Tod Goldberg - The Bad Beat

“Then why are we even going to school?” Fiona asked.

“Because I’ll fail if I miss any more classes,” Brent said.

“This is ludicrous, Michael. You realize that?” Fiona said.

Sometimes the most important thing in the world is to let a person think that what they care about most is, in fact, extremely vital to their long-term well-being. Having something he could control, like when and if he attended class, was giving Brent a locus of normalcy. And if that was what he needed, that was what we’d have to give him, dangerous or not.

“We’re living in odd times,” I said. “You have a gun with you?”

“One in my purse, a dozen in my car. I’m supposed to sell a few this afternoon. I guess I’ll cancel that.”

“Please,” I said. “And keep in touch during the day. Let me know if there are any problems.”

“Yes, sir,” Fiona said. “Come on, Brent. Let’s go get you some book learning. And maybe, if you’re nice, I’ll let you pretend to be my boyfriend so that we can help you pick out a suitably slutty young woman for you to make mistakes with once you’re incredibly wealthy in a few days.”

“That sounds cool,” Brent said.

I walked Fi and Brent outside to Fi’s car, made sure he was buckled in safely and then pulled Fi aside ever so briefly. “Try not kill anyone today,” I said to her.

“What if I have to?”

“Try to just injure them,” I said. “Guns on college campuses are sort of frowned upon.”

“Hmm, yes, I seem to remember your government killing a bunch of kids on a college campus.”

“I’m thinking more of crazed gunmen in towers and in crowded classrooms, really,” I said.

“Ah, yes, your Second Amendment’s downside,” she said.

“Just be careful,” I said.

“I will be,” she said and then got in her car and was gone. When I turned around, Sam was standing on the front porch watching me. He had my cell phone in his hand.

“It’s always sad when they leave the nest,” he said.

“You’ve got a call.”

“Who is it?”

“He called himself Big Lumpy’s Manservant Monty.”

I took the phone from Sam. “This is Michael.”

“I am sorry to bother you,” Big Lumpy’s Manservant Monty said. “But Mr. McGregor asked me to phone in the event of any problems and address myself as Manservant Monty.”

“Mr. McGregor? That’s…”

“Big Lumpy, yes,” he said.

“Okay,” I said.

“Yes, sorry to say, he’s expired.”

“Pardon me?”

“He’s expired. In bed.”

“You’re telling me he’s dead?”

“He met his transition, yes.”

“That’s not good,” I said.

“On the contrary, it was very peaceful. He was very ill, as I’m sure you know, so this is a relief. He was very happy last night, you should know. As happy as I’ve seen him in years. He worked well into the early morning on your proposal, so I have it here for you. He instructed me that should there be any problems, as I noted before, all contracts remain enforced, so your brother, Nate, is still at risk here, so you should know.”

“What about Brent?”

“Yes, he has been provided for provided he does as Mr. McGregor wishes.”

“Which is?”

“Mr. Grayson will be delivered a copy of Mr. McGregor’s conditions.”

“When?”

“He left your mother’s home approximately five minutes ago-would that be correct?”

I looked over my shoulder and down the street. Nothing stirred. There were no men with cameras hidden in the bushes. Which meant I probably didn’t realize Sugar was bugged. If I had to guess, it would be his earrings. It’s where I would have put a bug.

“Correct,” I said.

“A messenger will be arriving shortly. Within the next ten minutes if you’d like to remain outside. Please do not kill him. He is literally the messenger and not an emissary of any kind. Mr. McGregor specifically wanted you to know this.”

“Great,” I said. “This information he left. It’s about the wind technology, is that correct?”

“That’s my understanding, yes. He was very thorough, you should know. He worked on it until he passed. It will certainly be enough to force Mr. Drubich into complicity provided it is brought to him by a believable source.”

“Big Lumpy was to serve that purpose,” I said.

“Yes, sir, I understand that,” Monty said. “I’m afraid, as I said before, that he’s expired and thus will not be able to play that role.”

“Henry Grayson,” I said.

“Yes?”

“Any information I should know regarding him?”

“Yes, well, I might add that Mr. McGregor was disappointed in you in that regard, but understood your position.”

“What position was that?”

“The position you took in lying to him about his whereabouts. Nevertheless, Mr. Grayson is still missing. Mr. McGregor would like you to know you won that bet.”

I’d had a feeling I hadn’t fooled him. But what I had done was convince him that Henry was crazy. If that hadn’t been the case, he wouldn’t have let me parade that lie in front of him. Even in death, he was exerting control.

“Do you have a body?” I said.

“The body has been removed,” he said.

“By whom?”

“The coroner. That’s who usually does that sort of thing, correct?”

“I just didn’t know if maybe Big Lumpy’s body was privy to government secrecy or anything. You’ll excuse me for presuming he was important.”

“He was important,” he said. I thought I caught a waver in Monty the Manservant’s voice, which made me feel bad. Big Lumpy was, after all, his friend. Or his employer. Or his… something. It really wasn’t all that defined what their relationship was and wasn’t made easier by the fact that they both wore those absurd white outfits, like they were about to star in a Wham! video.

Apologizing would show weakness, so I just pressed on. “Do you happen to have a death certificate?”

“One has not been issued yet. You’ll need to wait two days. The state of Florida is filled with dead people this time of year.”

“Then I need proof of death in some other fashion,” I said. “Otherwise I have no reason to believe you, apart from your very fine diction and that nice car you drive.”

“Would you like to come over and sniff his room?”

“That was a joke, Monty?”

“That was a joke, Mr. Westen. But I’m sure you can call the coroner’s office and they will confirm receipt of his body.”

“Is there going to be a funeral?”

“He was a man just like any other,” he said. “He has his wishes and they are that he will be buried in Massachusetts. If you’d like, I can see if we can get you a special pass to leave Miami to attend.”

Smart. But I wondered how smart.

“Monty,” I said. “That’s your real name? Because I’ve never known an Asian person named Monty.”

“No, not really.”

“What’s your real name?”

“Steven.”

“Steven,” I said, “why don’t you go on home? Get on with your life. You don’t work for Big Lumpy anymore. He’s dead. So you can stop with the formality of things. No one is going to hurt you, okay? You can just head on back to whatever life you thought you wanted to lead. I’m sure you’ve been provided for, right?”

There was silence on the other end of the line.

“Really,” I said. “Feel free. I’ll come and pick up the documentation you have for me and then fly free.”

Silence.

“Or do what you want. It’s your choice. You just don’t need to wait around for your orders anymore.”

“Mr. Westen,” he replied, “do you think everyone is you?”

“You’ve been briefed, apparently.”