Yesterday's News

a mock graduation shot, half in swimsuits, half with softball outfits. Toward the center in the first row were two women, a nearly juvenile Jane Rust in a conservative one-piece, a long-haired stunner next to her in a revealing bikini, cradling something the way Davy Crockett might a Kentucky long rifle.
    “That there is Cassy, the one next to Janey. She was a beauty, she was. Even with that fish-sticker.”
    Liz Rendall smiled back at me, the spear gun seeming a natural extension of the personality Cabbiness had described.

    The midday flight back to Boston on Eastern took forever, including the serving of the “snack.” When the flight attendant finally delivered the sandwich, fruit, and cookies, the elderly man next to me said, “Two different kinds of bread.”
    “I’m sorry?”
    He pointed to his platter. “The sandwiches. The top piece of bread’s pumpernickel, the bottom piece rye. Yours, too.”
    I looked at my food. “I wonder why.”
    “Probably the robot that makes these things went on a bender last night.”
    It was a pretty good line, but I just didn’t feel like laughing.

At the condo, I tossed the garment bag on the bed and called Liz Rendall. The bombardier receptionist said she was on another line. I told her I’d wait.
    Two minutes later I heard, “City Room, Liz Rendall.”
    “I’d like to speak with C. E. Griffin, please.”
    No response.
    “I think she answers to Cassy, too.”
    “John, I—”
    “Bullshit, Liz! What the hell do you take me for?”
    “I take you for someone who understands people in tough situations.”
    “You’ll have to do better than that.”
    “I will. Look, I can’t talk now, not about this over the phone.”
    “You’ve already had a chance to tell me about it, and you blew it.”
    “John, please, you didn’t know until Ida in the limo—”
    “Goddammit, Liz, you knew! That’s the point. You knew as soon as I asked about Hagan and Dwight Meller, and there was no bereaved aunt around then.”
    “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”
    “Not to mention you could have saved me a trip to Florida .”
    “How about I make up for that?”
    “How?”
    “Dinner at my place. Tonight. Please?”
    “Liz, you don’t see it, do you?”
    “John, I have to go. Really. Please come by. Eight o’clock. I’ll explain everything then. Please?”
    “Eight o’clock. It better be good.”
    “It will be. Bye.”
    I depressed the plunger and dialed Nancy ’s office. She was in court. I left word that I’d be back, late.
    Feeling the drag effect of travel without exercise, I changed into running gear and tried to jog the river. Before I’d gone a block, the scabs on my leg from the bridge incident said they weren’t ready yet. I reversed direction and walked over to the Nautilus Club.
    Elie smiled till he noticed my leg. “John, what happened?”
    “I fell, scraped myself up a little.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry. Where does it hurt?”
    Pointing and flexing, I did my best to describe muscles I couldn’t name. Elie took me over to a large drawing of a flayed, color-coded man’s body. He helped me determine which groups I’d offended.
    Retrieving my personal chart from the open file near the desk, he indicated which machines I should avoid as well as which I should use with less weight. Following the prescribed routine, I felt my body relax and my brain recover. As I was leaving, I stopped to tell him so.
    “That’s good, John, good. But it’s not really me. It’s the designer.”
    “Sorry?”
    “The man who designed the machines, remember? I told you, he thought through every aspect of the whole system, varying each machine so it performs its own task, separate from but with the others, too.”
    “Give me that again.”
    He did. “An integrated whole. You understand?”
    “I think I do. Thanks.”
    Back home, I showered and changed temporarily into a pair of tennis shorts. I had a sandwich and some ice water, then stretched out on the couch, mulling over a stop or two I ought to make on my way to the tugboat.

    I drove up and down the streets intersecting with The Quay for ten minutes, but couldn’t see any activity. Parking in front of Joe’s Marine, I strolled around the back. The Alfa was behind one garage door, a soft breeze coming off the harbor. Walking to the other garage door, I peered through the webby glass. I could just see the windshield and outlines of a new black Olds. A little cute, but I had to concede there weren’t