Brad Meltzer - Dead Even

“I don’t care. I want you to call them,” Jared said, refusing to take his eyes off Kozlow. “When it comes to this case, we have to pretend the worst has already happened.”

At four o’clock that afternoon, Sara picked up her phone and dialed Jared’s number. Kathleen put her through.

“What do you want?” Jared answered.

“Nice greeting,” Sara said. “Very warm.”

“Sorry, I don’t have time right now. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No reason,” Jared said. “So what do you want?”

Surprised by her husband’s tone, she asked, “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m just busy with the case. Now what’s up?”

“I wanted to make sure you know about the consent forms so we can-”

“I already had them drawn up and sent out. They’ll be there first thing in the morning.”

“Good,” Sara said. “Now are we still on for dinner tonight?”

“Dinner? Oh, crap, I forgot. I’m sorry. I’ll never make it in time; I’m completely swamped.”

“Jared, don’t give me that. You promised Pop you’d be there.”

“I know, but-”

“But what? You have too much work? Kozlow hasn’t even been indicted yet.”

“Don’t start with me,” Jared said. “If you do your job, I need to be prepared for the results.”

“Fine, pull an all-nighter. It won’t do you any good – I’m still going to kill you in court.”

Jared didn’t respond to the jab.

“Hello?” Sara said. “Is anyone there? Someone who can take a joke, perhaps?”

“Listen, I have to go,” Jared said. “I’ll see you at home.”

Sara heard a click and her husband was gone.

“Everything okay?” Guff asked, looking through the case files on Sara’s desk.

“I don’t think so. He’s working awfully hard, considering there’s no indictment.”

“Maybe he’s just trying to get ahead on things.”

“Maybe,” Sara said. “But I can tell when my husband’s nervous, and right now, something’s got him crazy. From here on in, the honeymoon’s over.”

AT SEVEN THAT EVENING, SARA AND GUFF STOOD OUTSIDE the Second Avenue Deli, where the smell of kosher pickles and fried knishes drifted through the air. As a stream of East Siders followed their noses into the land of giant pastrami sandwiches and insulting waiters, Sara noticed the chilly air. “Winter’s on her way,” she said.

“You think?” Guff asked, blowing into his cupped hands and jogging in place to stay warm. “Now tell me again why your grandfather wants us standing out here when it’s nice and warm inside?”

“Guff, I told you ten times already – don’t call him my grandfather. He’s Pop. He likes being called Pop. That’s what we call him. And if we want to eat with him, we have to meet him outside. Otherwise, he thinks we’re not meeting him, and he’ll go home. Trust me, it sounds ridiculous, but it’s no joke. I’ve been stood up enough times to know.”

“He’s a real character, huh?”

“That’s why I invited you. He may be my closest surviving relative, but he’s a little overwhelming one-on-one. If you have two people against him, he’s easier on the senses.”

“Why didn’t Jared come?”

“Jared said he was busy, but I think it’s also because he and Pop don’t always see eye-to-eye.”

“Why?”

“When Jared and I first started going out, Pop said that Jared wasn’t the right type for me.”

“So?”

“So, he said it to Jared’s face – the night they first met.”

“I assume you disagreed.”

“Of course. Regardless of what my Pop says, Jared’s always been the one .”

“How’d you know?”

“What do you mean how’d I know? There’s no one reason. You just sort of… know.”

“Don’t give me that sentimental claptrap. There must be something you can point to – one incident that gave you some kind of sign.”

Thinking for a moment, Sara said, “Actually, there was this one thing. When I was little, around nine or ten, my dad started going on a ton of business trips – he was a salesman for a women’s clothing company. At the same time, I started having this recurring nightmare about being deaf. It was terrifying. Everyone would be talking, but I couldn’t hear anything. And then, even if I was screaming at the top of my lungs, no one could hear me. This went on for almost two years.”

“Because you missed your father.”

“Exactly. When my mom took me to a psychologist, he told her that the nightmare was based on my fear of being alone. Since I was an only child, and my parents were away from home a lot, it was a natural occurrence. With some help, I eventually got over my little prepubescent fears and moved on with my life. Then, twelve years later, my parents died. And the nightmare came back. The same terrible, haunting dream: I’m ten again, I’m deaf, and even though I’m screaming like a maniac, I can’t hear myself, and no one can hear me. This time, though, no matter how hard I tried, no matter how many psychobabble techniques I used, I couldn’t shake it. It was torturing me. But when I started going out with Jared, the dream suddenly disappeared. I haven’t had it since. And that’s at least one of the reasons I knew he was the one. Naturally, Pop disagrees, but that’s just his nature.”

“I don’t understand – how can one person be that bad?”

“You’ll see,” Sara warned with a smile. “And let me give you one last hint: When you’re stuck for something to say, don’t ask him about the garment industry.”

Expecting a crotchety old man, Guff was surprised when Pop finally turned the corner. With soft, alert eyes and a mild smile, the old man was far more sympathetic looking than Guff had imagined. As he got closer, Guff also realized how big he was. A former beat cop in Brooklyn, Pop was no longer a mass of muscle, but in his determined, lumbering strides, Guff could see hints of the man he used to be.

After giving Sara a kiss hello, Pop stared at Guff. After a moment he asked, “What’s wrong with your hair? Is it fake?”

“It’s real,” Guff said. “And I’m Guff. Nice to meet you, Pop.”

“Call me Pop,” Pop said as he shook Guff’s hand. “And I’m just kidding about the hair part. Just good fun and all that.” Guff shot a look at Sara as they followed Pop into the restaurant. “Where’s that suck-up husband of yours?”

“He’s working on a case,” Sara explained. “He said to send you his best.”

“Don’t lie to me, sister. I’ve been stood up by better than him.”

“I’m sure you have,” Sara said.

The hostess seated Guff, Sara, and Pop in a booth in the back of the restaurant. “So is this place any good?” Guff asked.

“Good?” Pop said. “This is the Second Avenue Deli! They’ve been putting out pastrami since Eisenhower first scratched his giant-sized forehead in the White House.”

“Eisenhower had a big forehead?” Guff asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Pop said. “Ike had a huge melon. So did Jack Kennedy. Only difference was, Kennedy had hair. Look at the pictures – it’s true.”

“I never knew that,” Guff said, fighting back a smile. “Who else had a big head?”

“My gosh, back then, everyone did. That’s why we all wore hats. Goldwater, Nixon, Milton Berle, even that fella de Gaulle from France – he had a giant one. It was like a secret code.”

“Secret code?”

“Oh, sure. Wearing a hat meant something. It’s like the letters in a deck of cards. Add them together and you get-”

“The number fifty-two!” Guff said, now excited. “I know that code!”