Brad Meltzer - Dead Even

“More than your marriage? What’s bigger than that?”

“Nothing I can really talk about,” Jared said despairingly. “Please just drop it.”

An awkward silence took the room. “You’re really in trouble, aren’t you, J?”

Jared didn’t move.

Leaning forward, Barrow opened his bottom drawer and pulled out a.38-caliber handgun. “Here,” he said. “In case.”

Jared took the handgun from Barrow and stared at it. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m the gun-toting type.”

“If you’re in as much trouble as I think you are, you should have a gun,” Barrow said. He rolled up the leg of his slacks, revealing an even smaller pistol in a leather ankle holster. Unfastening the holster, he handed it to Jared. “If you don’t like the big one, take this instead. It’s small, compact, and easy to hide.” When Jared didn’t reach for it, Barrow added, “Just in case.”

Reluctantly taking the gun, Jared rolled up his own pants and put on the holster.

“You barely even notice it’s there, do you?”

“I guess,” Jared agreed. “Let’s just hope I don’t have to use it.”

Sitting in the driver’s seat of his plain white rental car, Kozlow stared at the inconspicuous entryway to Barrow’s office and wondered what was taking so long. Give it time, he told himself. It’s just like Rafferty said: “They have a lot to discuss. Jared’s getting nervous, and as that happens, he’ll start looking for a way out.”

As usual, Rafferty was right. Jared was in the office for almost a full hour. When he did finally leave, Kozlow watched him disappear up the block. He seemed even more tense than when he had walked in.

Looking up at Barrow’s private-detective sign, Kozlow knew it wouldn’t be long. Twenty minutes later, Barrow left his office and headed across Sixty-fifth Street. Here we go, Kozlow thought. Time to return that favor.

With a semihot cup of coffee in hand, Sara arrived at work early Saturday morning. Between the newest developments with Kozlow, the maintenance and negotiations of her other two cases, and the paperwork from the two cases she pled out, Sara was finally starting to understand the temptation of keeping a change of clothes in her office.

Putting the coffee down on her desk, Sara picked up the phone and checked her voice mail. The only message was from Tiffany, who wanted to know why Sara hadn’t picked her up from school yesterday. “Oh, no,” Sara said as she listened to the message. Replacing the receiver, she tried to think of a way to make it up to her.

Sara then flopped in her chair and kicked her feet up on her desk. This is going to be a great day, she thought, putting Tiffany out of her mind. Pop was feeling better; her mundane burglary was now a cut-your-teeth homicide; and while she missed her husband, she felt confident she could keep him safe. For the first time in months, Sara was flushed with confidence. It was all going to work out.

Ten minutes later, Guff stuck his head into Sara’s office. He took one look at her and asked, “What flavor canary did you eat last night?”

“Can’t I just be in a good mood for once?”

“Actually, I was going to ask you the same thing,” Guff said with a mischievous smile, “because today’s your lucky day !” Darting out to the hall, Guff shouted, “Bring it in, boys!” He high-stepped back into Sara’s office, followed by two delivery men carrying a brand-new olive-green vinyl sofa.

“You actually got one!” Sara said in disbelief. “How’d you pull this one off?”

As the men put the sofa down on the right-hand side of the room, Guff explained, “Let’s just say we owe the cute little redhead in Purchasing a favor.”

“What’d you do? Go out with her?”

“Exactly the opposite. I promised her I wouldn’t call her for six weeks. She tried to make it a full two months, but I held my ground.”

“You sure did,” Sara said. She sat on the sofa and patted its cushions. “Ohhhhh, genuine American vinyl.”

“Nothing but the shiniest for my boss,” Guff said as the delivery men left the office. “And that’s not even the best part.” Guff reached behind his back and pulled something from his back pocket. “Guess what I’m holding in my hand right now?”

Sara thought for a moment. “A giraffe?”

“Smaller.”

“A canoe.”

“Smaller.”

“A shrunken head.”

“Uhhh, smaller – depending on how shrunken it is.”

“A magic lasso that makes you tell the truth.”

“Oh, you’re never going to get it,” Guff said. “The paperwork came in during your first week, and although you’re supposed to pick it up yourself, I fudged the rules and picked it up for you. You were so busy, I figured-”

“Just give it to me already,” Sara demanded.

“Okay, close your eyes,” Guff said as Sara obliged. “On three. One… two… three.”

When Sara opened her eyes, she saw what Guff was holding: an official gold badge with the words Sara Tate, DA , and New York County engraved into it. Sara’s badge seemed to sparkle in the morning light.

“Congrats,” Guff said, handing her the badge in its black leather case. “You’re officially an assistant district attorney.”

Mesmerized, Sara couldn’t take her eyes off of her newest form of ID. “Incredible,” she finally said. “I feel like a cop.”

“And now you can do all those cool cop things, like walk onto a crime scene and get good seats at the movie theaters. Most important, you can whip it out and scream, ‘Sara Tate! ADA!’” Guff yelled as he pulled out his own imaginary badge.

“This is terrific. Thank you, Guff. I really mean it. You didn’t have to do all this.”

“Just do me one favor in return. Let me see you flash the badge.”

Sara got up from her new sofa and crouched into position. She then brandished the badge and yelled, “ Sara Tate! ADA! Stop or I’ll blow your ass away !”

“You can’t yell a rhyme,” Guff said, laughing. “No one’ll take you seriously.”

Before Sara could make another attempt, Conrad stormed into the office. He didn’t look happy.

“Check it out,” Sara said, holding out her badge. “Real solid-metal authority.” When she didn’t get a response, she added, “Put on a smile – we’re having a good time here.”

“You don’t even know, do you?” Conrad asked.

“Know what?”

A dire tone blanketed Conrad’s voice. “Sara, I think you may want to sit down.”

“What happened?”

“Just take a seat.”

“Is it Jared? Is he okay? What-”

“Jared’s fine.”

She was frantic now. “It’s Pop! Oh, God, it’s Pop! What happened? Is he-”

“Your family’s fine,” Conrad interrupted. “It’s your private-eye friend, Lenny Barrow. They found him murdered last night.”

“LENNY’S DEAD?” SARA ASKED, STUNNED. “WHEN DID it happen? How?”

“A hit-and-run driver plowed into him a block away from his office,” Conrad explained. “Crushed his skull on impact.”

Sara sank to the sofa. “I can’t believe it. We’ve known Lenny for years. He took me to the hospital when I had my appendix out – carried me from the cab.”

“If you want, I can get you the homicide report on it,” Conrad offered. “It may have some more information.”

“I can’t believe he’s dead,” Sara said.

“Are you okay?” Guff asked, sitting down next to her.

“Hand me the phone,” Sara said to Conrad. “I have to tell Jared.”

“Dead?” Jared asked, his voice cracking.

“Sara called about a half hour ago. He was found dead last night,” Kathleen explained. “I’m really sorry, Jared. I know you two were close.”