R Is for Ricochet

covered it with a towel. He put the pan in the oven where the pilot light would generate the warmth necessary for the bread to rise.
    "How much are you making?" I asked, looking at the quantity of dough.
    "Four big loaves and two batches of dinner rolls, all for Rosie," he said. "I may do up a pan of sticky buns if you're interested."
    "Always. I take it Lewis went home?"
    "I dropped him at the airport Saturday. And speaking of him, he did apologize for butting in, which may be a first. I guess it never occurred to him that his flying out would have that effect. I told him there was no point worrying. What's done is done."
    "Someone said the same thing to me yesterday under different circumstances," I said. "At any rate, I'm glad the two of you are back on solid ground."
    "Never any doubt of that," he said. "What about you? I didn't see much of you this weekend. How's your new fellow?"
    "Good question," I said. I told Henry the sorry saga of my bad behavior, risks taken, laws broken, gains, losses, and tension-filled escapes. He enjoyed the tale a lot more than Cheney had and for that I was grateful.
    A little after six, I returned to my place and fixed myself a hot hard-boiled-egg sandwich, with more mayo and salt than your internist would recommend. I was wadding up my paper towel when the phone rang. I tossed the wad and waited until the caller began to speak. Marty Blumberg identified himself and I picked up. "Hey, Marty. It's me. I just now walked in."
    "I hope you don't mind me calling you at home. Something weird's come up and I'd be curious what you think."
    "Sure." I picked up traffic noises in the background and pictured him calling from a pay phone.
    "You want the long version or the short?"
    "Long stories are always better."
    "Right," he said. "So here's how this goes." I could hear that momentary lull as he inhaled and released a mouthful of smoke. "I get home from work today and my housekeeper's wringing her hands. She's upset about something, but won't say what. I press because I can tell she needs to unburden herself. She says, don't get mad. I say, fine. She tells me she arrived at the house at nine, like always, and she sees this phone company truck parked in the drive and a couple of guys on the porch. She goes ahead and lets herself in the back and then answers the front door. This one guy says the phone company's received a number of calls complaining the service is out and they're going through the neighborhood checking all the lines. They want to know is my phone working, so she asks 'em to wait, tries the line, and sure enough it's dead. Well, she's paranoid – comes from watching way too many cop shows on TV – so she asks 'em to show some ID. Both have these pinch-on plastic picture dealies that say California Bell. Huerta writes down their names and employee numbers. Second guy has a clipboard and he shows her the work order, typed up as neat as you please. She figures it's legit so she lets ' em in. You with me so far?"
    "Yes, but I don't like the sound of it."
    "Me neither," he said. "She's telling me this shit and I can feel the rocks piling up in my gut. The guys are in my study fifteen, twenty minutes, and then they come out and tell her everything's hunky-dory. She asks what it was and they say the roof rats must've chewed through the outside wires, but now all's well. Afterwards, she's thinking none of this makes sense and she's worried she did wrong. I act like no big deal and tell her I'll handle it from here. So what I'm thinking is somebody's either bugged my house or put a tap on my phone."
    "Or both," I supplied.
    "Shit, yes. Why else would I be calling from a fuckin' minimart parking lot? I feel like an idiot, but I can't take the chance. My phone's tapped; I don't want whoever's doing it to realize I figured it out. That way I can feed 'em any bullshit I want. You think it's the feds?" I could hear him take another puff on his cigarette.
    "I have no clue, but I think you're right to worry."
    "How can they do that? I mean, assuming they planted a bug, or, like, a listening device, wouldn't that be illegal?"
    "Without a court order, sure."
    "Trouble is, if it's not them, it might be someone a whole lot worse."
    "Like who?" I was thinking Salustio Castillo, but wanted to hear him say it.
    "Never mind who. Either way, I don't like it. Friday night, when Reba laid out that shit about Beck, I figured she was yanking my chain. More I think about it, the more I'm thinkin' maybe she