Джозеф Хеллер - Maximum Impact

They had it out after dinner.

With little to do for the last forty-eight hours but brood, Pace had given considerable thought to what lay ahead for him. He would return to work Monday and resume stewardship of the Sexton story. Despite all the advice to the contrary, he would pick up the thread of the conspiracy theory, give it a yank and see what unraveled.

Not that he knew where to begin. He was convinced he hadn’t dreamed his assailants’ blue van, any more than he dreamed the greeting on his answering machine. There were two murders, and they were murders. Two men from the same go-team don’t go down violently under suspicious circumstances within days of each other. It doesn’t happen. He refused to let it go. Part of his tenacity was for Kathy, part of it was for Mike. And part of it was his certainty of the existence of a crime somebody was trying to cover up.

There was no question it would be a dangerous undertaking. He could disregard the threats to himself, but he couldn’t ignore the proximate danger to Kathy and Sissy. They were innocent bystanders. They had to go. That’s what he had to tell them tonight.

He brought it up when the dishes were done, and Melissa was reaching for the TV remote. “Sissy, don’t turn that on right now,” he said. “I’ve got something the three of us have to talk about.”

“Sure, Dad. I was just going to run the dial.”

“What’s up?” Kathy asked. Her mood sounded upbeat, but Pace knew she still smarted from the confrontation in his hospital room.

“It’s about next week,” he said. “I’m going back to work. I’m going to pick up the Sexton story, and I’ve decided I’m going to pick up the investigation, too.”

Melissa expelled a sigh of concern. Or was it exasperation? Pace couldn’t be certain. Kathy watched him without expression. He guessed she knew what was coming.

“Sissy, I changed your flight. I’m going to send you back to your mom tomorrow.”

“Aw, Dad, why? You’re not even going back to work ’til Monday.”

“It’s only one day’s difference. We’ll make it up another time.”

Melissa, her face screwed into a deep frown of disagreement, turned her head to the side and down, the way teenagers do when they want to let a parent or a teacher know they disapprove but don’t dare speak that disapproval. Kathy continued to watch him without any expression at all. Their eyes met and held for several seconds.

“What about me?” she asked finally.

“I think you should go back to Georgetown,” he said softly, so it was less an order than a suggestion. He could see, however, that Kathy knew he had made up his mind.

“What if I don’t think I should go?”

“I’m not going to throw you into the street. But I don’t want to have to worry about you every minute, either.”

“Don’t be a chauvinist; it doesn’t become you. I can worry about myself.”

“I’m sure you can. But that won’t stop me from worrying.”

Now she was making no effort to hide the aggravation. “Why would you worry less if I’m in Georgetown? That’s crazy, you know. If they want to find me, they can reach me there as easily as here.”

“But you won’t get hurt just because you’re by my side. That’s the whole point.”

Kathy stood and walked over to him. “What you’re really suggesting is that I go back to Georgetown so I won’t keep telling you you’re doing things you shouldn’t be doing and getting into things that are none of your business.”

“No, that’s not it.”

“You’re playing this out like Gary Cooper in High Noon. Send the schoolmarm home ’til the shooting’s over, and if the hero survives, he’ll come back and carry her to the altar. Well, damn it, Steve, I’m not some helpless schoolmarm to be sent away. And if you insist on doing it, I might not be there when you come back for me. If you come back for me.”

Her eyes were glistening, and Pace thought he couldn’t possibly love her more. He stood and gathered her in his arms, both of them oblivious to Melissa’s presence. They stood like that, saying nothing, for several minutes.

“At the risk of starting the argument again, part of this is for you, Kathy,” he said.

“None of this is for me,” she snapped. “It started out to be for me, but now it’s for you, for some macho image you have that you’re the only one who can make the paybacks for Jonny and Mike. Well, nobody asked you for that. Jonny wouldn’t have wanted it. I can’t believe Mike would have asked. And I damned well didn’t want it.”

She rested her head against his shoulder. “You won’t change your mind, will you?”

Pace shook his head. “No. But we don’t have to end it like this. Stay the night.”

This time Kathy shook her head. “No. I think I’d better not. I’ll come by sometime next week while you’re at work and collect my things.”

“Why don’t you leave your things here?” he asked. “You’ll be coming back.”

She shook her head again. “I don’t know. A relationship cuts both ways. I know you think this is in my best interest, but I think you’re being overly protective, like my father. I have a lot to think about. I don’t want a relationship with my father.”

She pulled back slowly, letting his hands trail down her arms. She turned and picked up her briefcase from where she always left it by the front door.

Without looking back, she let herself out.

Standing by the sofa, unable to move, Pace felt his insides coil into a knot and shrink into a cold spot right at the center of his gut.

Sissy sat on the sofa and read for the rest of the evening. A moody silence shrouded the hours until she went to bed shortly after eleven. Pace tried to start a conversation with her, to gauge the depth of her displeasure and to try to dispel some of her concerns. She responded only once.

“You know,” she said, “you throw away all the good things that ever happen to you.”

“I haven’t thrown you away,” he said. Silence. “Sissy, talk to me.” More silence.

“You must know I love you. I’m not doing this because I don’t love you.” His daughter picked up her book and disappeared into her bedroom in stony silence.

Half an hour after Sissy turned in, Pace doused the living-room lights and went into his bedroom, where all the scents and sights were reminders of Kathy. He tried not to see her clothes when he hung his in the closet, tried not to notice her lotions and perfumes on the vanity in the bathroom. He tried. But it didn’t work.

He walked to his bureau and leaned against it, facing it, his arms outstretched, his hands gripping the edge of the oak top. He did a few gentle pushbacks, trying gingerly to relieve the tension in his shoulders without aggravating his injuries. But it didn’t work.

Absently, he picked the scarred metal ball he’d found at Dulles from its place in the amber ashtray and turned it slowly between his thumb and forefinger. He looked at it without seeing it. His chest felt tight; he thought he could almost feel his blood pressure rising. He took several deep breaths.

“Damn it!” he swore. “Damn it to hell!”

With fury and the sick feeling of being alone once again in that bedroom, he hurled the ball at the wall behind the bed. He watched it careen through the air and hit the white-painted Sheetrock with a dull thud. It appeared to stick there for a moment, and then it dropped away, leaving a crater in the soft wallboard. Pace heard the ball hit the bare wooden floor beside the wall and roll away. He hadn’t the slightest idea where it went, nor did he care to find it.