Yesterday's News

bad tax time and market time for it. Only it’s public money fronting the project, so after the construction bookkeeping gets entered, you’re made whole. Then if Harborside’s a bust, the taxpayers end up paying the tab, as usual.”
    Dykestra smiled the way a magician does when someone in the audience yells out the secret to a trick he just performed. “I forgot you were listening to that Rust maggot. What other bullshit she throw at you?”
    “What difference does it make now?”
    “No difference. I just thought I could set you straight on some things is all.”
    “You ever try to set her straight?”
    “Yeah.” He got serious. “Yeah, I did try. I tried to show her how what I was doing here was putting people to work, people like that poor bastard in the skiff who won’t have to risk drowning himself every day to put food on the table. I tried to show her the plans for this place here, the shot in the arm it’d give the city. Jesus Christ, you’d of thought that she’d get off on that kind of story. But no, man, somebody put a bee up her ass about this and about me. And all my nice talks with her, and even Bruce hosing her, just wasn’t making no impression on her. And the shit she was slinging was starting to stick, not because it was true, you understand, but because she just kept slinging it. She was a screwy broad, that one. And I can’t say I cried any when I heard she did herself.”
    “You figure that’s what happened?”
    “I figure that’s what happened.”
    “You know of anything in particular that would set her off?”
    Dykestra looked disgusted. “Aw, c’mon, man. Could have been a lot of things. Bruce said he told you about her being pregnant and all. That plus the Coyne guy getting stabbed.”
    “What do you know about Coyne?”
    “Nothing, man. Just from Bruce, that she was real upset about it. Like I said, a screwy broad. I was the editor, I would have fired her.”
    “You run your own crew here?”
    “I run... you mean the guys on the job here?”
    “Right.”
    “Yeah. They’re my employees. At least, they work for one of my companies. That’s public record. Why do you want to know?”
    “Any of them drive an old Buick, couple of fenders with just primer on them?”
    He didn’t look away or stop to think. Maintaining eye contact, he said, “No. Nobody’s got that kind of car I ever seen.”
    I stood up. “Guess that’s it for now. A1 going to give me any trouble as I leave?”
    “Not if I walk you out.” Dykestra rose, whisking the dust off the back of his pants with his hands. “ ‘Course, I’m not on the site every day, so I wouldn’t stop back here again if I was you.”
    “Thanks, but I’ve seen enough.”
    He shook his head. “You’re wrong there, pal. Someday you’re gonna think back and say to yourself, ‘I saw Nasharbor and Harborside back when.’ I’m telling you, this city is perched on the edge of greatness.”
    I didn’t have to ask where I’d heard that before.

I left the car in a visitor’s spot and walked through the front door of the Beacon. The receptionist did not exactly light up.
    “I’d like to see Liz Rendall or Malcolm Peete, please.”
    She told me to have a seat without asking for my name. From the chair, I could see her hissing into her mouthpiece.
    It took Arbuckle exactly thirty-four seconds to appear in the archway to the corridor.
    “Cuddy, my office.”
    I followed him back. Glancing around the crowded city room, I couldn’t see Peete or Rendall.
    Once in his office, Arbuckle motioned toward the chair I’d used the last time. He closed the door behind him hard enough to rattle the glass in the interior window as he marched to his side of the desk.
    I said, “Good to show the ranks you’re in command.”
    “What?”
    “Slamming the door like that. Good device. Got to be careful not to overuse it, though.”
    “I thought I told you not to come here after Tuesday.”
    “You did.”
    “Then what the hell are you doing here now?”
    “You told me to talk with Peete or Rendall. That’s who I asked for out front.”
    “I told you to talk to them on Tuesday. Today’s Thursday. Am I going to have to call the cops?”
    “I wouldn’t. Under the trespass statute, you have to ask me to leave again first. The receptionist heard you tell me to come back with you. Since you’re someone in authority on the premises, it seems to me that I’m okay legally.”
    Arbuckle did a slow burn. He did it well, but I