Paul Robertson - According to Their Deeds

A bitter smell had infiltrated the room.

“Hey, boss.” Angelo’s voice startled Charles. “Come on, get out of here.”

“No. We’re all right,” Charles said.

John was on his knees, fumbling with the safe door. Finally, sirens were sounding.

“Who did that might come here,” Angelo said.

Charles untangled the words. “No, I don’t think anyone did it. It went off from inside the house.”

“Come on, go!” Angelo’s hiss was urgent and angry. “Get away.”

“We’ll wait for the police, Angelo.”

“Boss, no police!”

“No police,” John Borchard said, suddenly aware of them. The safe was still not open. “Not until I put the files away.”

“Boss,” Angelo pleaded. “Come! The police can’t find me here!” His eyes were wide and white.

“Why are you so afraid?” Charles shouted at him.

A shudder passed from head to feet, and a thin sigh escaped the clenched mouth.

“I am not afraid.”

“Then sit down.”

Slowly the tense body settled into a chair, not sitting but perched.

John was back at the safe, trying to open it. The sirens were close and car doors were opening.

“Mr. Beale?”

“Yes, Officer?” Charles was in his car in John Borchard’s driveway. Angelo was beside him. The dashboard clock said 1:30.

The policeman leaned into his open window. “You can go.”

“But I haven’t spoken with anyone yet!”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry you’ve had to wait so long. Detective Paisley may call you later.”

“I really need to discuss this with him.”

“I’ll make sure he calls.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“We’re not giving any information yet.”

“Then please have your detective call me as soon as possible.” Charles started the car and pulled out onto the street. “There,” he said, angry and frustrated, to Angelo. “There was no reason to get away before the police came. We couldn’t even get them to notice us.”

Angelo didn’t answer. He seethed.

“And then we just watched,” Charles said. Dorothy’s chair was close to his, and the office door was closed. “Police cars, fire trucks, ambulances. Everything. The electric company, the gas company. We finally just waited in the car.”

“Was anyone hurt?” she asked.

“They wouldn’t say. They didn’t bring anyone out of the house while we were there.”

Dorothy waited. “Charles. It can’t have just happened by chance.”

“No, I’m sure it didn’t.”

“Then what was it?”

“It was Patrick White.”

Dorothy was shocked. “How? What would he have been doing there?”

“When he was here this morning, he said wild things. I think he was making an explosive-and it exploded.”

“I don’t understand, Charles. Do you mean it was… that he-”

“I don’t know. He might have been trying to kill John, or maybe himself. I don’t know.”

“But did he live that close to John Borchard?”

“At least for the last days or weeks. Maybe he was renting, I don’t know!”

“What did John Borchard say about it?”

“We didn’t talk. He was with the police detective the last I saw him. Maybe that was why they couldn’t talk to me.”

“And what about Angelo? What did he think?”

Charles buried his head in his hands. “I called him a coward.”

“You what?”

“He wanted to go. He was out in the car when the explosion happened and he came in to get me. He wanted to leave.”

“But why would he want to go? He wouldn’t have had anything to worry about.”

“I suppose his instinct was too strong, to get away from the police, or from anything like this. So I asked him why he was so afraid. I was too upset! John was panicking, and Angelo was panicking, and I guess I panicked, too. I need to go talk to him.”

“Angelo?”

The door opened. Angelo faced him, closed.

“I’m sorry,” Charles said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Angelo didn’t answer.

“I know you weren’t afraid,” Charles said. “You were trying to get us both out of danger.”

Angelo answered. “Do you want anything else?”

“No.”

Angelo closed the door.

“Mr. Beale?” Morgan was waiting for him in the office. “The information you wanted just came up on the computer.”

“I’ll come,” Charles said, and Dorothy followed. They looked at Morgan’s screen.

Former Judge Killed in McLean House Explosion – Patrick White, who resigned last year from the Federal bench over a law school cheating scandal, was killed this afternoon when an explosion occurred in his rented house in McLean. Police have not released any details about the cause of the explosion, except that it was in an upstairs bedroom and that Mr. White was in the room at the time. Washington Gas has confirmed that the explosion was not gas related.

“That’s enough,” Charles said.

“Wait,” Morgan said. “This is new. It says the police think he was building some kind of explosive and it went off.”

“Charles?” Dorothy opened the basement door.

“Yes, dear?”

“It’s nine o’clock. Shall we go home? Everyone else is gone.”

“Did the police detective ever call? His name was Paisley.”

“Not yet.”

“Have you seen Angelo?”

“No, his door’s been closed.”

Charles looked back down at the book open before him. “In the middle of life I find myself within a forest dark, for the straightforward pathway had been lost.”

“It isn’t lost, dear,” Dorothy said. “He found it again.”

“The path he found only lead to the door.

Through me the way is to the city dolent;

Through me the way is to eternal dole;

Through me the way among the people lost.”

“Charles…”

“All hope abandon, ye who enter in!” Charles said.

“No! Charles. If you must be reading Dante, read Paradise instead.”

He tried to smile. “Then be Beatrice and lead me.”

“I’ll take you home at least.”

He did smile. “Yes. Let’s go home.”

“I saw in the newspaper there had been some burglaries near here, Derek.”

“Yes, the neighbors. They really should get better alarm systems. Apparently you have hired your own guard. Is that why you brought that young man?”

“Not exactly, although living in a city always has its worries. And working for the government, too. When I saw you back in April, you mentioned a situation in your office. I hope that’s resolved?”

“Actually not, Charles. In fact, I’m afraid it’s gotten quite a bit more difficult.”

“I’m sorry.”

“The stakes continue to rise. I threaten your pawn, you return with an attack on my bishop, and suddenly the queens are face-to-face, and the whole game hangs in the balance.”

“But in real life, Derek, we have other choices than defeat or victory.”

“That reminds me, Charles. Which of us is winning at the moment?”

“Winning? Oh, of course! You mean your challenge from last time.”

“Our views of life.”

“I’m quite content at the moment, Derek, so I must be winning.”

“I’m in a fight that takes all my wits and cunning, so I must be winning.”

“Then let’s call it a draw.”

“But, Charles, for me, a draw is a loss.”

“For me, it’s a win.”

“Exquisite, Charles! I like this game better than any of the others.”

“It seems easy enough. Even though I don’t know what I’m playing. All I do is be who I am and-Is something wrong, Derek?”

“No. No. I just had a thought.”

“What was it?”

“Nothing exact, Charles. Just that, if somehow I lose the game playing by my rules, you might win it playing by yours.”