A surge of excitement raced through him, when Merlin stood.
“You have an objection, Mr. Thomas?” the judge demanded sharply.
“Indeed, I do,” Merlin replied smugly.
Ricky looked down at the list he’d made of all the lawyers involved in the case. Mark Thomas, Esquire, with offices downtown, was in the middle of the group.
“Then what is it?” the judge demanded.
Ricky listened for a few moments. The self-assured, self-satisfied tones of the attorney were the same that he’d remembered from their meetings. He spoke with a confidence that was the same, whether what he was saying had any basis in truth or the law or not. Merlin was the exact man who had come into Ricky’s life so disastrously.
Only now he had a name. And an address.
And just as it had for Ricky, this would be like opening a door on who Merlin was.
He pictured the lawyer’s hands again. Especially the manicured fingernails. Then Ricky smiled. Because in the same mental image, he noted the presence of a wedding ring. That meant a house. A wife. Perhaps children. All the trappings of the upwardly mobile, the young urban professional, heading aggressively for success.
Only Merlin the attorney had a few ghosts in his past. And he was brother to a ghost of the first degree. Ricky listened to the man speak, thinking what a complicated system of psychology was on display in front of him. Sorting through it all would have been an intriguing challenge for the psychoanalyst he once was. Sorting through it for the man he’d been forced to become was a significantly simpler issue. He reached into his pocket and fingered the children’s toy he’d placed there.
On the bench, the judge was shaking his head, and beginning to suggest that the matters be continued over into the afternoon session. This was Ricky’s cue to exit, which he did quietly.
He took up a position next to the emergency stairwell, waiting across from a bank of elevators. As soon as he spotted the group of lawyers exiting the courtroom, he ducked into the stairwell. He had lingered just long enough to see that Merlin was carrying two heavily stuffed briefcases, no doubt filled to overflowing with endless documents and court papers. Too heavy to carry beyond the closest elevator, Ricky knew.
He took the stairs two at a time, emerging on the second floor. There were several people waiting by the elevators for rides down the single flight. Ricky joined them, keeping his hand around the handle of the toy in his pocket. He stared up at the electronic device that shows the location of the car and saw that the elevator was stopped on the floor above. Then it began to descend. Ricky knew one thing: Merlin wasn’t the type to move to the back and make room for anyone else.
The elevator stopped, and the doors swung open with a swooshing sound.
Ricky stepped up, behind the people getting on. Merlin was in the direct center.
The attorney lifted his eyes, and Ricky stared right into them.
There was a flash of recognition, and Ricky saw a momentary panic slide onto the attorney’s face.
“Hello, Merlin,” Ricky said quietly. “And now I know who you are.”
In the same instant, he lifted the child’s toy from his pocket and brought it to bear on the attorney’s chest. It was a water pistol, in the shape of a World War II German Luger. He squeezed the trigger and a stream of black ink shot out, striking Merlin in the chest.
Before anyone could react, the doors slid shut.
Ricky jumped back to the stairwell. He didn’t run down, because he knew he couldn’t outrace the elevator. Instead, he climbed up to the fifth floor, walked out and found the men’s room. There he disposed of the water pistol in a wastebasket after wiping it clean of any fingerprints, just as he might have done with a real weapon, and washed his hands. He waited a few moments, then exited, walking through the corridors to the opposite end of the courthouse. As he had learned the day before, there were more elevators, more stairs, and another exit. Attaching himself surreptitiously to another group of attorneys exiting from other hearings, Ricky maneuvered down. As he expected, there was no sign of Merlin in the portion of the lobby he entered. Merlin wasn’t in the position where he would want to do any explaining whatsoever about the real nature of the stains on his shirt and suit.
And, Ricky thought, he will come soon enough to understand that the ink Ricky had used was indelible. He hoped that he had ruined far more than a shirt, suit, and tie that morning.
The restaurant Ricky had chosen for luncheon with the ambitious actress had been a favorite of his late wife’s though he doubted that Virgil had made that connection. He had selected it because it had one important feature: a large plate glass window that separated the sidewalk from the diners. Ricky remembered that the lighting in the restaurant made it difficult to see out, but not nearly as hard to see in. And the placement of the tables was such that one was more often being seen, than seeing. This was how he wanted it.
He waited until a group of tourists, perhaps a dozen German-speaking men and women wearing loud shirts and necklaces of cameras, sailed past the front of the restaurant. He simply tagged along with them, much as he’d done in the courthouse earlier. It is difficult, he thought, to pick one familiar face out of a group of strangers when not expecting it. As the gaggle of tourists cruised past, he quickly turned and saw Virgil sitting, as he’d expected, in a corner of the restaurant, waiting eagerly. And alone.
He stepped past the window and took a single deep breath.
The call will come any second now, Ricky thought. Merlin had delayed, just as he’d suspected he would. He’d have cleaned himself up, made his apologies to the other attorneys, all of whom had been shocked. What excuse had he come up with? Disgruntled opponent, bested in a lawsuit. The others could identify with that. He’d persuaded them all that calling the police was inappropriate, that he would contact the crazy man with the ink pistol’s attorney-maybe seek a restraining order. But he would handle it all himself. The other men would have nodded in agreement and offered to testify at any moment, or even provide statements to the police, if requested. But this had taken some time, as had getting himself cleaned up, because he knew, no matter what, he still had to be back in court that afternoon. When Merlin finally made his first call, it would be to the older brother. This would have been a substantial conversation, not merely recounting what had happened, but trying to assess the implications. They would analyze their position and begin to consider their alternatives. Finally, still unsure precisely what they wanted to do, they would hang up. Then, next in line for a second phone call, would be Virgil, but Ricky had beaten that call.
He smiled, turned around sharply and headed straight through the restaurant’s front door, moving swiftly. There was a hostess at the front, who looked up at him and began to ask the inevitable question, but he waved her off, saying, “My date is already here…” and striding quickly across the restaurant.
Virgil was turned away, then shifted when she sensed movement.
“Hello,” Ricky said. “Remember me?”
Surprise struck her face.
“Because,” Ricky said, sliding into his seat, “I remember you.”
Virgil said nothing, although she had rocked back in surprise. She had placed a portfolio of pictures and résumé on the table in anticipation of the meeting with the producer. Now, slowly, deliberately, she took it and slipped it to the floor. “I guess I won’t be needing that,” she said. He heard two things in her reply: tentativeness and a need to regain some composure. They teach that in acting class, Ricky thought, and right now she’s reaching into that particular storage box, searching for it.