Харлан Кобен - Win

Before I have a chance to offer up my customary greeting, Sadie half snaps, “Where are you?”

I do not like the timbre in her voice. There is anger. And there is fear.

“I’m strolling through Central Park. Is there a problem?”

“There is. I’m at the office. Get here as soon as you can.”

She disconnects the call.

I find a taxi heading south on Central Park West. Traffic is light at this hour. Ten minutes later I’m back at the Lock-Horne Building on Park Avenue. Jim is working security at the desk. I nod at him and head toward my private elevator. It’s getting late now, north of ten p.m., but this building is filled mostly with financial advisors of one kind or another, many of whom need to work hours that coincide with overseas markets, many more of whom put in wastefully long hours to match the other guy vying for the same promotion. I press the button for the fourth floor, and especially tonight, with a few drinks in me, with images of Jessica Culver still swimming in my head, the memories of MB Reps — the M stood for Myron, the B for Bolitar, Myron would self-flagellate over the name’s lack of ingenuity — swirl though my skull.

Sadie greets me when I get off the elevator, though “greet” may imply a temperament that is not at all apropos. “What did you do, Win?”

“Nice to see you too, Sadie.”

She adjusts her glasses. It feels as though she is doing that more as a statement than a need, but whatever gets you through the night. “Do I really look in the mood?”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

Sadie steps into her office. I notice that Taft’s reception desk is empty except for a box of his belongings. Sadie sees me noticing and arches an eyebrow.

“I had visitors today.”

“Oh?”

“They braced me out on the street. Two huge guys.”

I wait.

“What did you do, Win?”

“Who were they?”

“Teddy Lyons’s brothers.”

I wait.

“Win?”

“Did they threaten you?”

“Well, they didn’t want to buy me a drink.”

“What did they say?”

“They accused me of sending a man to hurt Teddy.”

“What did you say?”

“What do you think I said?”

“That you didn’t.” Then I ask, “Did they believe you?”

“No, Win, they didn’t believe me.” She moves closer to me. “You were at that basketball game.”

“So were seventy thousand other people.”

“Are you really going to lie to me?”

“What exactly do you think I did, Sadie?”

“That’s what I’m asking.”

“It has nothing to do with you.”

“No, Win, that isn’t true.” Sadie gestures to the empty desk. “Taft told you what Teddy Lyons did to Sharyn, didn’t he?”

“As did you.”

“Not until after he was hurt. You know Teddy Lyons may never walk again.”

“Seems he’s able to talk though,” I say. “So you fired Taft?”

“I don’t like spies in my office.”

Fair enough.

“Do I need to find a new workspace?”

“That’s up to you.”

“You’re going to have to do better than that, Win. What were you thinking?”

“That Sharyn deserved justice.”

“Are you serious?”

I wait.

“We are law-abiding,” Sadie says. “We are trying to change hearts and minds — and laws.”

“Taft said Teddy was currently stalking someone else.”

“Probably.”

“He wasn’t going to stop because you wanted to change laws,” I say, realizing that I’m echoing the words I’d told Vanessa Hogan about the Hut of Horrors perpetrators.

“So you took care of it?”

I see no reason to reply.

“And now we have these goons coming after us.”

“I’ll handle them.”

“I don’t want you to handle them.”

“Too bad.”

“Is that the world you want to live in?” Sadie shakes her head. “Do you really want people to take the law into their own hands?”

“People? Heavens, no. Me? Yes.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“I trust my judgment,” I say. “I don’t trust the common man’s.”

“You hurt us. Do you realize that? We had a chance of changing—”

“A chance,” I say.

“What?”

“A chance didn’t help Sharyn. It probably wouldn’t help Teddy’s next victim either. I love what you’re doing, Sadie. I believe in it. You should continue without reservation.”

“And you continue to do what you do?”

I shrug. “You work on the macro level,” I say. “What you do is important.”

“And, what, your hope is that my work will one day make your work obsolete?”

I smile with no humor behind it. “My work will never be obsolete.”

She thinks about it. “You can’t spy on me.”

“You’re right.”

“And whatever you do, it can’t involve me or my clients.”

“You’re right.”

She shakes her head. The truth is, I may indeed have messed up here. I don’t care about Teddy Lyons, of course. He crossed the line and earned any and all repercussions. I don’t look at it as vigilantism. I look at it as preventive offense. Think schoolyard rules. The bully hits someone. Even if the teacher is told, even if the teacher punishes the bully, the bully should expect someone to hit back.

I’d known that there was the potential for unexpected consequences, even disastrous ones, but I had added up the pros and cons and chosen to act. Perhaps I was wrong. I’m not infallible.

You need to break a few eggs to make an omelet. I don’t know if that’s true, but if you break the eggs, better to make an omelet than a mess.

Enough with the analogies.

“I almost called the police after the brothers threatened me,” she says.

“Why didn’t you?”

“And say what? You assaulted their brother.”

“They could never prove it. But if I may make an observation?”

She frowns and gestures for me to go ahead.

“You didn’t call the police,” I say, “because you realized that the law couldn’t protect you.”

“And damn you for putting me in that position.” Sadie squeezes her eyes shut. “Do you see what you’ve done? I went to law school. I swore an oath. I know that our legal system isn’t perfect, but I believe in it. I follow it. And now you’ve forced me to abandon my integrity and principles.”

She takes a deep breath.

“I’m not sure I can stay in this office, Win.”

I say nothing.

“I may want out of our agreement.”

“Think it over for a bit,” I say. “You’re right. Your anger—”

“It’s not just anger, Win.”

“Whatever you want to call what you’re feeling. Anger, disappointment, disillusionment, compromise. It’s justified. I did what I thought was best, but perhaps I was wrong. I am still learning. It’s on me. I apologize.”

She seems surprised by my apology. So do I.

“So what do we do now?” she asks.

“You’ve had a chance to chat with the brothers,” I say.

“Yes.”

“Do you think they are just going to leave us alone?”

Sadie’s voice is soft. “No.”

“So the eggs are broken,” I say. “The question now is, Do we want to make an omelet or a mess?”

I like to walk.

Most days, I walk to and from work. The route from my office to my apartment — from the Lock-Horne Building to the Dakota — is approximately two miles and takes slightly more than half an hour at a brisk pace. My routine is to head north on Fifth Avenue until I hit Central Park in front of the Plaza Hotel on Fifty-Ninth Street. I stay to the left of the Central Park Zoo, diagonally traipsing north and west until I hit Strawberry Fields and then my home in the Dakota. During my morning walk, I often stop for coffee at Le Pain Quotidien, which is located in the middle of the park. The dogs run free in this area, and I enjoy watching that. I don’t know why. I’ve never owned a dog. Perhaps I should remedy that.