David Baldacci - Split Second

"Nice to meet you, Buddy," said King. He looked at the rabbit. "And you too, Buddy. So you know Sid?"

Buddy nodded vigorously. "Play the game."

"The game, right, why don't you show me? Can you do that?"

Again Buddy nodded his head, and smiled. He ran to the corner of the room where there was a box of stuff. He pulled out a tennis ball and came back to them.

He stood in front of Morse and held up the ball. "Okay, I'm pitching the…"

Buddy's focus seemed to wander, and he just stood there holding the ball and his rabbit with his mouth wide open and his eyes expressionless.

King prompted, "The ball. You're pitching the ball, Buddy."

Buddy came back to life. "Okay, I'm pitching the ball." He made a great show of a major league windup that exposed far more of his anatomy than either King or Joan cared to see. As he let the ball go, however, it was in a slow, underhand style.

It was heading right for Morse's head. A second before it hit him, Morse's right hand shot up and caught the ball. Then the hand dropped, the ball still clenched there. Buddy hopped 'round and then took a bow. "The game," he said.

He went over to Morse and tried to get the ball back, but Morse's fingers remained clenched around it. Buddy turned to them with a pathetic expression. "He never gives it back. He's mean! Mean, mean, mean!"

Carl popped his head in. "Everything cool? Oh, hey, Buddy."

"He won't give the ball back," Buddy cried out.

"No problem. Calm down." Carl strode over, took the ball out ofMorse's hand and gave it back to Buddy. Buddy turned to King and held out the ball. "Your turn!"

King looked at Carl, who smiled and said, "It's okay. It's just a reflex action. Docs here have a long name for it, but that's the only thing Sid does. The others get a big kick out of it."

King shrugged and gently tossed the ball to Morse, who caught it again.

"So, does anyone ever visit Sid?" Joan asked Carl.

"Brother used to when he first got here, but he ain't been around for a long time now. I guess Sid was some big deal years ago 'cause we had some reporters come by when he was admitted. But that didn't last long after they saw what shape he was in. Now nobody comes. He just sits in that chair."

"And catches the ball," added Joan.

"Right."

As they were leaving, Buddy came racing up after Joan and King. He had the tennis ball in his hand. "You can have this if you want to. I have lots of others."

King took the ball. "Thanks, Buddy."

Buddy held up his rabbit. "Thank Buddy too."

"Thanks, Buddy."

He looked at Joan and held up the rabbit even higher. "Kiss Buddy?"

King nudged Joan with his elbow. "Go ahead, he's cute."

"What, I don't even get dinner first?"

Joan pecked the rabbit on the cheek. Then she said, "So are you good friends with Sidney? I mean Sid."

Buddy nodded so hard his chin hit his chest.

"His room's right next to mine. Wanna see?"

King looked at Joan. "We're here."

"In for a dime, in for a dollar," she replied with a shrug.

Buddy took Joan's hand and led them down a hallway. King andJoan weren't sure they were supposed to be in this area without an attendant, but no one stopped them.

Buddy halted in front of one room and slapped the door. "This is my room! Wanna see? It's cool."

"Sure," said Joan. "Maybe you have some more Buddys in there."

Buddy opened the door and then immediately closed it. "I don't like people looking at my stuff," he said, staring at them anxiously.

King let out a long, exasperated sigh. "Okay, Buddy, your house, your rules."

"Is this Sid's room?" Joan was pointing to the door to the left of Buddy's.

"Nope, this one." Buddy opened the door to the right.

"Is this okay, Buddy?" asked King. "Can we go in?"

"Is this okay, Buddy? Can we go in?" Buddy repeated, looking at the two with a big smile.

Joan was scanning the hallway and saw no one watching. "I think it's okay, Buddy. Why don't you keep watch outside?" She slipped inside, and King followed and closed the door. A suddenly panicked-looking Buddy stood by the door.

Inside they looked around the Spartan quarters. "Sidney Morse's fall was long and complete," commented Joan.

"They often are," King said distractedly as he examined the place. The smell of urine was very strong in here. King wondered how often the sheets were changed. There was a small table in the corner. On it were several photographs, all without frames. King picked them up. "I guess no sharp objects in the room like glass and metal."

"Morse doesn't look capable of suicide, or anything else for that matter."

"You never know, he could swallow that tennis ball and choke to death." King examined the pictures. There was one of two young men in their teens. One held a baseball bat. He said, "The Morsebrothers. They look to be around high school age." He held up another photo. "And I guess these are their parents."

Joan joined him and looked at the photos. "Their mother was pretty homely."

"Homely but rich. That makes a big difference to a lot of people."

"The dad was very handsome."

"As I said, the prominent lawyer."

Joan took the photo and held it up. "Both boys took after their father. Sidney was chunky even back then but nice-looking. Peter was good-looking too… nice build, with the same eyes as his brother." She studied the confident way he held the baseball bat. "He was probably a jock in high school who hit his peak at eighteen and went rapidly downhill from there. Drugs and bad news."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"How old would Peter be now?"

"A little younger than Sidney, so early fifties maybe."

She gazed at Peter's face. "Sort of a Ted Bundy type. Good looking and charming, and he'll slit your throat the minute you let your guard down."

"Reminds me of some women I've known."

There was a small box in the corner. King went over and sifted through the contents. They included a number of old, yellowed newspaper clippings. Most chronicled Sidney Morse's career.

Joan was peering over his shoulder. "Nice of his brother to bring this scrapbook of sorts along. Even if Sidney can't read it." King didn't answer. He kept going through the pages.

King held up one very curled newspaper article. "This talks about Morse's early career staging plays. I remember him telling me about it. He really put together these elaborate productions. I don't think any of them made any money, though."

"Not that he probably cared. The son of a rich mom can afford to dally like that."

"Well, he gave it up at some point and started to really work for aliving. Although you could say he ran Ritter's campaign like a stage production."

"Anything else before we officially rule Sidney Morse a complete and total dead end?" she asked.

"Shouldn't we look under the bed?" asked King.

Joan eyed him disdainfully. "That's a boy job."

King sighed and cautiously peered under the bed. He rose quickly.

"Well?" she asked.

"You don't want to know. Let's get out of here."

As they left the room, Buddy was right there waiting.

"Thanks for your help, Buddy," Joan said. "You've been a real peach."

He looked at Joan excitedly. "Kiss Buddy?"

"I already did, Buddy," she reminded him politely.

Buddy suddenly looked ready to cry. "No, this Buddy." He pointed to himself.

Joan's mouth dropped, and she glanced at King, obviously looking for help.

"Sorry, that's a girl job," he said, grinning.

Joan gazed at the pitiful Buddy, swore under her breath and then suddenly grabbed him and planted a big one right on the little man's lips.

She turned, wiped her face and muttered to King, "The things I do for a million bucks." Then she stalked out.

"Bye, Buddy," said King, and he left.