Dan Simmons - Darwin's Blade

“Mr. District Attorney, would you like to loosen and remove the hydraulic adjustment screw?” said Lawrence. The huge platform loomed thirty feet above his head…and above Dar’s.

“It’s muddy over there,” said Restanzo, who was obviously still pissed off at the mafia thing.

“I’ll do it,” said Lieutenant Hernandez. He squished through the mud to a spot just outside the shadow of the platform, next to the main hydraulic post.

Lawrence paused as Syd Olson crossed the lot in a quick walk. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, a bit out of breath.

“We were just going to show how this works,” said Lawrence. “Lieutenant, would you please unscrew and remove the hydraulic adjustment screw?”

Dar flicked a glance at Lawrence. The two men were standing casually enough, arms folded, the mass of platform weight a palpable presence above them, but Dar was mentally figuring if he would have time to grab Larry and throw both of them out from under the falling scissors lift in time. It was a simple equation with a simple answer. No.

Hernandez shrugged and began turning the massive screw counterclockwise. It moved, there was a gurgle of hydraulic fluid, and the platform shifted six inches downward.

“Oh, shit,” said Hernandez, jumping away.

“All the way out, please,” said Lawrence.

The homicide lieutenant approached the post as if it were a live rattlesnake. Ever so gingerly he put his arm around it and touched the screw. He turned it another half notch. The platform seemed to quiver in anticipation of its massive collapse.

“All the way out, please,” repeated Lawrence.

The screw stopped turning. Hernandez leaned on the massive lug nut, changed hands, tried harder. Then he tried both hands.

“The fucking thing…excuse me, Mr. Restanzo…the thing won’t budge.”

Lawrence walked over to the post and Dar followed, happy to be out of the death zone. Lawrence put his hand on the massive bolt and screw and waited for Trudy to zoom in.

“Mr. District Attorney, Chief Investigator Olson, Lieutenant Hernandez, gentlemen…this screw is in its regular setting, just as it was on the day that Attorney Jorgé Murphy Esposito died. There is no chance that Counselor Esposito removed the hydraulic screw by accident. As you’ve seen, the screw was designed to be adjusted slightly by hand, but beyond two turns, it requires at least a medium-sized wrench to be turned further. Basic engineering.”

Lawrence turned and looked at Syd and the district attorney. “Whoever killed Mr. Esposito—and we have witnesses who will place the former mafia hit man Tony Constanza here at the time of Esposito’s murder—must have held a gun on Mr. Esposito while removing this screw with a wrench.”

“We didn’t find any wrench at the accident scene,” said Hernandez.

“Exactly,” said Lawrence. He signaled for Trudy to shut off the video and he walked out of the shadow of the scissors lift with Dar following.

Trudy and Lawrence dropped by Dar’s condo for a drink before heading back to Escondido. Syd seemed to be in no hurry for the talk she had asked for after Tom Santana’s funeral.

“OK, we have the Esposito thing nailed with Constanza as the man,” said Trudy. “The Willis case up at Carmel has been reopened and the FBI have taken possession of the Camry…They’re going to use every forensic trick they know to find a print or fiber or something.”

“Warren is going all out on this one,” said Syd.

“Three field agents dead,” said Lawrence. “I wouldn’t wonder.”

“Is Dallas Trace just crazy?” asked Trudy. “He’s been a defense counsel for thirty years…Doesn’t he know that the one thing you don’t get away with in this country is killing law enforcement people?”

Dar cleared his throat. “I don’t think Trace is running things anymore—if he ever was,” he said.

The other three looked at him.

“This behavior is Russian,” continued Dar. “Their crime bosses run the country. If government bureaucrats or police get in the way, they murder them. That simple.”

“That’s true,” said Syd. “They have no RICO statutes over there, or anything similar that allow federal or local police to really crack down on the bastards. The Russian mob owns and runs the distribution of coal, natural gas, alcohol, half the foods available, and electric energy.”

Trudy said, “So you’re saying that the Alliance brought in the Russians to organize things, but that now the Organizatsiya is calling the shots?”

“That’s my bet,” said Dar. “I think Dallas Trace and the others who wanted to get in on the capper business climbed onto a tiger—or maybe I should say onto a bear—and now it’s all they can do to hang on and not get eaten.”

“It’s too late for that,” said Syd, her gaze distant. “They’ve gone too far. They’re all going to get eaten, even the Russian bear…and slowly, I hope.”

“So what would you like to talk about?” asked Dar when the Stewarts had left. Syd sat on the sofa across from Dar’s chair, lost in thought.

Her head came up and she met Dar’s eyes with that intelligent, blue-eyed, attentive gaze that had first called to Dar. “Actually, I don’t want to just talk,” she said. “I wanted to make a suggestion.”

“Yes?” said Dar.

“I want to come up to the cabin with you this weekend,” said Syd. “Not to play bodyguard and not for a strategy session. Just you and me getting away together.”

Dar felt the words jolt him. He hesitated. “It might not be very safe around…” He had been going to say “me,” but he said, “…the cabin.”

Syd smiled. “Where is it safe if they keep coming after us, Dar? If you don’t want to go away with me, it’s OK, but let’s not worry about being safe right now.”

Dar understood that the sentence had more than one meaning for her. “Do you need to drive back to the hotel to get your stuff?”

Syd kicked the small duffel bag she’d carried in with her earlier. “I’m already packed,” she said.

While driving out of town together in the Land Cruiser, his old rifle and the loaned weapon and ammunition under tarps in the back, a few groceries—steaks, fresh salad, a bottle of wine—in the backseat, Dar suddenly had a thought. Perhaps he was being presumptuous, but if she felt the way he did, she might not be spending the night in the sheep wagon. Damn, thought Dar, I should have stopped at a drugstore before we left town. He suddenly blushed. For years he’d been totally faithful to Barbara, and then there had been no one.

Syd touched his arm lightly. He looked over at her.

“Do you believe in telepathy?” she said. She was smiling again.

“No,” said Dar.

“Me either,” said the chief investigator. “But can I pretend that it exists for a minute?”

“Sure,” said Dar, returning his gaze to the road and hoping that his neck and cheeks were not as red as they felt.

“We may be in the same dilemma here, Dar,” she said, “not being young and modern enough to think out all the implications of this. But there’s a certain advantage.”

Dar kept his eyes on the road.

“I led a really dull life as an FBI trainee before marrying Kevin,” she said, “and Kevin and I were faithful to each other, we just didn’t work out. And for a bunch of reasons, there’s been no one since.”

“Barbara and I…were like that,” said Dar. “I haven’t…I mean I’ve chosen not to…”

She put her hand on his arm again. “You don’t have to say anything, Dar. I’m just saying that it’s your call. We’re not kids. Maybe all this stupid abstinence on both our parts gives us something special to share in this day and age.”