Chapter 32

Morgan wasn’t as solicitous as he had been the week before. He wanted to do the deal and get rid of Eric. Eric took a chair in the sitting room, folding his coat and putting it on his lap in front of him. Morgan didn’t offer to hang the garment for him—even though it was obviously somewhat damp. Eric opened his briefcase. He stopped. “Could I get a cup of hot tea?” he asked.

Morgan seemed distracted. “I’ll call down,” he promised. “What have you got?” He gestured for Eric to hand him the materials.

Eric ran his fingers through his hair which was sopping wet. “How about a towel?”

Morgan went into the bedroom, coming back with a towel and a glass with some amber liquid in it. “Here’s a towel and here’s a drink. Sorry to rush you, but I’ve got tons to do.”

Eric wiped his hair. “This is really atypical weather for this early in the season,” he commented. He watched Morgan’s teeth set on edge. The more Morgan’s nerves became inflamed, the more relaxed Eric felt. He took a sip of the drink and shuddered. People drank this type of liquid habitually, he had heard. He pulled an anti-static mailer out of his briefcase and set it on the table between them.

“What’s on the thumb drive?” Morgan wanted to know.

“A lot of data, but maybe not what you’re looking for,” Eric confessed. He was willing to compromise Westlake—and himself—but certainly not go all the way with it. He wasn’t about to hand over research data, competitive bidding information, pricing, project schedules, or anything as vital as that.

“I have personnel and payroll lists. It’s not what you want, I know, but it’s what I could get. And a lot of competitors might make use of it to figure out Westlake budgets or snare some of the top researchers by making better offers. It’s something, anyway,” he added defensively. “I’ll get you better files by the time you come back.” He was sweating now; the room was airless.

“You’re right,” agreed Morgan. “It’s not what I was looking for.” Nonetheless, he put his hand on the protective envelope, as Eric tried to pull it away. “I’ll take it as a gesture of our relationship, but I can’t give you all that much for it.” He opened his own briefcase and dealt out a pile of cash. “Three thousand. I had much more set aside for you, old boy, but now I find you’re holding back on me.”

Morgan put the cash on the table in front of Eric and pulled the disk from its covering, popping it into a nearby computer.

Eric began to wrap the cash in a newspaper he had with him. “You don’t have an envelope, do you?” he asked.

“Sorry,” said Morgan testily, running through his paces at the computer. Eric put the newspaper back in his briefcase.

Morgan came away from the files. “I see,” he commented. “No, not very juicy at all. How about next time you bring me your own material, what you’ve been working on. What have you been working on, anyway?”

“I’ll think about it,” said Eric. “It’ll be a while before I’m really finished with anything.”

Andrews came into the room. He nodded at Eric. “You ought not to be holding out on me, dear chum,” said Morgan, smiling charmingly. “Three thousand won’t help keep the family together. And it was so lovely seeing you the other day, en famille, so to speak. Your family must be very important to you, I’m sure.” As if that weren’t hint enough, he added, “It’s good to know where to find you when I need you.” Morgan looked at his watch.

He was done with Eric, but Eric wasn’t done with him. “I may have deceived you a little bit, Morgan,” he said. A white-hot temper was flaring inside.

“Yes?”

“I have another aspect to my nature,” he went on. “I’m a scientist and not, by inclination, prone to violence. If anyone ever harmed someone I care about though, I wouldn’t tolerate it. And I wouldn’t wait for a judge and jury to handle it for me.”

Morgan and Andrews exchanged glances of somewhat constrained bemusement. “You’ve misunderstood me,” protested Morgan. “You’ve misunderstood me entirely.”

It was nine-thirty-five when he got off the train at the Larchmont station. No cabs were waiting. The road was ice, and ice continued to fall from the heavens. Home was a three-mile trek up the hill, but he decided that walking was better than waiting twenty minutes for a taxi and then getting whiplash in a car crash.

The galoshes made the going not too bad, and the fact that the ice had just fallen and was crispy, rather than smooth, was in his favor. He trudged up toward his sister’s house, stepping into the road at one point where there was no sidewalk. The wind and sleet sounded in his ears so loudly that he nearly got run over by a car coming around the corner. Luckily, the car was going slowly in order to assure the driver’s own safety.

What for him would have been a twenty-minute walk in decent weather took about twice that long.

As he neared the house, he saw a Mercedes parked in his sister’s drive. The sight of it was a shock to the heart. He racked his brain for an explanation. Maybe someone had driven Katherine home. It was way too early in the game for it to be Morgan, carrying out that oh-so-veiled threat.

Eric’s hand slipped a little as he opened the door. He guessed he was nervous. That thing with the men—the ones whose throats he had slit—must have affected him in some way, truth to tell. Maybe he was susceptible to trauma, after all. Well, not really.

He came into the house as noiselessly as possible. Then, hearing laughter, he stepped out of hiding into the living room. His sister was sitting in the armchair by the fireplace, swinging her leg. Kitani, of all people, was seated nearby on the sofa with the front half of the rottweiler in his lap. The Japanese was stroking the dog, who appeared to be dreaming with his eyes open. All three turned to look at Eric, as at an unwanted intruder who had suddenly appeared in their midst.

Eric took his overshoes off and held them in his hand. Why he was bothering not to drip, he didn’t know. The carpet was going to be trashed the following week, anyway.

“Come in,” Kitani invited.

Eric didn’t betray the surprise he felt at seeing Kitani again—and in this setting. Surprise and alarm. Here was another enemy of sorts who knew where to find him—and his family. “Is Keisha still here?” he asked his sister without a change in expression. “I’ll drive her home.”

“Hiroshi took her,” his sister gaily replied.

Eric looked at the dog. He didn’t think the animal had walked—or had driven—Keisha to her destination.

The original Hiroshi, Hiroshi the man, strolled out of the kitchen right on cue, and alongside him came David. Hiroshi had his hand on the top of the boy’s head, looking for all the world like the boy’s very father, genetics aside. Eric wondered why he had bothered to come home at all. He felt quite like the proverbial fifth wheel.

David didn’t think so. He ran to his dad with his usual heartfelt enthusiasm and Eric pulled the boy close despite his own wetness. “A little past your bedtime,” Eric said, letting go of his son in order to remove his coat and put it on a hook in the entryway.

“We wondered where you were,” Katherine said without any real curiosity.

“A nice dog you have here,” commented Kitani. He ran his hand over the creature’s flanks. “Hiroshi is flattered that you named your dog after him.”

Kitani then said something to Hiroshi, who nodded. “He’ll put the boy to bed, if you like.” Hiroshi beckoned to David. “He has three sons of his own at home.”

Well, Hiroshi was three times the man that Eric was. Obviously.

“With a fourth child on the way,” added Kitani. Three-and-half times, then.

“And you?” asked Katherine. “Is fatherhood one of your roles in life?”

“No,” said Kitani. “Regretfully, I’ve never married.”

‘Well, good grief, you ought to marry my sister,’ Eric felt like saying. ‘Hell, why wait, can’t you see she’s panting for you now?’ Eric dropped his still-damp rubbers directly onto the carpet and came and sat on the sofa alongside the rottweiler’s rump. “What was it you wanted?” he asked Kitani snappishly.

Kitani feigned surprise. “We got back into town yesterday and I thought we should look you up. We heard what happened and, of course, were a little concerned. But you handled everything admirably, as usual.”

“You heard what happened?” Eric was mystified. “What did happen?”

“We had people break into the house less than two weeks ago,” his sister reminded him. “You killed two of them, or have you forgotten?”

Eric grunted. “How did you hear about that?” he asked “We watch over our friends.”

Eric was vastly annoyed by now. “I’m amazed to see you back in the States,” he told Kitani. “Aren’t you the slightest bit worried?”

“About what?” Now Kitani seemed to have missed the point.

“About the incident in Miami that precipitated your departure in the first place.” Eric saw his sister grow a bit more somber at that remark. She obviously understood he was talking about the murder of Jules Sherba.

“No, there’s nothing to that,” disagreed Kitani. He turned to Katherine. “I have nothing to worry about,” he explained to her with a soft smile. Still, his sister remained unsettled, Eric was pleased to note.

Kitani moved and the dog sat up as well. “We’ve overstayed our welcome, I’m afraid,” he said.

“No, not at all,” Katherine protested.

“Why did you stop by? Or should I say, how did you find me?” Eric’s dinner had been a slice of pizza in Grand Central, which continued to churn in his stomach, resisting digestion.

“Our mutual friend from your office had given me your address,” said Kitani. “Oh, by the way, Kita is here with us.”

Eric looked around. Kitani laughed. “No, not right here, but in the city. I’m sure she’d like to hear from you.” Kitani was about as subtle as Morgan was, but Eric didn’t find Kitani threatening—only irritating. That was stupid, because Kitani was the truly dangerous one.

Hiroshi emerged from the bedroom. He gave his shy smile that strained to keep his strong, handsome teeth under wraps. Eric stood, impatient for Kitani to depart.

Kitani stood also and took a business card from his pocket. “You can get any one of us at this number,” he said, handing over the cardboard square. “If I can help you with anything, just let me know.” The man’s sincerity was a shining thing. “Please try to come down to the city and work out with us one evening. Or one morning would be even better. We must stay in touch.”

Eric didn’t comment but went to the door where he waited while the two visitors tendered their final courtesies to the lady of the house. He looked out the side window. The weather was a grotesque exaggeration of winter itself—a nightmare for the traveler. Kitani and Hiroshi came along behind him. “You really shouldn’t drive in this,” he admitted reluctantly. “Stay the night. The two of you can have my room. I’ll bunk in with David.”

“That’s why I like you,” said Kitani genuinely, apparently touched by the offer. “I do like you, you know. But thanks all the same. The Mercedes handles well—we’ll manage. Just don’t be so angry. I’m sure we were meant to be good friends.”

To such a stirring speech as that, tired as he was, Eric had no particular response. He nodded with a certain acceptance of the sentiment, then unlatched the door and let the two men out. He stood for a moment, watching their sure-footed progress across the icy walk, then locked the door and came back into the living room where he gazed grumpily at his sister. “How could you let them in like that?” he asked. “After what happened?”

She stared back. “You really weren’t very nice. They were worried about you. He called on the phone earlier in the evening and I told him he should come over because you’d be home soon. They’re very considerate, both of them.” She thought about it. “He’s sort of attractive, too, don’t you think?”

Eric didn’t answer his sister, but retrieved his briefcase from the front hall, brought it back, and opened it. He placed the newspaper with the money aside and rewound the tape in the pocket recorder, playing a minute of conversation to see how it had come out. It was certainly not as good as the recording the police had made previously, but the tape was clear enough to understand.

“What’s that in the newspaper?” Katherine asked. She came over and picked up the Times. Hundred-dollar bills spilled out. “Sometimes you worry me,” she said, looking at the money as if garbage had been brought into her home. “Sometimes you worry me very much.”

He gathered the cash up carefully, trying not to touch the currency. “It’s evidence,” he told his sister evenly. “I haven’t become a hit man for the Mafia just yet.”