Michael Palmer - Silent Treatment

'I didn't want him to come with me, but heinsisted. He can't get enough of living on the edge — you'd think being anoptions trader would do it. Besides, he says he'll never forget that you oncekept Bumpy Giannetti from beating the snot out of him.'

'Thank Ziggy for me,' Harry said as Philhelped him up the step. 'But tell him that if that's really the case, Iprobably just showed up at the right moment and presented Bumpy with a punchingbag less likely to hit back.'

The interior of the Winnebago was as grandas any hotel Harry had ever stayed in.

'This is incredible,' he said, strippingoff his shirt. 'Is this yours?'

'For the time being, it's yours. TheLuxor. Thirty-seven feet of everything you could ever ask for in a motor home.Two TVs with a dish on the roof, fax, phone, bar, ice maker, stereo system,washer/dryer, driver and passenger airbags, cherrywood cabinets. Youtold me you needed a car, but I got to thinking that you also needed a safeplace to stay. Then I realized I had both all rolled up in one. We lease thisbaby from time to time to some people who need a hotel room, but don't want ahotel. It's registered to my corporation. The registration's in the glovecompartment, along with a couple of sheets on where you can and can't take itand park it. My beeper number's there, too. You can reach me twenty-four hoursa day.'

'Phil, I … thanks. Thanks a lot. This isperfect. How much does it-'

'Hey,' Phil said, stopping him with araised hand. 'If you have to ask, you really don't want to know.'

Harry toweled off and pulled the stacks ofsoggy bills from his pockets.

'You neglected to mention theall-important microwave,' he said.

'Just don't do them all at once.' Philtossed over the black Nike warm-up suit. 'I don't think I could stand thethought of all that cash vaporizing in my RV. The fridge is pretty well stockedand there are some clothes in the closet that I think will fit you. Just becareful and don't stay in one place too long. Is there anything else you need?'

Harry thought for a moment, then took apen and paper from the small mahogany writing desk and dashed off a note toMaura.

'The doorman at my co-op will take this upto her,' he said. 'Then I want you to back off and keep out of this. You'vedone way more than enough.'

Phil slipped the letter into his pocket.

'We've had a funny life, Harry,' he said.'I won't deny that over the years, especially after you won those medals inVietnam, I pushed myself in business because I wanted to beat you out atsomething.'

'Well, you did.'

'So what? The point is it was always justsomething inside me. You never did or said anything to make me feel I had totop you. What difference does it make anyhow? It's not a contest. It never hasbeen. It's our lives. You're my only brother, Harry. I don't want to lose you.'

Harry stared at his brother through thedim light. It was the first time he had ever heard Phil talk this way. Heleaned against the soft, leather headrest of the passenger seat.

'Remember that day in front of my officewhen you told me not to worry, that something would come along for me to pushagainst? Well, something has, Phil. A monster. His name's Anton Perchek. He'san M.D. And I'm not going to stop pushing against him until he's finished or Iam.' He wrote the name down and passed it over. 'If anything happens to me,this is the man who killed Evie. He also killed Caspar Sidonis, Andy Barlow,one of my favorite patients, and God only knows how many other people. The Fedsknow who he is, but they might not admit it. I think he did some torture workfor the CIA. He's supposed to have died years ago, but they have a fingerprintof his taken from Evie's hospital room.

'I had stopped caring, Phil. I don't knowwhy — maybe turning fifty, maybe Evie, maybe that goddamn family curse I'vebeen so wrapped up in. But I care now, Phil. Thanks to that bastard, Perchek,things matter to me again. That woman, Maura, the one the note is for, she'svery special. I want the chance to get to know her better. Maybe get marriedagain someday- if not to her, then to someone like her. Maybe have a kid or twoso you can be an uncle.'

'I'll spoil the hell out of them. Do youknow where you're going from here?'

'I do, but I don't want you to know.You're already going to have to lie to the police because of me.'

'You know how to get hold of me.'

'I do. Don't worry, Phil. I'm gonna winthis one.'

'I know. I know you are. Well. . um.. we'd better get going.'

'Thank Ziggy for me. And give my love toGail and the kids.'

For a few seconds, the brothers stood insilence by the door. Then, for the first time since the death of their father,they embraced.

Rocky Martino, the night doorman atHarry's apartment building, had more than enough reason for having an extra nipor two. It had been the longest, most stressful night of his life. In the spaceof just a few hours, half of Manhattan seemed to have descended on him,everyone looking for Harry Corbett. The Manhattan police, the New Jerseypolice, even the FBI — something about moving a body across state lines. Crewsfrom several TV stations and some radio people as well had come by and spokenwith him. But all he could tell any of them was that he had no idea when HarryCorbett had left the building or when he would be back.

The one thing that he did not tell any ofthe news people, but he did tell the police, was that Maura Hughes had comeback to the apartment at ten-thirty and was still there. Two officers had goneup and spoken to her for over an hour.

Early on, Rocky knew that he was in overhis head and had the presence of mind to call down Shirley Bowditch, thepresident of the co-op association. She had handled everything. Now, at last,he was alone. He went to the maintenance closet just behind the door to thecellar. On the bottom shelf, in the base of a locked tool box, was his supplyof nips. He selected an ounce of Absolut and downed it in a single gulp. Theraspy burning brought warm, familiar tears to his eyes. When he returned to thelobby, a tall, broad-shouldered man in a sports coat was tapping on the glass,holding up a police badge. Rocky buzzed him in. The huge man introduced himselfand the branch he was with, but whatever he said didn't register. Rocky toldhim his name.

'We need your help,' the policeman said.'How long are you going to be on duty?'

'Noon,' Rocky said. 'I work midnight untilnoon. Armand Rojas, the other doorman and I decid-'

'Good. Good, Rocky. Now listen up. There'sa woman up in Harry Corbett's apartment. Her name is Maura Hughes.'

'So?'

'If she goes by cab to meet up with him,we want to be driving her.' He guided Rocky to the street and pointed at a cabparked half a block away. 'When you want a cab for her, just point at that one.We'll do the rest.'

'O-Okay,' Rocky said, intimidated by theman's size and brusqueness.

The giant fished out a bill from hiswallet and handed it over. It was fifty.

'Do this right, Rocky, and not a word toanyone, and there'll be another one of these in it for you.'

Rocky took the bill and watched until thepoliceman had disappeared from sight. Then he headed back to the tool kit. Hewould do what the man asked because he was frightened of what would happen ifhe didn't, and because he wanted the other fifty. The guy who had gone upstairsan hour before with an envelope for Maura had only given him twenty. Hepolished off another vodka. He liked Harry Corbett, and was sorry he was insuch trouble. But hell, it wasn't Rocky Martino's fault.

He returned to the lobby. It was almostfive in the morning. He had new money in his pocket and a glow in his gut aswarm as sunrise. Outside, half a block away, the cab stood waiting. He lickedhis lips and thought about the sudden windfall, soon to be increased by anotherfifty bucks. No one could criticize him for cooperating with the police. No oneat all.