wfl Brazil was thinking about the deal he had made with Hammer as he flew through his story. Still in uniform, he sat before his computer, fingers dancing as he typed and flipped through his notepad. He included incredible detail about this night's Black Widow killing.
With photographic total recall, he showed what was inside the car, describing bloody money, and what the police and medical examiner had done, and how violent death felt and smelled and looked. His piece was graphic and moving, but it did not include the victim's identity. Brazil kept his word.
This was very stressful for him. The journalist in him screamed that he had to print the truth, whether it was known for a fact. Brazil was honorable. He could not betray the police. He assuaged himself with the reality that Chief Hammer would never screw him, and he knew that West wouldn't. Brazil would get his quote tomorrow at 5 p. m. " and no one, especially Webb, would catch on until they read it in the Observer the following morning.
v9 Webb had just come on the air for the eleven o'clock news when Hammer walked into her husband's bedroom. Her heart slowed a little when she saw no blood. Nothing, in the least, stood out. Seth was on his side, head deep in the pillow. Webb's voice was unusually solemn, the killing the lead story.
'. the shocking revelation in this night's tragedy is that the victim is believed to be Senator Ken Burton. "
Hammer turned to stone, riveted to the TV. Seth sat straight up in bed, startled.
"My God," Seth exclaimed.
"We just had drinks with him last month."
"Shhhhhhhhh," Hammer silenced her self-destructive husband.
'. once again, the peculiar symbol of an hourglass was spray-painted on the body. Burton was believed to have been shot at close range with a high-velocity hollowpoint ammunition known as Silvertips. "
Hammer snatched up the portable phone from the table by Seth's bed, where there were three Miller Lite cans and a glass of what looked like bourbon.
"Where's my.38?" she said to him as she dialed.
"Got no idea." He could feel the revolver between his legs, which was not an ideal place for it. But it had rearranged itself when he had fallen asleep.
"Sources say his briefcase, tote bag and suit bag were rifled through inside the rental Maxima. Butler had picked up the Thrifty rental car at five-fifteen this afternoon. His money was gone, except for bloody change found under his body. Blood money, as the Black Widow claims number five. " Webb's voice lowered, resonating tragic irony.
Brazil was getting his fix of press room sound and fury, and therefore was not at his desk to receive Hammer's call. He watched thousands of newspapers speeding on a conveyor belt. His front page headline was an inch high and blurred, but he could still read it from where he stood.
BLOODY MONEY BLACK WIDOW CLAIMS NUMBER FIVE
He couldn't quite make out his byline, but he knew it was there.
Workers dozed in chairs, waiting for technical problems. Brazil watched one-ton newsprint reels eerily floating up from underground, carried slowly along tracks past barrels of liquid alum, and vats of yellow, red, blue and black ink. Metal clanked as dollies carried newsprint that reminded him of giant rolls of toilet paper. He wandered to the mail room, staring at palates of bundled papers, listening to the loud click-clicking of the Muller Martini machine feeding inserts into papers as a belt carried them into the counting machine. His enthusiasm had left him, for some reason. He felt listless. He was restless, nocturnal again, and still sort of offline in a way he did not understand.
It was a sweet-sick feeling. His heart was heavy and ached, and when he thought of that beefcake paramedic winking at West and looking at Hammer with lust in his eyes, Brazil felt a tightness and a rage. He felt fright. He experienced the same weak, chilly sensation he associated with barely escaping a car accident or almost losing a tennis match. Was it possible either woman might like Raines, that meatloaf of a paramedic who had to have a meager mental bank account to spend so much time working out? Of late, Brazil recently had caught the rumors about Hammer's pitiful marriage to a fat guy who was unemployed. A dynamic woman like her would have needs and urges. How did Brazil know that she might not go for it, and decide to meet Raines somewhere?
It was important for Brazil's peace of mind and spiritual development that he know Hammer had, in fact, driven straight home. He could not trust her unless he knew, with certainty, that she would not betray him and the world by stooping so low as to sneak around with Denny Raines. Brazil drove quickly through Fourth Ward. He was stunned to see an ambulance parked in front of Hammer's house, and her dark blue police car gleaming in the driveway. Brazil's heart was boxing his ribs as he parked some distance away, staring in horror and disbelief.
How in God's name could she be so blatant?
A madness invaded Brazil's otherwise sound mind. He got out of his BMW and strode toward the house of the woman he worshiped but no longer respected or would ever speak to or think of or wonder about again. He would air his righteous thoughts, but there would be no violence unless Raines started it. If so, Brazil would sock him to Oz, ace him, smash him. He tried not to think about Raines's size, or that the paramedic did not appear to be scared of much. Brazil was having second thoughts when Hammer's front door opened.
Raines and another paramedic wheeled out a stretcher bearing a fat older man. Chief Hammer followed and seemed in shock, and Brazil was stunned and baffled in the middle of Pine Street. Hammer was distraught as practiced hands loaded her husband into the ambulance.
"You sure you don't want me to ride with you?" Hammer asked the fat man.
"I'm sure." The fat man was in pain and sluggish, perhaps from whatever was dripping into him intravenously
"Well, have it your way," Hammer told him.
"I don't want her coming," the fat man instructed Raines.
"Not to worry." Hammer sounded hurt as she walked back to the house.
She stood in the doorway, watching the ambulance drive off. Squinting, she noticed Brazil on her dark street, staring at her. She recognized him, and it all came back to' her Oh Christ. As if she didn't have problems enough.
"I tried to get you earlier. Give me a chance to explain," she called out to him.
Now he was completely baffled.
"Excuse me?" He stepped closer.
"Come here." Hammer wearily motioned to him.
He sat on her porch swing. She turned out the light and sat on the steps, certain this young man must think she was the biggest, most dishonest bureaucrat he had ever encountered. Hammer knew this might be the night her controversial community policing project would go to hell along with everything else.
"Andy," she began, 'you've got to believe that I said nothing to anyone. I swear I kept my promise to you. "
"What?" He was getting a very bad feeling.
"What promise?"
She realized he did not know.
"Oh God," she mumbled.
"You didn't hear the news tonight?"
"No, ma'am. What news?" He was getting excited, his voice rising.
Hammer told him about Channel 3 and Webb's scoop.
"That's impossible!" Brazil exclaimed.
"Those are my details! How could he know the stuff about the bloody money, the washcloth, any of it! He wasn't there!"
"Andy, please lower your voice."
Lights were blinking on. Dogs were barking. Hammer stood.
"It's not fair. I play by the rules." Brazil felt as if his life were over.
"I cooperate with you, help as much as I can. And get crucified for it." He got up, too, the swing moving, slowly swaying, and empty.
"You can't stop doing what's right just because others do things that are wrong," she spoke quietly, and from experience, as she opened the door that would lead her back inside her fine home.
"We've done some pretty wonderful things, Andy. I hope you won't let this ruin it."
Her face was kind but sad as she looked at him. He felt the ache in his heart, and his stomach was doing something strange, too. He was sweating and chilled as he stared at her, unable to imagine what it must have been like for her children to be raised by such a person.
"Are you all right?" Hammer thought he was acting oddly.
"I don't know what my problem is." He wiped his face with his hands.
"I think I've been trying to get sick or something. It's none of my business, but is your husband all right?"
"A flesh wound," she replied, weary and depressed again as moths fluttered past, into her house, where soon they would die from pesticide.
Misfires rarely occurred with double-action revolvers. But when Hammer had demanded that Seth return the. 38 to her, he had gotten angry and mean. He'd had enough of being bossed around by this woman, who next would begin searching him and his bedroom. There was no way out.