“That’s pretty good,” Shawn said. “And I appreciate your effort to make me feel less guilty. But I did it, and I’ve got to take the blame.”
“Okay, then,” Gus said. “How did you do it?”
“I told Dem Bones that it was the only way to turn the auras from red to blue,” Shawn said. “Or blue to red. Either way, it’s amazing how easy it is to talk that man into anything,” Shawn said. “Can you believe some clown proposed a new business plan for the company that would drive the whole place into bankruptcy in about six weeks, and because it was delivered with passion, Dil Bert was ready to sign off on it? You can thank me for talking him out of that particular bit of madness.”
This couldn’t be happening. First Shawn had taken credit for Gus’ promotion; now he was proudly announcing he’d just destroyed Gus’ key policy initiative. Shawn had to leave, to leave and never come back. It didn’t matter if Gus was going to be lonely without him. There was simply no way that President Gus and Shawn could coexist in the same universe, let alone the same company.
“First of all, I don’t believe that,” Gus said. “I realize that in the world you’ve created in your mind, you have complete control over everything and everyone, but this is reality. This is business. And it’s a lot bigger than whatever scheme you’ve cooked up. Billions of dollars are at stake and the man who owns this company isn’t going to risk them just because you tell him to.”
“You think so?” Shawn said.
“It doesn’t matter what I think. It’s a fact,” Gus said.
Shawn didn’t respond directly. Instead he pulled out his cell phone and hit two keys. Even from where he was standing, Gus could hear the ringing on the other end of the line, then a voice answering. “Are you at the Krab Shack, D-Bob?” Shawn said, then waited for the answer to come over the line. “I just wanted to warn you, I’m getting a very negative vibe from one of the oysters there. I can’t tell you which one it is, so I’m going to warn you off eating anything in a shell.”
Shawn held the phone out to Gus in time for him to hear D-Bob thanking Shawn profusely, then ordering a waiter to remove something from his plate. Shawn disconnected the call and put the phone back in his pocket.
“Okay, so you’ve convinced him you’re some kind of psychic dining guru,” Gus said. “That doesn’t mean he’s going to take your orders when it comes to running his company.”
“No, but he does,” Shawn said. “And you know it as well as I do.”
Gus did. This was San Francisco, after all, where the question of what to have for dinner was considered far more crucial than little issues like life and death.
“Okay, fine,” Gus said. “For the sake of argument, let’s say it was your idea that D-Bob make me president. It’s done. So thank you. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that the president thing was part of the plan when I thought we were working together undercover.”
“Again, I say, what’s the big deal?” Gus said.
Shawn looked at him gravely. “The big deal,” he said, “is that the president is going to be killed next week.”
Chapter Thirty-five
Gus took a deep breath and held it in his lungs. He’d only been gone for a few months but he’d forgotten how sweet the Santa Barbara air tasted. Funny how you could spend an entire lifetime in one place and never notice how special it was until you went away.
It wasn’t just the soft breeze from the ocean or the light scent of jasmine that made this air smell so good to Gus. There was another scent. The aroma of triumph.
Gus had left Santa Barbara as a failed detective, a parttime salesman, and an all-around loser. He’d spent close to thirty years on the earth and what had he accomplished in all that time? He’d lived in a crummy one-bedroom apartment, driven a company car that was barely one step above a skateboard, and spent all his free time hanging out with the one close friend he’d ever made, arguing about nonsense and doing nothing.
Now look at me, he thought as he walked along the edge of the cliff that marked the western edge of the fabulous Zahara Resort and Spa. In a few minutes he would be striding to the stage of the resort’s conference center to be named president of the world’s largest privately owned pharmaceuticals company. He had a penthouse apartment in San Francisco, thousands of devoted employees, and a mandate to make a real difference in the world. Best of all, he wasn’t afraid anymore. Now that he knew where his future was taking him he could look back on his days at Psych without even a tremor. There was only one thing that could make his life even better, and that was the love of a beautiful, intelligent woman who would be his partner in the future.
And maybe he was about to have that, too.
He was still having a little trouble believing it. It had just happened a little more than an hour before. He’d put on his best suit for the occasion of his swearing-in, giving himself plenty of time to make sure the end of his tie just kissed the top of his belt buckle, a process that could take anywhere from one minute to an entire workday, when there had been a knock on the door.
“Come on in,” he called, assuming it was the roomservice waiter come to take his tray away. He’d been too nervous to do more than pick at the food, and normally he would have made sure he was out of the room before letting the tray go, so as not to have to answer questions about whether or not he’d liked his breakfast. But he’d left it out on his ocean-view balcony, and a couple of seagulls had eaten everything except the rind of the decorative melon slice.
The door didn’t open, but the knock came again. Gus gave the Windsor knot in his tie a quick tug into position, then walked over and threw open the door.
It took Gus a moment to recognize the woman standing in his doorway, even though he’d seen her every workday since he started at Benson. It must have been because she was wearing a long coat that came down nearly to her ankles. Until this moment Gus had never known Chanterelle to cover any part of her body lower than midthigh.
“I’d like to talk to you for a moment, Gus,” she said shyly. “That is, if you’re not too busy for me.”
“I can’t imagine being too busy for you,” Gus said.
At least those were the words his brain sent down to his tongue. What actually came out of his mouth sounded more like the distress call of a geriatric harp seal, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“Maybe we could walk along the bluff,” she said.
Gus glanced out the sliding door to his balcony and saw the palm trees on the terrace bent nearly double in the wind. If it blew any harder Gus would not have been surprised to see one or more of his elementary school teachers fly by, pedaling on bicycles with stolen dogs in the basket.
“I’d love to,” he said, and if his tongue couldn’t make his meaning clear, he managed to convey his intention by grabbing his room key, stepping into the hallway, and closing the door behind him.
“Not now,” she said, looking around as if to see if she’d been followed. “Meet me there in twenty minutes.”
Gus passed the requested time span watching an enormous seagull lift the breakfast plate in its beak, then smash it down on the table like a mussel it was trying to shell. Then, with two minutes to spare, he walked quickly through the broad avenues that wound around the resort’s whitewashed haciendas. Finally he reached a metal gate, elegantly dusted with rust to show that it dated back to the area’s agricultural roots even though it had only stood here since the resort’s construction three years ago, and passed through onto a long meadow that ran to the cliffs overlooking the ocean.
Chanterelle was waiting for him on the edge of the cliff, staring out to sea as if waiting for her French soldier to come back and make an honest woman of her. As Gus came up to her she started, then gave him a warm smile.