Last Track, The by Sam Hilliard Page A

business contact remotely. Every request, every discussion, every argument—and there were more disagreements than anything—played out over public telephones and cells. Working from a handset receiver, Crotty mastered the nuances of timbre and tone that made the Partner’s voice unique.
    Face-to-face contact was too costly. This was true on both an emotional and professional level. Recovering from a meeting took hours.
    Neither desired more time in the other’s presence than necessary; each considered the other repulsive. Like a marriage forged from convenience, it functioned best in a vacuum where each participant followed their own daily script—separate and equal.
    The Partner’s limits were the primary source of Crotty’s insomnia. He saw tremendous potential where the Partner saw only further complications and risks. Being narrow-minded was no way to make real money. The longer they worked together and clashed, the harder time Crotty had falling asleep, and the less rest he got when he did nod off. Quite often he stared at the ceiling longer than he lay with his eyes closed. Killing David alleviated part of the stress, albeit partially, because now they had new problems and he had new worries. And many of the same old ones. Like the stunted growth. With the new distribution routes, they literally had permission to print hundreds, and still the Partner plotted expansion in nickels and pennies. It was galling to Crotty. When he protested to the Partner it was always “ Let’s see next quarter” and “Not sure the numbers justify that purchase just now.”
    Not that the Partner flinched when spending the proceeds. Oh, hell no. The Partner planned small, but chewed operating cash by the truckload. Expenses ballooned each quarter, swelling as fast as sales increased. Four million this fiscal year, three million the last, and two point seven five the year before that. If it shined in the light and cost lots of money, the Partner bought it, probably twice to spite Crotty. The bleeding never stopped.
    If Crotty were sitting across from the Partner right then, he would have driven the phone straight through the Partner’s skull.
    “We need to talk about the situation,” the Partner said.
    “Agreed,” said Crotty. “We’re going to bleed red ink soon if you don’t reel in these costs.”
    “Not the money. The situation. ”
    “Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.” Crotty knew exactly what the Partner meant.
    “And what about the searchers?”
    “Do you bother to listen to the police-band chatter? They’ve got nothing,” Crotty said, sure of himself. “They never find anything.”
    “Maybe,” the Partner said. “How did the background check come out?”
    “Mike Brody might prove useful. Do you want to review the key details now?”
    The Partner ignored Crotty. “I can’t see how he’s going to be an asset. I’m worried.”
    “God forbid you worry about something,” Crotty said, his strong voice dripping with disdain. “Natural selection has been very good to us so far.”
    “Listen to me, Crotty. It’s not like the other times. We’re up against someone who has a different deal with nature.”
    Such claims were blasphemy to Crotty. What had worked before still worked. Nothing had changed. Of course the results would turn out the same.
    “They say he’s the man you want when the one you love is missing,” the Partner said.
    Crotty smirked. “Oh, that’s just so precious. Just because he has a cute tag line doesn’t mean he can find a goddamn thing before it’s too late.”
    “We can’t risk it,” said the Partner. “Neither of us can.”
    Crotty shook his head. “Actually, you could do a hell of a lot more. But once again, I guess I’ll have to pick up the slack. You know, I really like this Mike Brody guy. Ex-Delta Force. Seven years as an Army Ranger. Smoke jumper. A real adrenaline junkie. I say we use him.”
    “Everyone says he’s incorruptible. Believe me, I listen for the cracks in