The Quiet Game

I hung up and dialed Ike's cell phone before thoughts of Livy could overwhelm me. I wanted to call her back and say, "Pick me up in twenty minutes." But the past had finally caught up with us, and Ike the Spike was growling in my ear.

"Meet me where I wanted to last night," he said, meaning the warehouse in the industrial park by the river. "One hour."

"What about?"

"What about? About whatever the fuck it is you think you're doing, man. This town's going crazy. One hour."

"I'll be there."

"Damn straight you will."

I've been sweating in the dark warehouse for twenty minutes, breathing the stink of fertilizer and wondering what could be keeping Ike. It's fully dark now, and the spotlight of a tugboat pushing barges upriver arcs through the night like a Hollywood klieg light, searching for sandbars and unexpected traffic. A slight breeze off the Mississippi penetrates the twenty-foot-wide warehouse door, where I stand watching the dark line of the levee, waiting for the headlights of Ike's cruiser.

I am unarmed but not unprotected. Daniel Kelly is covering me. After asking four times if I really trust Ike Ransom, Kelly parked his rental car behind the warehouse and told me to forget he was there. I parked the BMW out front so that Ike would see it when he drove up.

What I take for the sound of another tugboat suddenly resolves into a car engine. A set of headlights descends the levee, pulls into the parking lot of the warehouse, and stops beside my car.

It's Ike's cruiser.

He gets out, his brown uniform looking black under the single security light, and walks toward the warehouse door. Halfway there he stops, turns, and watches the levee for nearly a minute. Maybe he senses Kelly's presence. Whatever the reason, he resumes walking toward me. When he's ten yards away, I step into the light, holding both hands in plain view.

Ike draws his pistol faster than I would have believed possible, recognizing me just as the barrel lines up with my chest. He quickens his step and shoves me back into the shadows.

"You ought to know better than that," he mutters.

"Why are you so jumpy?"

The whites of his eyes flick left and right in the darkness. "You ain't jumpy? After somebody burned down your house and took your kid?"

"Who set that fire, Ike? Who took my daughter? Ray Presley?"

"Could have been." He holsters his pistol. "But I don't know for sure. Not yet."

"Why are we here?"

"So you can tell me what the hell you think you're doing in the paper. You crazy? Making statements like that?"

"You're the one who told me Marston was guilty."

"Jesus. Is that the way you did it in Houston? Shoutin' shit in the papers before you got any proof?"

"Take it easy. Everything's under control."

"Under control? Shooting your mouth off about local law enforcement coming forward?"

"I'm pursuing this the way I think best. As far as the newspaper story goes, I wanted Marston to sue me, and the story accomplished that."

"You what?"

"I wanted the right to request everything from personal papers to phone records from Marston under the rules of discovery."

A gleam of recognition. "That lawsuit means you can ask for Marston's personal shit? And get if!"

"That's right."

"Okay… maybe you ain't crazy. You get the judge's legal files, you're liable to find all kinds of illegal shit."

"Marston's legal files are protected under client confidentiality rules. But everything else is fair game."

"How long you got to answer his suit? At least thirty days, right? That should give you plenty of time for fishing."

"I'm going to file my answer tomorrow."

His mouth drops open. "Why you gonna do that?"

"By proceeding aggressively, I force Marston to conclude that I either have evidence in my possession, or that I know people willing to come forward and testify against him."

"But you don't."

"Don't be so sure. I'm building a case."

Ike's eyes narrow to slits. "What you talking about? What kind of case? You holding back on me?"

"What if I am? You've been holding back on me from the start."

He raises a warning finger but says nothing, and instead begins a staring contest. His bloodshot eyes are so jerky that he can't focus in one direction long, and he soon looks away.

"What are you taking, Ike? Speed? What?"

"I take me a drink now and then. So what? Have you talked to Stone again?"

"Yes, but he's just like you. Scared to tell what he knows."

"I told you, man, I know Marston done it, but I don't know why."

"How do you know, Ike? How can you know he did it if you don't know why?"

He grunts in the dark. "I know what I know. Why'd you slam Portman in the paper? You go pissing off the head of the FBI, you're asking for some serious payback."

"I did it to protect myself and my family. That newspaper story threw a lot of light on Portman. On me too. It makes it harder for him to retaliate."

"Yeah? I heard somebody tried to poison Ray Presley. Who the hell you think did that?"

"I figured Marston ordered it. You think it was Portman?"