Persuader

getting it all worked out in his mind.
    "The phone call yesterday," he said. "They were laying their plans. Doll was working with them all along."
    "From when?"
    "From the start."
    "Doesn't make sense," I said. "Duke went south and got the Toyota's plate number for you. Then you gave it to Doll and told him to trace it. But why would Doll tell you the truth about the trace? If they were his buddies, he'd have dead-ended it, surely. Led you away from them. Left you in the dark." Beck smiled a superior smile.
    "No," he said. "They were setting up the ambush. That was the point of the phone call. It was good improvisation on their part. The kidnap gambit failed, so they switched tactics.
    They let Doll point us in the right direction. So that what happened tonight could happen." I nodded slowly, like I was deferring to his point of view. The best way to clinch a pending promotion is to let them think you're just a little dumber than they are. It had worked for me before, three straight times, in the military.
    "Did Doll actually know what you were planning for tonight?" I asked.
    "Yes," he said. "We were all discussing it, yesterday. In detail. When you saw us talking, in the office."
    "So he set you up."
    "Yes," he said again. "He locked up last night and then left Portland and drove all the way down to wait with them. Told them all who was coming, and when, and why." I said nothing. Just thought about Doll's car. It was about a mile away from Beck's office. I began to wish I had hidden it better.
    "But there's one big question," Beck said. "Was it just Doll?"
    "Or?" He went quiet. Then he shrugged.
    "Or any of the others that work with him," he said.
    The ones you don't control, I thought. Quinn's people.
    "Or all of them together," he said.
    He started thinking again, another thirty, forty miles. He didn't speak another word until we were back on I-95, heading north around Boston.
    "Duke is dead," he said.
    "I'm sorry," I said.
    Here it comes, I thought.
    "I knew him a long time," he said.
    I said nothing.
    "You're going to have to take over," he said. "I need somebody right now. Somebody I can trust. And you've done well for me so far."
    "Promotion?" I said.
    "You're qualified."
    "Head of security?"
    "At least temporarily," he said. "Permanently, if you'd like."
    "I don't know," I said.
    "Just remember what I know," he said. "I own you." I was quiet for a mile. "You going to pay me anytime soon?"
    "You'll get your five grand plus what Duke got on top."
    "I'll need some background," I said. "I can't help you without it." He nodded.
    "Tomorrow," he said. "We'll talk tomorrow." Then he went quiet again. Next time I looked, he was fast asleep beside me. Some kind of a shock reaction. He thought his world was falling apart. I fought to stay awake and keep the car on the road. And I thought back to texts I had read from the British Army in India, during the Raj, at the height of their empire. Young subalterns trapped in junior ranks had their own mess. They would dine together in splendid dress uniforms and talk about their chances of promotion. But they had none, unless a superior officer died. Dead men's shoes was the rule. So they would raise their crystal glasses of fine French wine and toast bloody wars and dread diseases, because a casualty further up the chain of command was their only way to get ahead. Brutal, but that's how it's always been, in the military.
    I made it back to the Maine coast purely on autopilot. I couldn't recall a single mile of the drive. I was numb with exhaustion. Every part of me ached. Paulie was slow about opening the gate. I guess we got him out of bed. He made a big point about staring in at me. I dropped Beck at the front door and put the car in the garage. Stashed the Glock and the spare magazines just for safety's sake and went in through the back door. The metal detector beeped at the car keys. I dropped them on the kitchen table. I was hungry, but I was too tired to eat. I climbed all the stairs and fell down on my bed and went to sleep, fully dressed, overcoat and shoes and all.
    The weather woke me six hours later. Horizontal rain was battering my window. It sounded like gravel on the glass. I rolled off the bed and checked the view. The sky was iron gray and thick with cloud and the sea was raging. It was laced with angry foam a half-mile out. The waves were swamping the rocks. No birds. It was nine in the morning.
    Day fourteen, a Friday. I lay down on the bed again and stared