"So why do I get the feeling Cheryl's got an ulterior motive?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Can't really blame her. She's got the board of directors looking for an excuse to get rid of her and Hank Bodine stirring up trouble like some deposed shah, right? But now he and his buddies suspect their e-mail is being monitored, so wouldn't it be convenient to press some junior guy into service as your own private informer-your double agent?"
I could see the flush in her porcelain skin, and I knew right away I'd struck a nerve. I'd forgotten how transparent her emotions were. She really couldn't hide what she was feeling; her face was like a mood ring. Or maybe a billboard. For her sake, I hoped she didn't have to do much negotiation in her new job: She had a lousy poker face.
She shook her head. "Boy, do you underestimate that woman," she said. "She can handle any crap those guys throw at her, believe me. This is about flushing out evidence of a crime."
"Not about flushing Hank Bodine down the crapper?"
"It's about protecting the company from a huge legal nightmare, Landry." Her tone was peevish, even brittle.
"And if that ends up with Hank Bodine wearing an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs, doing the perp walk, so much the better."
"I wouldn't mind it. Admit it, you wouldn't, either."
"I don't really give a shit about the guy, frankly."
"The point is, if he or Hugo Lummis or Upton Barlow or anyone else in the company bribed a Pentagon official to get a contract, it's going to blow up in our faces. Just like it did at Boeing."
I paused. "Is this important to you?"
"Uh-uh, Landry. Don't do this for me."
Don't do it for me," she said.
Her voice was muffled, her head under the pillow.
"You've got that big meeting in the morning," I said. "Seven thirty, isn't it?"
She was right: Her apartment was noisy, and lately it had gotten even worse. A couple of gangbangers had begun to hang out on the street almost directly below her window, jeering and laughing and taunting each other, late into the night.
A cool night: the windows open. We lay, naked, under a goose-down duvet. We'd just made love, so I was groggy, but neither one of us could fall asleep now.
"I really need to move," she said.
"Move in with me."
She didn't reply.
"They're just kids, Ali. I'll go down there and tell them to shut up. For me, not for you."
She pulled the pillow off her head, stared at me. "You're serious? Landry, don't be crazy. They'll go after you."
"I can deal."
"No way."
I was silent.
"They're assholes, Landry. Never let an asshole rent space in your head." She got up, padded over to the bathroom, returned with some orange foam earplugs, handed me a couple. They looked like little nipples. She rolled the other pair into thin cylinders, put them in her ears.
In ten minutes, she was asleep. Not me.
A beer bottle smashed on the sidewalk. A shouted obscenity.
Inside me, the bad wolf was growling, wanting to be fed.
When I was sure she was deep asleep, I got up, dressed, went down to the street.
In the yellow streetlight, the two BGs-Baby Gangsters, as they were called-were laughing, punching each other, posturing. Shaved heads or backward baseball caps, sagging jeans. I walked up to them. One of them laughed, said something obscene; the other just looked at me. Maybe they were sixteen, seventeen. Aspiring members of some Latino street gang. I'd learned to handle kids like that at Glenview.
I said nothing. I just stared them down.
The two of them backed away, instinctively. They'd seen something in my face.
I slipped back between the cool sheets, my heart thudding. A close call, I thought. Far too close. As long as I felt the need to protect her, I knew the bad wolf was going to win.
Ali mumbled in her sleep and turned over.
Oh, come on, Ali," I said. "You know that's why you brought me in. You knew I could never say no to you. Given our history."
She stared at me for a few very long seconds. "Given our history," she said softly, "I was taking a big risk you'd tell us both to go to hell." She saw me about to protest, and she quickly went on, "I suggested you to Cheryl because you're the only one I trust."
I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. She looked down, then suddenly brushed her hand along my pant leg, down my outer thigh. "You've got dog hair all over your pants."
I felt a jolt, even though I knew she didn't mean anything by it. "I should probably buy a lint brush," I said.
"My dad always said-"
"I remember. But I don't mind. It's like smelling a woman's perfume on your sweater. A nice reminder."
She smiled as if secretly amused by something. "You still going out with that blonde with the big tits?"
"Which one?"
"The one who looks like a cheap slut."
"Which one?"
"The one I saw you out to dinner with at Sushi Masa."
"Oh, her. No, that's over." I tried not to show my surprise. I didn't know she'd seen me out on a date. Was I hearing some kind of vestigial jealousy in her voice?
She nodded. "I thought you hate sushi."
"I'm not really into blondes either."
"You seemed to be into both that night. You know how many times I tried to get you to go to that place?"
"You should take it as a sign of respect and intimacy that I didn't go with you. I felt safe enough with you to reveal my true, deep inner dislike of raw fish."
"That's nice," she said dubiously.
"So, are you in a relationship these days?"
"It's been too crazy at work. You?"
I nodded.
"But not a blonde."
"Oh, this one's a blonde too, actually."
"Huh. What's her name?"
"Gert."
"Gert?"
"Short for Gertrude."
"Sounds real sexy. What does she do?"
"Loves to run. And eat. Loves to eat. She'd never stop if I didn't limit her to two meals a day."
"Are we talking eating disorder here?"
"Nah, it goes with the breed."
She gave me a playful punch, but it landed hard. A strong girl. "So, you're still working for Mike Zorn."
"Of course."
"Yeah," she said, "you wouldn't want to move up or anything. Since a promotion is a kind of change, huh?"
"He's a nice guy. It's a good job."
"I bet you still have that junky old Jeep, don't you?"
"Still drives great."
"Probably didn't even replace that front right quarter panel, did you?"
"Doesn't affect the ride," I said.
"Looks like crap, though."
"Not from behind the steering wheel."
She smiled, conceded the point. Then she said, "You never congratulated me, by the way. On my new job."
I arched my eyebrows. I can do that. I haven't had Botox.
"Right," she said. "I'd forgotten about Jake-speak. No need to say what you know I know you know, right? Like, obviously you're happy for me, why should you say it out loud? Why waste words?"
"Talk's overrated," I said. "Of course I'm happy for you."
We fell silent for a few seconds. "Is this going to be-I don't know, complicated for us?"
"Complicated? You mean, you and me?"
I nodded.
"Because we used to sleep together?"
"Oh, right-we did, didn't we?"
"I don't think it'll be complicated, do you?"
I shook my head. Of course it would. How could it not? "Not at all," I said. "So, do we know each other?"
"Huh?"
"When we run into each other next couple of days. Are we supposed to pretend that we've never met?"
She dipped her head as if thinking. "Maybe we've seen each other around. But we don't know each other's names. We've never been introduced."
"Gotcha."
We sat there for a few seconds in silence. I didn't want to leave. I liked being around her. Looking at her. Being in her presence. Inhaling her smell. Then she stood up. "I should get back to work. I have to go over Cheryl's remarks with her. So, just be careful leaving here, okay?"
I nodded, got up, and went over to the door. I opened it slowly, just a crack. I looked out, saw no one in the hall. Then I slipped out-and saw a couple of guys standing a few feet away at the top of the landing, whispering. On the other side of the door, where I hadn't seen them.