Joseph Kanon - Stardust

“And Danny was there?”

“No. That was all an accident-a meet cute. Robert was wheeling him, doing errands, I suppose, just getting out, and your brother waswell, I don’t know what he was doing, actually. Make something uplunch at Musso’s. Who knows? Who cares. Anyway, on the street and wouldn’t you know? Long-lost Jack, it’s been years, what happened to you-like that. Robert probably thought they were old Army buddies, not comrades. Anyway, it cheered Jack up, seeing somebody from the old days, so come back and have a drink. And they did. A lot to catch up on.”

“So that’s how Danny knew about the Cherokee.”

Bunny shrugged. “I must say, it never would have occurred to me to use it for- But I didn’t have his imagination.”

“You saw him there?”

“No. I never knew he took a place there until Dennis called. I guess he liked the look of it. All the possibilities. But he saw Jack there. The second time I thought, that’s it, I’m getting him out of here. The reunion’s over. Anyway, Robert really wasn’t enough. He couldn’t be with him all the time. Jack needed somewhere like this. Where they can watch him.” He glanced again into the bedroom.

“Why didn’t you want him to see Danny? I mean, if they knew each other.”

“Well, it’s how, isn’t it? I knew what your brother was doing. I’ve done Minot a favor or two myself. But not like that. Jack left that life a long time ago-well, the war left it for him. It was only his good nature, you know. Always for the underdog. But try to tell anybody that now. He’s been through a lot. He doesn’t need to go through anything more. Not one more thing.”

“You think Danny was going to give him to Minot? A crippled war hero? What for?”

“To see who else he remembers, from those Fuller Brush parties they used to have. Very sinister characters they were. How can we help Paul Robeson? Christ.” He looked up. “His arm’s gone, but his memory’s there. No, thank you.”

“He has a Silver Star.”

Bunny raised his eyebrows, a question.

“Army records,” Ben said.

Bunny said nothing for a second, taking this in. “I always underestimate you.”

“They’re not going to go after somebody with a Silver Star. How would that make them look?”

“They don’t have to play to the gallery. Nobody sees friendly witnesses in closed sessions. I’m not putting him through that, either. I’m not.”

“But Danny didn’t do that-I’ve seen the files. He wouldn’t have.”

“Touching, your faith in him. He was an informer. You don’t want to face that, don’t. I had to. I had someone else to think about. One time, how’ve you been? Fine. Two, he’s after something. So I moved him.”

“What would Danny have said? We went to a meeting five years ago-bring him in? They’re after more than that. Headlines.”

“And they’ll get them. But not here. Not from me. And not from you, either,” he said, leveling his gaze. “Not here.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Then what are you doing, running errands for Dennis?”

“I’m trying to find out what Danny was doing, that’s all. So I’m friendly. Just like you. To get something.”

“And what was your brother trying to get?”

Ben said nothing, his own question come back at him. He leaned against the rail.

“You’re wrong about him, though,” he said quietly. “He never gave MacDonald away, where he was, even if he’s alive. There’s nothing there. I checked.”

“You forget-he stopped reporting.”

“He wouldn’t have.”

Bunny looked at him, then let it go, taking out another cigarette instead and sitting on the chaise.

“Do you know how it works?” he said, not angry, a resigned patience. “Ever been to the zoo? Watch them feed? The big cats, animals like that? Give them a piece of meat, then another. It only stops when you stop feeding them. The cats just keep eating. You think they can’t be hungry anymore, but they’ll still take the meat. It’s what they do. No matter how much you give them, it’s never enough. You think you know these people? I knew Tenney. That same hunger-I don’t know where it comes from-he could never get enough. But a crackpot. You didn’t have to take all that carrying-on seriously. Look good in Sacramento and he’s satisfied. But Minot’s not a crackpot. You stick your hand through the bars, he’d take it with the meat. Get out of this before it turns on you. Once you’re part of it, you’re expected to supply. Just to prove you’re with them. So you throw them anything. Maybe even Jack. To stay in. Your brother would have done it. But now Jack’s safe. Except from you.”

“I told you, you don’t have to worry about that.”

“I just want to be clear. How unwise that would be. Oh, I know, little Brian, not very scary. But you know who is? Somebody with nothing to lose. And I’m going to lose. Everything I want. I know it.” He looked back to the bedroom. “One of these times it’s going to work. So all I can do is hold on till it does.” He looked back at Ben. “You were never here.”

Ben held his stare. “That’s right.”

Bunny nodded, then drew on the cigarette. “But you were, weren’t you? So now you’re part of it. My confidante. So what do I do? Tell me. I don’t know anymore. He’s going to do it again. I don’t know what to do.”

“Give him time. Even here,” he said, holding his hand to the view. “It takes time.”

“Darling, time. Does it get any hoarier? I suppose I deserve that. Wallowing like this.” He sat up. “Mustn’t grumble. As they used to say in the Blitz. My mother was like that. Mustn’t grumble. Mustn’t grumble.” He covered his eyes with his hand. “Why the fuck not? That’s what I’d like to know.” He paused. “What if it works next time? You’d think I’d be enough. Even with all the rest. You’d think it would be enough-not to want to, for me. But it isn’t.”

Ben was quiet for a minute, then moved away from the railing. “I’d better go.”

“Am I embarrassing you? Or just me,” Bunny said, moving his hands over his cheeks, a quick-change. “What do I say when he wakes up? The last time-”

“Last Monday,” Ben said, trying it.

Bunny’s head jerked up. “How do you know that? Why would you?”

“You left the studio in a hurry. You never leave early. I figured-just now, I mean.”

Bunny stood up, a willed change of mood. “My every move. I didn’t realize I was so fascinating. I still don’t know why. What do you want, exactly? Coming here.”

“Just following a name. I didn’t know.” He looked toward the bed.

“What, all this because he knew your brother?”

“I think somebody tried to stop Danny before he could-”

“Rat on them? I don’t blame him. I’d do it myself.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or did you think that I did? Ben,” he said, drawing the word out. “Well, sorry to disappoint. Dennis called me. At home. I may have picked up a phone from time to time, but my activities don’t extend to-oh, never mind. Think what you like. You might scratch Jack’s name off the list, though, don’t you think? He really wouldn’t have been up to it. Anyway, he was here. Ask anybody.” He waved his hand to the house.

“I had to be sure, that’s all.”

“Well, now you are. So fuck off.” He looked down. “Sorry. Not very nice, was it? What a hard case I have become,” he said, giving it a hint of a Southern accent. “You get that way when you stop telling yourself stories. You can’t change things. No matter how many stories. I remember standing in front of the mirror, looking at my hair go, just crying and crying because I knew everything was coming to an end, and my face just stared right back at me. There it was. Like it or not.” He turned away. “Like it or not.”