"I don't hear a thing," she said.
"I'm in the bedroom and the door is closed."
"Who's with you?"
"Oswald was the lone assassin. When will you get it through your thick skull?"
"There's someone with you and I don't give two shits, if you want to know the truth."
"She's a girl with lambent hair," he said.
"What else? Jesus, I mean what else would she be?"
"I'll put her on."
He carried the phone over to the rocking chair and asked the young woman to tell his wife where she worked.
"The Medical Museum of the Armed Forces Institute of Pathology."
Percival took the phone from her and walked back across the room. This time, addressing his wife, he whispered fiercely.
"See what you've done to me?"
"I've done? I've done?"
"I have no patience with this kind of thing."
"That doesn't make sense, Lloyd."
"It's all been drained out of me."
"What kind of thing?"
"I'm bone dry," he said.
He went downstairs, circulated briefly and came back up with two fresh drinks. He stood behind her chair, rocking.
"Senator, you had a question."
"It all started with a question."
"I'm sure waiting."
"Yes, yes, yes, yes."
He swiveled the rocker a few degrees to the right so that she could see him, and vice versa, in the mirror over the lowboy. He felt completely sober. He felt clear-headed to a remarkable degree.
"How would I look in a beard?" he said.
Ignoring the mirror, she glanced back over her shoulder, as though only the real thing, the three-dimensional Senator Percival, could serve as a basis from which to develop a mature reply. He was gratified to see she was treating the question with the attentive care he felt it deserved.
"Would you recognize me as Lloyd Percival if you saw me in a beard? Dark glasses, say, and a beard. If you saw me in an unlikely place. A more or less run-down area. Far from the splendor of Capitol Hill."
Talerico walked through the arrivals lounge. He was wearing a vested suede suit and carrying a Burberry trenchcoat over one arm.
He saw Kidder waiting in the baggage area. Definitely a type. They ran to types, these people with nine phone numbers and a different name for each day of the week. A man who looks pressed for time or money. A man who operates in a state of permanent exhaustion. He was probably no more than thirty years old. A shame. Fatigue was his medium by now. He needed it to live.
"Vinny Tal, how are you?"
"Head winds."
"Twenty minutes late. But no problem. We drive down there. You talk to this Richie. Nice and smooth."
"It's arranged."
"It's more or less arranged," Kidder said.
They went outside and got into Kidder's bent Camaro. He started up, turned on the lights, and they moved off.
"Vinny, I want to ask. Frankly. What's wrong with your face? What happened to cause that?"
"This woman I knew, about a year ago, threw lye in my face."
"That's awful. That's awful."
"Lye."
"What for? Why?"
"I was so fucking handsome she couldn't stand it."
Kidder hit the steering wheel with the heel of his right hand.
"Shit, you had me thinking."
"It was driving her crazy, just looking at me. She had the permanent hots. She had to do something. It was wrecking her life."
"You had me going. Vin."
"It always gets a reaction. The lye. It has that effect on people. Lye."
The door on Talerico's side squeaked. Something rattled around in the trunk. He was sorry he hadn't arranged to rent a car. He owned an Olds Cutlass Supreme. He was accustomed to a measure of comfort. This thing here was a coffee pot.
"Let me ask. Vin. Ever been down here? Everybody has two first names down here."
"I watch TV."
"That's in case they forget one of them. Which they aren't too bright, some of them."
"First time down."
"I have to say I frankly like it. It's humane. People walk around. They're living."
"We're almost there, or what."
"We're still in the airport," Kidder said. "This is the airport."
The car made Talerico think of his youth. Six or seven guys piling into an old Chevy. Chipping in a quarter each for gas. It was depressing to think this Kidder rode around in the same kind of car. This Kidder here.
"What kind of harassment up there? They harass people in Canada?"
"You have the FBI. I have the RCMP."
"Which means what?"
"Which means they can kick in my door any time of day or night."
"That's Russia."
"My ass, Russia. There's a thing called a writ of assistance. With a writ of assistance they come pouring in. It doesn't have to have my name on it, or my address, or whatever it is they're searching for. It's wide open. First they come pouring through your doors and windows. Then they fill in the blanks."
"It must feel good to be back in the U.S.," Kidder said.
"I'm thrilled."
"We're out of the airport. We just left the airport."
"Keep up the good work."
"That was the airport line right there. We're definitely out."
"You talk to this Richie?"
"I talked to the dipshit who answers his phone."
"You didn't get in the warehouse, in other words."
"Ta!, it's a warehouse. What's so special? You say you want to develop the kid. Does it make a difference where? You talk. You make your point."
"Tell you what I found out, asking around independently. His dogs don't bark. They're trained to be silent. They come at you without warning."
"See?" Kidder said. "Good thing I didn't try to get inside. You should have told me earlier. What if I'd tried to get inside?"
"They come out of the dark, leaping," Talerico said. "Trained to go for the throat. But silent. They don't even growl."
"What's this thing you're after?"
"Dirty movie, what else? Too hot for this Richie to handle. I'm doing the kid a favor."
"How'd you hear about it?"
"I got a call from New York."
"The relatives. Always the relatives."
"Paulie gave me a call. What? Ten days ago."
"I never met the man," Kidder said. "I know the man's reputation."
"He called me. That's how I heard."
"How did he hear?"
"Somebody named Lightborne called him. Out of nowhere. Said he was lining up bidders. Wanted to know if Paul was interested in bidding."
"Interested in bidding," Kidder said.
"Can you imagine that?"
"Interested in bidding."
They would try to talk girls into getting in the car. Seven guys in the car, not too many girls were interested. You didn't ordinarily find girls that curious. They kept a zip gun under the driver's seat. They never went anywhere without the gun. This guy Kidder here. That was about his level. His sex life is probably restricted to the back seat of the car. He keeps a Navy flare in the glove compartment.
"Tell you what I could go for," Talerico said. "I could go for some zookie."
"What's zookie?"
"Jewish nookie."
"I had to ask, right?"
"It always gets a reaction. Zookie. It has that little sound people like."
"See those lights?" Kidder said.
Twenty minutes later the car eased into the dark parking lot located across the tracks from the warehouse. A single freight car sat on the tracks. _Ship It On the Frisco!_ Kidder turned off the headlights and they sat facing the warehouse. It was cold. Talerico got out of the car to put on his trench… coat, then slid back into the seat. This wasn't what he'd had in mind.