Nelson Demille - The Lion's Game

"Are you sure?"

She ignored me and walked into the motel lobby. I followed.

It was a pleasant place, and I could hear a piano playing through the lounge door.

The check-in guy greeted us warmly and informed us that he had deluxe ocean-view rooms for us on the twelfth floor. Nothing too good for the guardians of Western Civilization.

I asked him, "What ocean?"

"Pacific, sir."

"Do you have anything overlooking the Atlantic?"

He smiled.

Kate and I filled out the registration forms, and the guy made an impression of my American Express card, which I think let out a groan as it passed through the machine. Kate took a photo out of her bag, along with her credentials, and said to the clerk, "Have you seen this man?"

The clerk seemed less happy than he'd been when he thought we were just passing through for the night. He stared at the photo of Asad Khalil, then replied, "No, ma'am."

Kate said, "Keep that. Call us if you see him." She added, "He's wanted for murder."

The clerk nodded and put the photo behind the counter.

Kate told him, "Pass it on to your relief person."

We got our keycards, and I suggested a drink in the lounge.

Kate said, "I'm exhausted. I'm going to sleep."

"It's only ten."

"It's one A M. in New York. I'm tired."

I had this sudden unhappy thought that I was going to drink alone and sleep alone.

We went to the elevators and rode up in silence.

At about the tenth floor, Kate asked me, "Are you sulking?"

"Yes."

The elevator reached the top floor, and we got out. Kate said, "Well, I don't want you to sulk. Come into my room for a drink."

So, we went into her room, which was big, and with no luggage to unpack, we quickly made two Scotch and sodas from the mini-bar and retired to the balcony. She said, "Let's forget the case tonight."

"Okay." We sat in the two chairs with a round table between us and contemplated the moonlit ocean.

This somehow reminded me of my convalescent stay at my uncle's house on the water on eastern Long Island. It reminded me of the night Emma and I sat drinking cognac after a skinny-dip in the bay.

I was sliding into a bad mood and tried to get out of it.

Kate asked me, "What are you thinking about?"

"Life."

"Not a good idea." She said, "Did it ever occur to you that you're in this business, working long, hard hours because you don't want to have the time to think about your life?"

"Please."

"Listen to me. I really care for you, and I sense that you're looking for something."

"Clean underwear."

"You can wash your fucking underwear."

"I never thought of that."

"Look, John, I'm thirty-one years old, and I've never come close to getting married."

"I can't imagine why."

"Well, for your information, it wasn't for lack of offers."

"Gotcha."

"Do you think you'd get married again?"

"How far a fall do you think it is from this balcony?"

I thought she'd get angry over my flippancy, but instead, she laughed. Sometimes a guy can do no right, sometimes a guy can do no wrong. It has nothing to do with what a guy does; it has to do with the woman.

Kate said to me, "Anyway, you did a hell of a job today. I'm impressed. And I even learned a few things."

"Good. When you ram your knee into a guy's balls from that position, you may actually pop his nuts into his abdomen. So you have to be careful."

Smart lady that she was, she said, "I don't think you're a violent or sadistic man. I think you do what you have to do when you have to do it. And I think you don't like it. That's important."

See what I mean? I could do no wrong in Kate's eyes.

She'd put two more little bottles of Scotch in her jacket pocket, and she opened them and poured them in our glasses. After a minute or so, she said, "I know about that thing that happened on Plum Island."

"What thing?"

"When you disemboweled that guy."

I took a deep breath, but didn't reply.

She let a few seconds pass, then said, "We all have a dark side. It's okay."

"Actually, I enjoyed it."

"No, you didn't."

"No, I didn't. But… there were extenuating circumstances."

"I know. He killed someone you cared for very much."

"Let's drop the subject."

"Sure. But I wanted you to know that I understand what happened and why."

"Good. I'll try not to do that again." See what I mean? I cut this guy's guts out, and it's okay. Actually, it was okay because he deserved it.

Anyway, we let that subject cool off awhile. We drank and stared at the mesmerizing ocean rolling toward the beach. You could hear the waves breaking softly against the shore. What a view. A breeze passed by, and I could smell the sea. I asked her, "You liked it here?"

" California is nice. The people are very friendly."

People often mistake spacey for friendly-but why ruin her memory? "Did you have a boyfriend here?"

"Sort of." She asked me, "Do you want my sexual history?"

"How long will that take?"

"Less than an hour."

I smiled.

She asked me, "Was your divorce nasty?"

"Not at all. The marriage was nasty."

"Why did you marry her?"

"She asked me."

"Can't you say no?"

"Well… I thought I was in love. Actually, she was an ADA, and we were on the side of the angels. Then she took a high-powered job as a criminal defense attorney. She changed."

"No, she didn't. The job changed. Could you be a criminal defense attorney? Could you be a criminal?"

"I see your point. But-"

"And she made a lot more money defending criminals than you did arresting them."

"Money had nothing to do-"

"I'm not saying what she does for a living is wrong. I'm saying that… what's her name?"

"Robin."

"Robin was not right for you even when she was an assistant district attorney."

"Good point. Can I jump now? Or is there more you need to tell me?"

"There is. Hold on. So, you meet Beth Penrose, who's on the same side of the law that you're on, and you're reacting against your ex-wife. You feel comfortable with a cop. Maybe less guilty. I'm sure it was no fun around the station house being married to a criminal defense attorney."

"I think that's enough."

"Actually, it's not. Then I came along. Perfect trophy. Right? FBI. Attorney. Your boss."

"Stop right there. Let me remind you that it was you-Forget it."

"Are you angry?"

"You're damned right I'm angry." I stood. "I gotta go."

She stood. "All right. Go. But you have to face some realities, John. You can't hide behind that tough-guy, wise-ass exterior forever. Someday, maybe soon, you're going to retire, and then you have to live with the real John Corey. No gun. No badge-"

"Shield."

"No one to arrest. No one who needs you to protect them or to protect society. It'll just be you, and you don't even know who you are."

"Neither do you. This is California psychobabble bullshit, and you've only been here since seven-thirty. Good night."

I left the balcony, left her room, and went out into the corridor. I found my room next door and went in.

I kicked off my shoes, threw my jacket on the bed, and took off my holster, shirt, tie, and armored vest. Then I made a drink from the mini-bar.

I was pretty worked up and actually felt like crap. I mean, I knew what Kate was doing, and I knew it wasn't malicious, but I really didn't need to be prodded into confronting the monster in the mirror.

Ms. Mayfield, if I'd given her a few more minutes, would have painted a beautiful picture of how life could be if we were facing it together.

Women think the perfect husband is all they need for a perfect life. Wrong. First, there are no perfect husbands. Not even many good ones. Second, she was right about me, and I wasn't going to get any better by living with Kate Mayfield.