The Triggerman Dance

The wind yanked the cocktail napkin from Thurmond's hand. "Heck of a night for outdoor dining, I'd say."

His wife untangled a strand of long dark hair that had blown into her lipstick. "Damn Vann doesn't have the brains he was born with."

"What makes you think he was born with any?" asked Fargo, his smile putrid as always and his short black hair peaking down over his forehead. He wore a black silk jacket, adorned with images of shrunken heads, over his invariable black t-shirt.

"He is keeping you around," said Laura, solicitously.

"Why wouldn't he?" asked Fargo. He acted affronted at first, then John saw it was not an act at all. Fargo caught him noticing this, then covered up by sipping his beer.

"John," said Laura, taking his arm, "I'd like you to meet Scott and Mary Holt of Salt Lake City. Scott is Vann's older brother."

Scott offered John a grave smile and a gentle handshake. He was a shorter, leaner version of his brother, with the same prying gray eyes, stubborn jaw and abundant gray hair. He looked to be ten years Holt's senior. His wife was broad-faced and handsome and smiled at John as if he had done great things in life. They both held glasses of what looked like sparkling water, with lime wedges afloat on the ice.

"Just in for a visit?" John asked.

"Well, quite frankly, we don't quite know why we're here," said Scott.

"Vann practically had to beg him," said Mary.

"That's not true, Mary."

"I mean . . . L.A.'s not our favorite place."

"Pat! Pat!"

John caught the aghast expressions on Scott's and Mary's faces as he listened to Carolyn's voice, hesitated, then turned to greet her.

"Hello, Mrs. Holt."

"Oh, don't you Mrs. Holt me, my clever little prince. Kiss, my son?"

John bent over and kissed her, then stood and awkwardly shook her hand.

She looked up from her wheelchair at Scott and Mary, an expression of confusion on her face. "I'm so sorry, but we haven't met, have we?"

"Scott," said Scott. "We just—"

"—and I'm Mary, Carolyn. Nice to meet you, again."

"Oh, of course. The Ides of March. How could I be so forgetful? You remember my son Patrick, of course? Back from the White House?"

"Well, sure we do," said Scott, casting John a look of profound doubt. "Um-hm. The White House?"

"Well, you know," said John.

"Top secret," said Carolyn. "Where on earth has my president gone?"

"He'll be right out, Mrs. Holt," said Joni, putting her hands on Carolyn's shoulders. "Here he comes, right now!"

Grateful for the diversion, John turned to watch. Holt walked across the lawn buttoning his blue blazer, looking out toward the ocean, lifting his nose like a dog to smell the air coming in from miles away. He moved deliberately, like a man willing to learn something with every step. He looked positive and alert, but preoccupied. John could see the worry lines in his forehead and the inward cast of his eyes as he stepped under the canopy, nodded to Fargo and Laura, then came toward the bar.

John moved to the edge of the canopy away from the house and watched the flat-bottomed crescent of a sun evaporate into the ocean. As always he waited for the flash of green; as always it failed to show. He walked out onto the lawn. To the north he could see the Valencia groves shimmering in the wind and the fading light. The western hillsides were autumn yellow with patches of green in the tight, shaded folds. The lake was buffed to a dull silver patina by the wind and the big Norfolk Island pine on the beach swayed with each gust. John imagined the wind whistling through Rebecca's bones, and then he unimagined it.

Adam Sexton walked up with a lovely blond woman he introduced as his wife, Odessa. She offered her hand and John shook it.

"Did you get my message?" Sexton asked.

John nodded. "Not sure what you were after."

Sexton looked at Odessa, then took John's arm and guided him outside the shade of the awning and into the sun. His voice was confidential now with none of his usual swagger.

"All I'm hearing is good things about you from Vann. He's taken. I think his daughter might be, too. I just want you to know that you've got a friend in court. I want you to know I believe you'd be good here. Whatever you're doing, you have my endorsement."

"What do you mean, doing?"

"Everybody's doing something. It's all a game. Everything. That's just a fact of life."

Sexton looked at him with an odd expression, a mixture of acknowledgment and acceptance. "So, whatever your game is, keep it up and play it well. There's room on Liberty Ridge for good people. People like you."

"Thanks, Adam."

"Keep your eye on Fargo, if you aren't already." With that, he clasped John's arm and returned to Odessa.