No Immunity

herself! He was doing it, all right, but he wasn’t coming up with much. No personal files. He checked the icons on the toolbar, clicked on Grady’s provider, and typed his password. The man had no e-mail. Shit, Grady probably never hit the Power button at all. The computer must be one of those “business conveniences” these types of places advertised.
    But as long as he was on-line, why not get Persis, the woman-wonder at BakDat, started on the background check. Another thing Smug Woman who thought she could do without help was going to miss. Let her try and get Persis to drop everything. Picturing Kiernan glaring at the empty screen, grabbing the phone to chew out Persis, slamming down the phone and calling for him, he typed a request for background on Grady. The image of his frustrated former employer was still in his mind as he poised to push Send. “Trust no one” was Kiernan’s aphorism. She wouldn’t overlook Adcock, not as righteous as she had been about the guy. She’d see what Persis could turn up on Adcock Explorations. And airline flights from Panama City to Las Vegas, November twelfth. He typed and sent.
    He checked the desk for notes. No notes. Not even a Grady-style mess there.
    Damn, there had to be more. He didn’t have anything! Kiernan would never let herself come away empty. He’d been through the whole place. What else would she do? “Think like he does,” she would say. Well, that was one thing he should be able to do.
    Tchernak sat on Grady’s desk chair staring at the blank computer. He couldn’t imagine Grady leashed to an indoor machine like this. Grady, always up for anything. Even last month, when he’d smacked into him at the airport here, he himself changing planes and Grady on his way back to Panama, Grady had seemed to have so many irons on the fire he couldn’t get close enough to keep warm. Grady was so unchanged, it had taken Tchernak a while to realize that more than a decade had passed since their college year together. He was happy to see the guy, but mostly, he realized, he was relieved. He’d never have let himself think of a broken neck, a crushed back, un-working limbs when he was still in football. Then he was as untouchable as the guys who swore God was rooting for the team, and as a corollary protecting them. But when his disks ruptured, he understood that life was fragile and that no higher power was taking time off from running the universe to worry about his back. Then, when he thought of Grady Hummacher, who had already flipped his car, totaled a hog, and was talking skydiving, he pictured crutches, cervical collar, and back brace.
    There had been time for only one drink in the sports bar that afternoon. The place had been mobbed, the semicircular bar two-deep in sports fans frantic to see the last possible play before racing for their gate. Carry-on luggage was crammed between their feet, duffel bags poked out behind them, roll-aboards, held loosely by handles, fanned out at oblique angles. Grady had sat at the tiny table near the wall, pushing the plastic menu board around the ashtray. What had he said about his job? Tchernak squinted his eyes shut trying to bring up the film. Grady sitting there, grinning, his pale eyes suddenly framed by a myriad of tiny winkles and for the first time his years in the sun and wind betraying his age. Grady put down his beer, hands cupped around the glass, and leaned in toward him. “Bet you figured I’d be walking with a cane now, huh?”
    Was Grady reading his mind? He’d shrugged away the question. “What happened? When you left school, you were all hot about skydiving.”
    “Broke my ankle on the first dive and had a few weeks hobbling around to think. So, I took advice, my parents’, my doctor’s, the minister’s, my girlfriend-of-the-moment’s—it was all the same.”
    “You were more careful?”
    “Hell no. I went back to school. I’m a geologist now. Hunting oil down in Darien Gap.”
    “Where the Pan-American Highway ends?”
    “Ends going south. Begins again on the other side of the rain forest,” he’d said. And somehow he’d gotten onto complaining about his latest girlfriend ragging him about tearing up the rain forest. “Former girlfriend.” Grady grinned then shrugged it off. “She doesn’t get it yet. It’s going to take a couple more of those miserable ‘we have to talks’ before it gets through to her.”
    What was her name? Lesley? No. Linda? Lucille? No. Damn. Grady’d