Francisco Chronicle nineteen minutes ago, it’s just story after story. I mean, look at this, People magazine four minutes ago. I was calling you up four minutes ago. This is phenomenal.’
Rundle isn’t sure. It’s not what he expected, certainly not what he intended. ‘OK, J.J.,’ he says, ‘but play it down, let them do the work. I mean, this is tricky territory. The bigger the story gets, the more likely they are to go looking for this motorcyclist.’
‘Who cares? I’m getting a bump out of it, a chance to build up my profile. This afternoon? Fucking Wolf Blitzer’s people called. I’m telling you, there’s some serious traction to be had here.’
Rundle throws his eyes up.
‘Wolf Blitzer? Jesus Christ, J.J., let me remind you of something, OK? An important detail. There is no motorcyclist. It didn’t happen . So this is a dangerous little game we’re playing.’
‘You wouldn’t say that if you saw my hand, Clark.’
‘Well, sure , but –’
‘Because believe me, this injury is very real.’
‘I know –’
‘I mean, the whole thing was insane, man. I’ll never forget it, I –’
‘OK,’ Rundle says. ‘Sure.’ He glances over his shoulder at the bathroom door. Is the shower still running? ‘We still need to be careful, though.’
‘We’re being careful. God. And what about that guy from the Jordan Group? We spoke about an hour ago. He seemed pretty smart. On top of things. They’ll handle it.’
‘Yeah, but what I’m saying is, they might have overreached themselves a bit, that’s all. These things can take on a life of their own.’
A long pause follows. Rundle can hear …
Is J.J. grinding his teeth?
It sounds like it. Maybe it’s the medication he’s on, or some kind of adrenaline rush. Maybe it’s the onset of PTSD. According to what Don Ribcoff was able to find out the incident was fairly horrendous, but J.J.’s involvement was minimal, his injury minor, and they managed to get him out of there pretty damn fast. The important thing is it happened after he saw Colonel Kimbela.
‘Anyway, look,’ Rundle goes on, clearing his throat, ‘I’m sure it was awful, but we need to talk.’
‘About what?’
‘About what did happen. Beforehand, I mean. The colonel. About what he had to say.’
‘Right.’
Rundle waits. He glances over at the bathroom door again – anticipates it opening, anticipates Nora emerging … her dark glistening skin as it contrasts with the white cotton of her towelling robe, the belt loosely knotted, pullable …
‘The thing is, Clark, I…’
Start of round two.
‘Yeah?’
Value for his four grand.
‘I’m a little confused. I –’
Rundle turns back to the window, his eyes widening all of a sudden. He presses the phone to his ear, listens hard. Is J.J.… is he crying ?
‘ J.J.? ’
‘I’m sorry, Clark, I –’
‘ What? ’
‘Look, you’ve no idea what it was like, the noise, looking down the barrel of that gun, blood everywhere, those kids …’
‘ J.J. ’
‘And what happened beforehand? Meeting with Kimbela? Talking to him? That’s all a blur now. I’m just not sure I can recall any of it.’
* * *
Jimmy spends the rest of the afternoon and that evening in front of his iMac trawling the web for articles about Larry Bolger. He has a knot in his stomach the whole time. The evening is punctuated by three further calls from Phil Sweeney. The first, at around seven o’clock, is to go over a few ground rules – terms of reference, what’s off limits, what isn’t, contractual details, conditions. This is stuff they clear up easily enough. The second, an hour later, is to announce that Bolger has agreed to the arrangement, in principle at least, but would like a face to face with Jimmy before making his final decision – a meeting he thinks should take place quite soon, within the next week or so. The third call, after ten, is to say that Bolger has been in touch again and would actually like
Rundle isn’t sure. It’s not what he expected, certainly not what he intended. ‘OK, J.J.,’ he says, ‘but play it down, let them do the work. I mean, this is tricky territory. The bigger the story gets, the more likely they are to go looking for this motorcyclist.’
‘Who cares? I’m getting a bump out of it, a chance to build up my profile. This afternoon? Fucking Wolf Blitzer’s people called. I’m telling you, there’s some serious traction to be had here.’
Rundle throws his eyes up.
‘Wolf Blitzer? Jesus Christ, J.J., let me remind you of something, OK? An important detail. There is no motorcyclist. It didn’t happen . So this is a dangerous little game we’re playing.’
‘You wouldn’t say that if you saw my hand, Clark.’
‘Well, sure , but –’
‘Because believe me, this injury is very real.’
‘I know –’
‘I mean, the whole thing was insane, man. I’ll never forget it, I –’
‘OK,’ Rundle says. ‘Sure.’ He glances over his shoulder at the bathroom door. Is the shower still running? ‘We still need to be careful, though.’
‘We’re being careful. God. And what about that guy from the Jordan Group? We spoke about an hour ago. He seemed pretty smart. On top of things. They’ll handle it.’
‘Yeah, but what I’m saying is, they might have overreached themselves a bit, that’s all. These things can take on a life of their own.’
A long pause follows. Rundle can hear …
Is J.J. grinding his teeth?
It sounds like it. Maybe it’s the medication he’s on, or some kind of adrenaline rush. Maybe it’s the onset of PTSD. According to what Don Ribcoff was able to find out the incident was fairly horrendous, but J.J.’s involvement was minimal, his injury minor, and they managed to get him out of there pretty damn fast. The important thing is it happened after he saw Colonel Kimbela.
‘Anyway, look,’ Rundle goes on, clearing his throat, ‘I’m sure it was awful, but we need to talk.’
‘About what?’
‘About what did happen. Beforehand, I mean. The colonel. About what he had to say.’
‘Right.’
Rundle waits. He glances over at the bathroom door again – anticipates it opening, anticipates Nora emerging … her dark glistening skin as it contrasts with the white cotton of her towelling robe, the belt loosely knotted, pullable …
‘The thing is, Clark, I…’
Start of round two.
‘Yeah?’
Value for his four grand.
‘I’m a little confused. I –’
Rundle turns back to the window, his eyes widening all of a sudden. He presses the phone to his ear, listens hard. Is J.J.… is he crying ?
‘ J.J.? ’
‘I’m sorry, Clark, I –’
‘ What? ’
‘Look, you’ve no idea what it was like, the noise, looking down the barrel of that gun, blood everywhere, those kids …’
‘ J.J. ’
‘And what happened beforehand? Meeting with Kimbela? Talking to him? That’s all a blur now. I’m just not sure I can recall any of it.’
* * *
Jimmy spends the rest of the afternoon and that evening in front of his iMac trawling the web for articles about Larry Bolger. He has a knot in his stomach the whole time. The evening is punctuated by three further calls from Phil Sweeney. The first, at around seven o’clock, is to go over a few ground rules – terms of reference, what’s off limits, what isn’t, contractual details, conditions. This is stuff they clear up easily enough. The second, an hour later, is to announce that Bolger has agreed to the arrangement, in principle at least, but would like a face to face with Jimmy before making his final decision – a meeting he thinks should take place quite soon, within the next week or so. The third call, after ten, is to say that Bolger has been in touch again and would actually like
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