I pick up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Joe, it’s Kevin Wellington,” he says.
“Who?”
A sigh, and then, “Your lawyer,” he says.
“You’ve got a deal?”
“It’s your lucky day, Joe,” he says, which is good because I need to string a lot more lucky days together and this could just be the one that gets the ball falling. “Between me and the prosecution, yes, we’ve struck a deal. You’re getting immunity on Detective Calhoun if you show them where the body is. It can’t be used against you in the trial. You just have to keep your mouth shut about everything else and just show them where the body is and nothing more. Do you get that?”
“Yeah, I get it.”
“Repeat it to me.”
I look up at Adam, who’s still staring at me. I lower the phone. “It’s my lawyer,” I tell him, “doesn’t that entail me to some privacy?”
“It’s entitle, you idiot,” he says, but I’m not so sure he’s right. “I’m sure it does entitle you,” he says, but doesn’t make any effort to move.
I turn so my back is to him and talk into the phone.
“I get it,” I tell my lawyer.
“No, Joe, tell me what it is you get.”
“I’m to keep my mouth shut,” I tell my lawyer.
“That’s right. You don’t answer their questions, you don’t make conversation. And most importantly, you don’t act like a cocky smart-ass because that’s the exact attitude that’s been making life difficult.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Your attitude, Joe. You think you’re superior to everybody else, and you’re not. Your belief that—”
“Uh huh, okay, cool,” I say, interrupting him because he’s making it sound like a bad thing to be superior to other people. It’s that kind of attitude that turns small-minded people into losers. “Moving on,” I say. “What happens with the money? How do we know they’ll pay?”
“The money goes into escrow.”
“Where the hell is that? Europe?”
“Are you for real, Joe?”
“What the hell are you on about?”
“It’s not a where, Joe. It’s a what. It’s like a middleman for the money. It’s like a referee looking after it. Once the body has been identified as Calhoun, you get paid.”
“So I’ll get it when, tomorrow?”
“That depends, Joe, on how easy he is to identify. What condition did you leave him in?”
“Shit,” I tell him. “So this escrow guy, no matter what happens now, the money comes to me if the identity is confirmed, right?”
“That’s right.”
“No matter what.”
A pause, and then, “No matter what,” he confirms.
“Let’s say a nuclear bomb goes off and half the country is killed, there are dead cops everywhere, nobody to run the prisons so we’re all set free. I still get paid, right?”
“What are you getting at, Joe?”
“I just need to make sure. No matter what, I get paid. If I were to walk out of here a wanted man after I’ve shown them the body, then—”
“You get paid,” my lawyer says. “The only condition it’s subject to is Calhoun being identified. However, if you were to walk away somehow a wanted man, you’d find it very difficult to access your bank account.”
“Oh,” I tell him. “Can we get it in cash?”
“No, Joe, you can’t. And what does it matter? Are you planning on walking away a wanted man?”
“No, no, of course not. But having a bank account is no use to me in here,” I tell him. “It’s not like there’s an ATM in here. It’s not like I can offer to write a check to somebody who wants to kill me.”
“And it’s not like you can store fifty thousand dollars under your mattress, Joe.”
“Can you set up a separate account? Something under your name that I can access?” I ask.
“No. Listen, Joe—”
“Okay, then put it into my mother’s account,” I tell him.
“Why?”
“Because she needs the money,” I tell him. “Because I want to look after her. And because she visits me every week and she can bring some of it with her each time.”
“Do you have her account details?”
“She’ll have them. You can contact her.”
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll contact her tomorrow.”
“What time am I showing them?”
“Ten a.m.”
I shake my head. “Err . . . no. That doesn’t work for me.”
Another pause. “Are you serious?”
“Of course I am. Ten o’clock is too early.”
“Come on, Joe, are you deliberately trying to make this difficult? This is a good deal for you. A great deal that a lot of us had to work hard to—”
“I’m telling you, it’s too early,” I say.
“Why?”
“I’ve got interviews with the psychiatrist all day tomorrow. That stuff is important. I’m not going to risk ruining it. You warned me about that.”
“Well I’m sure she can work around it.”
I start shaking my head as if he can see me. “Listen to me. David—”
“It’s Kevin.”
“Kevin. Morning isn’t good for me.”
“Because you have other appointments.”
“Yes. This is my defense we’re talking about here. My future. It’s my life. I’m not going to mess around with that.”
I can imagine him sitting at his desk. He’s got one hand on his forehead and he’s holding the phone away from himself and staring into it. Perhaps he’s even thinking about hanging up. Or tying it around his neck and hanging himself.
“Joe, we’ve got the ball rolling here, and you’re in danger of messing everything up. What’s really going on here?”
“Nothing is going on, other than what I just told you. You’re my lawyer. You convince them that if they want this deal to go ahead, it can’t be in the morning.”
“When then?”
“When I’m done with the interviews,” I say. “Make it four o’clock,” I say.
“Four o’clock,” Kevin says. “Why four o’clock?”
“Why not four o’clock?”
“Jesus, Joe, you’re really making this difficult,” he tells me.
“Just make it happen,” I tell him. “And by the way, it’s falling, not rolling.”
“What?”
“We’ve got the ball falling here. Not rolling.”
He doesn’t answer. I listen to his silence for a few seconds, then I hang up like they do in movies all the time without saying good-bye, when both parties seem to know the conversation has come to an end.
I turn toward Adam. “I need to make a phone call.”
“You just made a phone call.”
“No. I received a phone call. Now I need to make one.”
He smiles at me. There is no warmth in that smile. “I don’t give a fuck about what you need, Joe.”
“Please. It’s important.”
“Seriously, Joe, which part of what I just said didn’t compute? Take a look at me. Do I look like I care about what you need?”
I look at him. He actually looks like the kind of guy who cares about what I need and is willing to make sure I don’t get it. If I tugged hard on the phone receiver and broke it free, I could use it as a club. I could entail the fuck out of him with it. Then the phone would be useless. Which makes it a paradox, since I need it. Or an irony. Or both.
“Please,” I tell him. “Please.”
“Tell you what, Joe,” he says, pressing himself away from the wall while scratching at one of his bulging biceps. “Have you eaten the sandwich yet?”
“What sandwich?”
“The one I brought you earlier.”
“No.”
“Tell you what, Joe. Here’s how it’s going to play out. I’ll let you make your call, and in return for me letting you do that, you eat that sandwich.”
I say nothing.