Philip Margolin: Gone ,but not forgotten

"Have you told the people who hired you about Hunter's Point?" Darius asked.

There was a brief flicker of surprise, then a flash of nicotine-stained teeth.

"That was terrific. I ain't even gonna ask how you figured it out. Tell me what you think."

"I think you and I are the only ones who know, for now."

The man did not answer.

"There is one thing I'd like to know," Darius said, eyeing him curiously. "I know what you think I've done.

What I'm capable of doing. Why aren't you afraid I'll kill you?"

The man laughed.

"You're a pussy, Martin, just like the other rape-os I run into in the joint. Guys who were real tough with women and not so tough with anyone else. You know what I used to do to those guys? I made 'em my girls, Martin. I turned 'em into little queens. I'd do it to you too, if I wasn't more interested in your money."

While Darius considered this information, the man watched him with a confident smirk.

"It will take me a while to come up with that much money," Darius said.

"How much time can you give me?"

"Today is Wednesday. How's Friday?"

Darius pretended to be considering the problems involved with liquidating stocks and closing accounts.

"Make it Monday. A lot of my holdings are in land.

It will take me until Friday to arrange for loans and sell some stock."

The man nodded. "I heard you didn't believe in bullshit. Good. You're doing the right thing. And, let me tell you, friend, I'm not someone to fuck with. Also, I'm not greedy. This'll be a one-shot deal."

The man stood. Then he thought of something and grinned at Darius.

"Once I'm paid, I'll be gone and forgotten."

The man laughed at his little joke, turned his back and left the bar.

Darius watched him go. He did not find the joke, or anything else about the man, amusing.

A hard rain hit the windshield. Big drops, falling fast.

Russ Miller switched the wiper to maximum. The cascade still obliterated his view of the road and he had to squint to catch the broken center line in the headlight beams. It was almost eight, but Vicky was used to late suppers. You put in the hours at Brand, Gates and Valcroft if you expected to get anywhere. Russ grinned as he imagined Vicky's reaction to the news. He wished he could drive faster, but a few more minutes would not make much difference.

Russ had warned Vicky he might not be home on time as soon as Frank Valcroft's secretary summoned him.

At the advertising firm, it was an honor to be asked into Valcroft's corner office. Russ had been there only twice before. The deep, wine-colored carpets and dark wood reminded him of where he wanted to be. When Valcroft told him he was going to be in charge of the Darius Construction account, Russ knew he was on his way.

Russ and Vicky had been introduced to Martin Darius this summer at a party Darius hosted to celebrate the opening of his new mall. All the men who worked on the account were there, but Russ had this feeling that Darius had singled him out. An invitation to join Darius on his yacht arrived a week later. Since then, he and Vicky had been guests at two house parties. Stuart Webb, another account executive at Brand, Gates, said he felt like he was standing in a chill wind when he was with Darius, but Darius was the most dynamic human being Russ had ever met and he had a knack for making Russ feel like the most important person on Earth. Russ was certain that Martin Darius was responsible for making him the team leader of the Darius Construction account. If Russ was successful as team leader, who knew what he would be doing in the future. He might even leave Brand, Gates and go to work for the man himself As Russ pulled into his driveway the garage door opened automatically. The rain pounding on the garage roof sounded like the end of the world and Russ was glad to get inside the warm kitchen. There was a large, metal pot on the stove, so he knew Vicky was making pasta. The surprise would be the sauce. Russ shouted Vicky's name as he peeked under the cover of another pot. It was empty. There was a cutting board covered with vegetables, but none of them was sliced. Russ frowned.

There was no fire under the large pot. He lifted the lid. It was filled with water, but the pasta was lying, uncooked, next to the pasta maker he had bought Vicky for their third anniversary.

"vick," Russ shouted again. He loosened his tie and took off his jacket.

The lights were on in the living room.

Later, Russ told the police he had not called sooner because everything looked so normal. The set was on. The Judith Krantz novel Vicky was reading was open and facedown on the end table. When he realized Vicky was not home, he assumed she was over at one of the neighbors.

The first time Russ went into the bedroom, he missed the rose and the note. His back was to the bed when he stripped off his clothes and hung them in the closet. After that, he slipped into a warm-up suit and checked the cable guide to see what was on TV. When fifteen more minutes passed without Vicky, Russ went back into the bedroom to phone her best friend, who lived down the block. That was when he saw the note on the pillow on the immaculately made bed. There was a black rose lying across the plain, white paper. Written in a careful hand were the words "Gone, But Not Forgotten."

As Austin Forbes, the President of the United States, walked toward United States Senator Raymond Francis Colby he passed through the rays of sunlight streaming through the high French windows of the Oval Office, creating the impression that God was spotlighting a chosen son.

Had he noticed, the diminutive Chief Executive would have appreciated the vote of confidence from above. The results of his earthly polls were not nearly as complimentary.

"Good to see you, Ray," Forbes said. "You know Kelly Bendelow, don't you?"

"Kelly and I have met," Colby said, remembering the in-depth interview the President's troubleshooter had conducted just two weeks before.

Senator Colby sat in the chair the President indicated and glanced out the east windows toward the rose garden. The President sat in an old armchair that had graced his Missouri law office and followed him up the ladder of power to the Oval Office. He looked pensive.

"How's Ellen?" Forbes asked.

"She's fine."

"And are you fine? You're in good health?"

"Excellent health, Mr. President. I had a thorough physical last month,"

Colby answered, knowing that the FBI would have furnished Forbes with his doctor's report.

"No personal problems. Everything's going well at home? Your finances are sound?"

"Ellen and I are celebrating our thirty-second anniversary next month."

Forbes stared hard at Colby. The good old boy vanished and the hard-nosed politician who had carried forty-eight states in the last election took his place.

"I can't afford another fiasco like this Hutchings thing," Forbes said.

"I'm telling you this in confidence, Ray. She lied to me. Hutchings sat where you're sitting and lied. Then that reporter for the Post found out and…"

Forbes let the thought trail off. Everyone in the room was painfully aware of the blow that had been dealt to Forbes's prestige when the Senate voted against confirming the nomination of Mabel Hutchings.

"Is there anything in your past that can cause us problems, Ray?

Anything at all? When you were c.e.o. of Marlin Steel did you ever pay a corporate bribe? Did you use marijuana at Princeton or Harvard law? Did you knock up some girl in high school?"

Colby knew the questions were not ridiculous. The aspirations of presidential hopefuls and Supreme Court nominees had run aground on just such rocky shoals.

"There will be no surprises, Mr. President."

The silence in the Oval Office grew. Then Forbes spoke.