"Be very quiet," his father said. His father's hand was on his shoulder, rubbing in a circle, gently, like a massage, but his eyes were out toward the ramp. He looked that way, too. There was a sudden flurry of activity and then someone was coming down the ramp outside, a group of people, and the noise level began to rise.
He saw the door open and then there was shouting and the men with the cameras started to take pictures. There were bright flashes. He couldn't see anyone, only a dense mass moving slowly down the hallway toward them. His father was gripping his shoulder, but still gently. Then he let go, though his body was still pressed next to him. The mass got closer and spread out, thinning; there were people shouting, "No more! No more questions now!" and then the group was upon them and passing. Two men walked briskly past, looking straight ahead to the desk at the other end of the hall. Behind them were two other men, one of them holding the other by the arm. The other man had his head down but he raised it slightly when he was just by them. The man seemed to sense something. He turned and looked and then Jack saw who it was and his mouth opened to cry out. But then his father was pushing him back. His father said, "Now," and then he stepped forward, deliberately and carefully, and there was something in his hand and he held it up to the man's head and the man tried to twist down and away but his father pulled the trigger. There was a red flash and the man's head exploded, and then Jack was screaming, "Uncle Martin! Uncle Martin!" as the man slid to the floor and his father turned to him and held him tight as other hands reached for them.
There was an insistent buzzing sound, and then the scene receded from him and turned white. The buzz became a ringing sound. He groaned and opened his eyes. He was in his bed, in his undershirt and pants. It was stuffy in the room and he felt as if the heat had been turned up. There was sweat on the sheets where they stuck to his arms. There was no light but the red pulse of the digital alarm clock which threw a low crimson shadow against the telephone.
He rolled into a sitting position and pulled the ringing phone off its cradle.
His hand did not grip it well, and the phone fell, catching the edge of the bed. He fumbled it into his hand and put it to his ear.
Someone said, "Jack?"
"Yes."
"I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd be asleep."
It was her voice, Ginny's voice.
"What time is it?" he said, not looking at the digital clock.
"I thought you'd be up. It's about ten."
"I was tired." He waited for her to say something but she didn't.
"You called me," he said finally.
"Yes. I wanted to ask you something."
He waited.
Her voice was hesitant. "I'm leaving in a couple of days, and I wanted to know if I could stop by for those things I left."
Her voice went away from him. And then suddenly she was with him. He saw her there, on the bed, her hair framing her white face, her eyes unfocused, staring up at him, her mouth open, little whispers of panicky breath coming from her, her arms around him, pulling, pulling, trying, finally trying, both of them trying. .
"Sure," he said.
"I. . just don't think we would've worked it out."
"Impotence and frigidity aren't a very good combination. ." He added quickly, "I'm sorry I said that. I know you tried."
"I did, Jack."
"I just thought we could have fixed it up with time, that's all."
"I know. I thought so, too. But. ."
"Now you don't think so."
"No, I don't." Her voice was far away. He knew that later he would think about it, the tone of her voice, that it would hurt hearing it in his mind again.
He tried to lighten his voice. "Didn't meet some other goofball, did you? In a bus station or something?"
She was very silent this time. "There might be someone else."
"Might be?"
"I'm not sure, yet. Not sure if I want there to be."
"But you're going away with him to find out." The fighting tone was coming back, the dueling stance he had assumed with her so many times.
"That's not it. I'm going away to think about it. Meeting him just made me sure about you and me."
Hearing her voice like that, the fight drained out of him. "I think I know what you mean," he said.
"Do you?"
Again she was silent. Then, "Good-bye, Jack."
"Ginny?"
"Yes?"
He let the phone receiver nestle slowly into its berth. The line of electricity, the voice turned into electrons, was cut off.
"Forget it," he said.
The phone rang again almost immediately. He waited and then picked it up.
"Yes?"
"Mr. Paine?"
Not Ginny; another voice, cold, smooth and efficient.
"This is Paine."
"I'm Gloria Fulman." The name meant nothing except something very vague, and as it came to him she added,
"The former Gloria Grumbach."
"Yes, Ms. Fulman. What can I do for you?"
"I thought you'd like to speak with me."
"I'd be happy to see you tomorrow-"
"I'd like you to come to my hotel tonight."
"It's kind of late, Ms. Fulman. And I'm tired-"
"My sister is being cremated at nine o'clock tomorrow morning, and I will be leaving immediately afterward. If you'd like to speak to me it will have to be tonight."
"All right. Where are you?"
She told him, and he wrote it down.
"I'll be there in twenty minutes."
"That will be fine."
He put the phone down again, in its cradle, and stared at it before rising to his feet and pulling his shirt on.
SIX
The elevator rose smoothly to the fifth floor. He got off and turned left. Her suite was at the end, double-doored with a private hallway. There was a knocker on the door, and he used it. He saw the bright tiny light of the peephole darken, then the door opened.
"Come in, Mr. Paine," she said.
She was better-looking than he thought she would be. On the telephone she had sounded tall, thin and stiff, but she was short and just a little overweight, the kind of chubbiness that adds the right amount of curve to the right places. Her hair was medium short, styled high on top. She looked to be in her mid to late twenties.
She brought him into a brightly lit living room; Paine counted four other doors and an open pantry leading to a small kitchenette. She obviously liked to spend money on suites, even for one night.
"The liquor cabinet is stocked, if you'd like anything. Or I have coffee."
"Coffee would be fine."
She walked to the pantry and said something. A few moments later a young girl in a maid's uniform appeared with a tray. The service was silver; there was a platter with tea sandwiches on it.
"You don't travel light," Paine said when the maid had left.
Gloria Fulman's own coffee cup steamed untouched on the table beside her. She didn't take cream. She didn't smile.
"I have a favor to ask of you, Mr. Paine," she said.
"I'm listening."
"I want you to keep the five hundred dollars my sister gave you, plus the five hundred dollars my father gave you. I will give you five hundred dollars also. I want you to forget about the Grumbach family."
Paine said, "I can't do that. Your sister signed a contract with the agency I work for."
"I want to cancel that contract."
"Ms. Fulman," Paine said slowly, "I work for a man who won't let me do that. There are a lot of reasons. One of them is that there would be more money coming to his agency after I finished the job. Another is that he just won't let me do it."