Persuader

had nothing to show for her shopping. No purchases, no gaudy bags.
    I guessed she hadn't actually been inside any stores. She had hung around for four long hours to let the government guy do whatever he needed to. I raised my hand. She ignored me and headed straight for the counter. Bought herself a tall white coffee and carried it over to my table. I had decided what I was going to tell her.
    "I don't work for the government," I said.
    "Then I'm disappointed," she said, for the third time.
    "How could I?" I said. "I killed a cop, remember."
    "Yes," she said.
    "Government people don't do stuff like that."
    "They might," she said. "By accident."
    "But they wouldn't run away afterward," I said. "They would stick around and face the music." She went quiet and stayed quiet for a long time. Sipped her coffee slowly.
    "I've been there maybe eight or ten times," she said. "Where the college is, I mean. They run events for the students' families, now and then. And I try to be there at the start and finish of every semester. One summer I even rented a little U-Haul and helped him move his stuff home."
    "So?"
    "It's a small school," she said. "But even so, on the first day of the semester it gets very busy. Lots of parents, lots of students, SUVs, cars, vans, traffic everywhere. The family days are even worse. And you know what?"
    "What?"
    "I've never seen a town policeman there. Not once. Certainly not a detective in plain clothes." I looked out the window to the internal mall sidewalk.
    "Just a coincidence, I suppose," she said. "A random Tuesday morning in April, early in the day, nothing much going on, and there's a detective waiting right by the gate, for no very obvious reason."
    "What's your point?" I asked.
    "That you were terribly unlucky," she said. "I mean, what were the odds?"
    "I don't work for the government," I said.
    "You took a shower," she said. "Washed your hair."
    "Did I?"
    "I can see it and smell it. Cheap soap, cheap shampoo."
    "I went to a sauna."
    "You didn't have any money. I gave you twenty dollars. You bought at least two cups of coffee. That would leave maybe fourteen dollars."
    "It was a cheap sauna."
    "It must have been," she said.
    "I'm just a guy," I said.
    "And I'm disappointed about it."
    "You sound like you want your husband to get busted."
    "I do."
    "He'd go to prison."
    "He already lives in a prison. And he deserves to. But he'd be freer in a real prison than where he is now. And he wouldn't be there forever."
    "You could call somebody," I said. "You don't need to wait for them to come to you." She shook her head. "That would be suicide. For me and Richard."
    "Just like it would be if you talked about me like this in front of anybody else.
    Remember, I wouldn't go quietly. People would get hurt. You and Richard, maybe." She smiled. "Bargaining with me again?"
    "Warning you again," I said. "Full disclosure." She nodded.
    "I know how to keep my mouth shut," she said, and then she proved it by not saying another word. We finished our coffee in silence and walked back to the car. We didn't talk. I drove her home, north and east, completely unsure whether I was carrying a ticking time bomb with me or turning my back on the only inside help I would ever get.
    Paulie was waiting behind the gate. He must have been watching from his window and then taken up position as soon as he saw the car in the distance. I slowed and stopped and he stared out at me. Then he stared at Elizabeth Beck.
    "Give me the pager," I said.
    "I can't," she said.
    "Just do it," I said.
    Paulie unlatched the chain and pushed the gate. Elizabeth unzipped her bag and handed me the pager. I let the car roll forward and buzzed my window down. Stopped level with where Paulie was waiting to shut the gate again.
    "Check this out," I called.
    I tossed the pager overarm out in front of the car. It was a left-handed throw. It was weak and lacked finesse. But it got the job done. The little black plastic rectangle looped up in the air and landed dead-center on the driveway maybe twenty feet in front of the car.
    Paulie watched its trajectory and then froze when he realized what it was.
    "Hey," he said.
    He went after it. I went after him. I stamped on the gas and the tires howled and the car jumped forward. I aimed the right-hand corner of the front bumper at the side of his left knee. I got very close. But he was incredibly quick. He scooped the pager off the blacktop and skipped back and I missed him by a foot. The car shot straight