The Triggerman Dance

"Talking. Eating. Working the dogs. We rowed out to the island and had a picnic."

"Killed at least one snake," said Fargo. "That's what Val said."

"Couple hours ago."

"But you never saw Snakey?"

"No, Mr. Holt. What happened to him?"

"He disappeared."

John nodded, looked down at his Scotch. "Well, maybe he found something that pays a few hundred grand a week."

"Real fuckin' funny," said Fargo.

But Holt and Sexton were both grinning. Holt turned to look back at Fargo, then returned his amused gray eyes to John "Lane isn't—"

"—I heard a couple of gunshots yesterday morning. Maybe John shot him and dumped him in the lake."

With this, Valerie Holt sat down on a lawn chair next to her father. She held a tall glass half full of something clear that edged toward the lip of the glass before she righted it. The most graceful klutz I've seen, John thought.

Fargo, about to speak, let his mouth hang open and stared at John.

Valerie swung around to look at Fargo, her honey blond hair lifting out, then bouncing against the skin of her back. "A joke, Lane. Tee-hee. You look cadaverous. Hi, Sexy."

"Hello, your highness," said Sexton.

"What time were the shots, Val?" Fargo asked.

"I just told you it was a joke, Lane. That means I didn't hear any shots. I didn't see Snakey either, thank Goodness. Dad, give Lane a raise and see if it improves his sense of humor. Or make him work for Adam a few weeks."

"You're spicy this evening, daughter."

"Sugar and spice, Daddy-o."

"Mainly spice. Tabasco, maybe."

"Hello, John," she said, turning to face him. She was scrubbed clean as a new coin, her skin aglow, hair shining, trailing a scent that was dark and unambiguous and slid into John's head like an opiate. She was wearing jeans and a green silk blouse.

"Hello, Valerie," he said.

"What am I interrupting?"

"We're talking about the pleasures of money."

"Dad, you're not showing off again, are you?"

"Just running a little test."

"Of what?"

"John's monetary IQ."

"Well into triple digits, I'd bet."

"I was seeing if a hundred thousand a year might tempt him."

"Into what, Pops?"

"Same thing he asked."

She looked at John and smiled. "Watch out. He'll have you signed on for some boring security work before you know it. I can't see you wearing a black shirt with Liberty Operations written over the pocket, Mr. Menden."

Holt sat back with a contained smile, and a glance for John, then his daughter. "We'll resume that conversation after we visit Little Saigon tonight. After you see what we can do. Ah—m y bride has arrived!"

Through the opened sliding door rolled Carolyn, in he wheelchair, guided by Joni, the night nurse. She was dressed in her baby blue flannel blouse with a high Victorian neck, her legs covered by a blue cotton blanket. Her face and hair were done carefully. They vibrated as her chair wheels passed over the flagstone of the patio. Then her face offered up a big smile when she saw her husband, who was standing now and moving toward her a Joni withdrew to the house.

John watched them embrace. Carolyn's arms were out stretched, wrapping around Holt's neck. Holt leaned down am gathered her close. They kissed each other on the cheeks several times, then once on the lips. They looked to him like mother and son. When Carolyn sat back she arranged her hair with both hands, still smiling at her husband.

"You look wonderful tonight, honey," he said.

"I feel like a million dollars. Oh, Janice!"

"Momma!" Valerie swept over and kissed her mother. "Two million at least, Mom. I love that new blouse."

Fargo had lined up behind Valerie, his posture and expression purely obligatory. With his back to Holt, he stared frankly at Valerie's butt as she bent over her mother, then looked at John When it was his turn he offered his hand and told Carolyn she lived in a family of skinflints, hiking up her looks to a cool billion.

"She's not being auctioned," said Valerie.

"I call them as I see them," said Fargo.

"Smack your way into the family," said Sexton.

"Patrick! My Patrick!"

Carolyn grabbed her wheels and thrust the chair forward nearly spilling off the first level of the patio before John caught one tire with his foot. He smiled down uneasily, then glanced a Holt. Holt nodded.

"Hello, Carolyn."

"I got your letter."

"That's good." He looked at Holt again, who held his stare then at Valerie, who looked away.

"Did you win last week?"

"No game, actually. Had the week off."

"It seems like ages since I've seen you. How long has it been, Pat?"

Sexton's jaw dropped.

John looked over to Holt, who interceded.

"You saw him last week, Honey."

"We went shopping, didn't we?"

"That was it," said Holt, a sudden exhaustion behind his voice. "Val, arrange your mum here. I'm going to make a fresh round of drinks. John, come with me."

Carolyn smiled at John as he walked past her. "He's calling you John, now?"

"Everybody is, Carolyn."

"Kiss your Mumsey?"

He leaned over and kissed her smartly on the cheek.