—”

“I know,” Pfefferkorn said, “but I don’t want to talk about it. All right?”

Bill stared at him.

“Let’s talk about something else,” Pfefferkorn said.

Bill said nothing.

“Let’s talk about the old days.” Pfefferkorn smiled. “We had some fun, huh?”

Bill said nothing.

“Play along, would you,” Pfefferkorn said.

Bill continued to stare at him.

“Remember that time I was driving your car and got pulled over?” Pfefferkorn asked.

Bill’s face softened, just perceptibly.

“You remember,” Pfefferkorn said.

“We can’t talk about this now.”

“I want you to tell me if you remember.”