His eyes were on the bottom drawer. At least part of his anger came from the fear and now the knowledge that I would stumble on his whisky collection.
I looked down at the copied key still in the lock.
He felt for his keys in his pocket. 'You son-of-a-bitch.'
He lunged towards me hands outstretched. I leaped out of the chair, but he crashed down on top of me and pulled me to the floor. I hit my head on the side of the desk on the way down. I was dazed for a moment, which was long enough for him to pin me to the ground. He pulled back his fist and I just had time to move my face as he brought it crashing down on the side of my head.
Art was a big man, and strong. I bucked and wriggled, but I couldn't throw him off. He hit me again, this time on the mouth. I writhed, and as he moved his hand to pin down my shoulder, I lunged and bit it hard.
'Shit!' he screamed, and pulled his hand away. I bucked, he lost his balance, and I pushed myself out from under him. He climbed to his feet, and stood between me and the door, breathing heavily and clutching his injured hand.
'Calm down, Art,' I said, spitting some of my blood and his skin out of my mouth. 'Sorry I broke into your stuff, OK? Just let me leave and I'll forget everything I've seen.'
Art grunted, and reached for the top drawer of his desk, the only one I hadn't checked. He pulled out a small pistol, and pointed it at me.
Jesus! 'Art… don't use that thing. It's not worth it. If you shoot me, you'll be in jail for-'
'Shut the fuck up!'
'OK,' I said, holding my hands in front of me in a calming gesture. 'OK-'
'I said shut up!' he screamed.
I shut up. I didn't know what Art was going to do. Neither did he. With the gun waving towards me, he bent down, and pulled out the half-empty bottle of whisky. Wincing from the pain of his injured hand, he managed to undo the cap and took a long slug.
I backed towards the window, where a Lucite BioOne tombstone seemed my best chance for a weapon.
'Stand still!' Art barked. He took another swig of the whisky. 'What's wrong with you? Are you trying to destroy this firm? We should have gotten rid of you months ago. I should get rid of you now-'
'What the hell is going on here?'
It was Gil. He stood in the doorway taking in the scene before him. Art, put that gun down! And the whisky.'
Art turned slowly, looked at Gil, and put the gun down on the desk. He examined the bottle, as if deciding whether to take another pull, and then placed it next to the gun.
'Will someone please tell me what is going on?'
Art stabbed a finger towards me. 'This son-of-a-bitch was going through my desk. He broke into my locked drawers trying to steal confidential information. I caught him at it.'
Gil glanced at my bloody mouth and Art's injured hand. 'Is this true, Simon?'
I took a deep breath. 'Yes.'
'You, go back to your office and wait. Art, come with me to my office. And give that damn thing to me.' He nodded towards the pistol.
I left the room as Art handed the gun to Gil.
Daniel was in the corridor staring. 'What was that all about?'
Art and I had a disagreement,' I said.
Daniel glanced at my chest. Art's right. The tie sucks.'
I ignored him and slumped in my chair, waiting for Gil's call.
Twenty minutes later, I was in his office. 'I'm very disappointed in you, Simon,' he said, staring at me from the other side of his large desk. 'We should be able to come to work at Revere without worrying about one of our colleagues going through our belongings. And you know Art's health is in a very delicate state at the moment. What were you doing?'
'I'm still trying to find out who killed Frank and John,' I replied. I had decided I shouldn't be specific about BioOne with Gil.
'Isn't that the police's job?'
'It is, but they're not doing it very effectively.'
'So you say. But it's not them I'm concerned about, it's you!' He jabbed an angry finger at me. 'I've had to send Art home: I can't have people waving guns around. I told you the other evening how important you are to this firm, how much we need you more than ever now, and what do you do? Snoop around, antagonize one of my partners, put the firm in jeopardy.' Gil was red now. I had never seen him so angry.
'Someone tried to kill me last night,' I said flatly.
'What?'
'Someone shot at me, just outside my apartment. They only just missed.'
Gil paused, at a loss for what to say. Then he spoke in a low, determined voice.
'You have your problems, Simon, and I have mine. You do what you have to do, and I'll do the best I can to ensure this firm survives. But I don't think you can be of any further help to the rest of us. As of this moment, you are suspended from this firm until further notice. Please leave the building. Now.'
'But Gil-'
'I said now!' Gil stood up, and leaned forward, his hands on his desk, his whole body shaking.
'OK,' I said. 'I'm going'
28
I walked home looking over my shoulder. There was someone following me, a blonde woman in jeans and a padded jacket. She was about thirty yards behind me, making no real effort to stay hidden. A policewoman, I presumed, although it annoyed me that I couldn't be sure. I turned and waved at her. She stopped, lit a cigarette, and watched me.
My emotions were a turmoil. My confrontation with Art had played havoc with my already frayed nerves. Having an angry alcoholic waving a pistol in my face had scared the hell out of me. Art was unstable and dangerous, certainly to himself, probably to me.
But I also felt angry with Gil. I understood his point of view. Going through your colleague's desk was not something that he expected of his people. Revere was in severe trouble, and I wasn't helping much. He had been decent to me, and I had let him down.
But Gil's support was important to me. He had trusted me when others hadn't, given me his backing when I needed it most. He was a decent man, and I respected him. And now he wanted nothing more to do with me.
I didn't know whether Gil would have me back. I enjoyed working at Revere, and I didn't want to leave, especially not this way. A month ago, Revere had meant everything to me. It was still important: a link with an untroubled past. The future didn't look good. No wife, no job, and unless I was very careful, a bullet in the head. I couldn't afford to sit around. I had to get whoever had killed Frank and John before they got me. Only then could I hope to get my life back into some kind of order.
When I arrived home the light on my answering machine was flashing. For a foolish second I thought it might be Lisa. It wasn't.
'Hi, Simon, it's Kelly.' Her voice, usually strong and confident, was subdued. 'I called you at work, but they said you'd left for the day. I'd like to talk to you if I can. Give me a call.'
I dialled Boston Peptides' number straight away, and was soon put through. Kelly wouldn't say what she wanted to talk about. We agreed to meet for lunch at a cafe near Harvard Square, safely out of reach of her work colleagues.
It was a vegetarian establishment, infested by students. Although I was early, Kelly was already waiting outside, nervously smoking a cigarette. We muttered greetings and then joined the end of the queue at the food counter in silence. I chose a salad, and Kelly some kind of quiche, and we sat down at the only free table.
Kelly pulled out a cigarette, and then put it away again before the waiter had a chance to assault her. 'I shouldn't have come,' she said.
'I'm glad you did.'
'Lisa wouldn't want me to talk to you. Neither would Henry.'
'You must have a good reason.'
'I think I have.'
I waited. Kelly picked at her quiche.
'Lisa's in a bad way, and she holds you responsible.'
'I know.'
'I've been thinking a lot about it,' Kelly said, 'and I'm not sure she's right. I kind of trust you. And I think you should know what Lisa was worried about. What got her fired. I don't care what you do with the information as long as you don't use it against Lisa. Or me. You never heard any of this from me, OK?'