Michael Koryta - So Cold the River

“No?”

“No.”

“I think that could stand some clarification. Like who sent you.”

“I’m really not at liberty to disclose that. I’m sure you understand.”

“Sure,” Eric said. “You’re doing your job. Respecting your client’s wishes, fulfilling their requests.”

“Exactly.”

Eric stopped walking. They were beside the fountain now, and a strong wind pushed fine drops of spray across his skin.

“Well, that’s what I’m doing, too,” he said. “And it’s what I’ll keep doing, Gavin, old buddy. I’ve been paid, and I’ll complete the job.”

Gavin Murray didn’t look up at him. He took a pack of American Spirits from his pocket and pulled one out, pausing to offer the pack to Eric, then sliding them back in his pocket when Eric shook his head. He lit the cigarette, took a deep drag, and exhaled smoke through his nose, gazing back up at the hotel.

“How much is she paying you?”

“That’s both irrelevant and none of your business.”

“I’ve been authorized to give you fifty thousand dollars to cease the endeavor.”

“Hell,” Eric said, “that’s less than I’m making on it.”

A lie, of course, but he was curious just how much this was worth to whoever was at the other end of Gavin Murray’s puppet strings. Fifty grand was a hell of a starting point, one that put a prickle in his spine.

Murray smiled around his cigarette. “A negotiator. Well played. I can go as high as seventy-five while we stand here. You can ask for more than that, but you probably won’t get it, and you know seventy-five is more than you could hope for.”

“I’m not going to ask for more than that, and I don’t hope for any of it. Go on home, Gavin. Sorry you wasted the trip.”

“Give the self-righteous thing a rest, Shaw. I’m surprised at this. You were in the movie business for long enough that you should know how rare a sure-money offer is, and how fast they can go away.”

“They go away fast,” Eric agreed. “But you know what never does? Cocksuckers who try to use money as muscle. There seems to be an inexhaustible supply. Shit, L.A. alone has more than I ever cared to meet. But I met a lot of them, enough to get awfully tired of the act. So go on and call your client, tell him to roll his seventy-five or a hundred or two hundred grand up nice and tight and put it right up his ass.”

He started away but Murray followed, saying, “You’re too smart for this. You know how business works at this level. Money’s a first attempt, and other leverage is found if it’s needed.”

Eric stopped walking and turned to face him. “What does that mean?”

Murray tapped ash out of his cigarette. “It’s not a complex statement.”

“It sure as hell better be. Because if it’s as simple as it sounded, then you just threatened me, asshole.”

Murray sighed and brought the cigarette back to his lips. “Guys like you are exhausting, you know that? There’s no reason in the world-none-for you to be a stubborn bastard on this, but you still can’t stop yourself.”

“Must be nice to have a bank ledger where your ethics should be, Gavin. You’ll probably go on to big things. Most people like that do.”

“It would be a great idea to negotiate, Mr. Shaw. I can assure you of that.”

“Negotiate with who? You offer me money, I damn well want to know where it’s coming from.” Eric studied him. “So which family member do you work for?”

“Excuse me?”

“The only person who’d be worried about what I’m doing would be somebody close to Campbell Bradford back in Chicago.”

Gavin Murray smiled. “You would think that, wouldn’t you?”

Eric waited but nothing else was offered. He said, “I’m done with you, Gavin. And tell whoever hired you that they can find me directly if they want to talk.”

“I’ve got one more question,” Murray said. “What exactly were you discussing with Josiah Bradford?”

Eric cocked his head. “You really do know everybody, don’t you?”

That got a tight smile and a nod.

“What I told him was a private matter,” Eric said. “But if you don’t get the hell out of my sight, I’ll go fill him in on some more things. Like the fact that somebody’s in town waving seventy-five grand in my face. Wonder what they’d wave in his.”

“Not a cent.”

“I find that hard to believe. Looks to me like somebody’s awfully concerned about the Bradford legacy. And probably the Bradford stock portfolio.”

“Not true.”

“No? Then what are you doing in beautiful French Lick, friend?”

Silence.

“Right,” Eric said. “Well, enjoy your stay, buddy. And keep away from me.”

This time, Murray let him go.

KELLEN WAS WAITING IN the car with the windows down and music playing. He turned the volume down when Eric got in.

“So, who’s that guy working for?”

“Someone who offered me seventy-five grand to go home.”

Kellen leaned across the steering wheel, mouth agape. “What?”

Eric nodded. “Started with fifty, then bumped it up to seventy-five.”

Kellen said, “What?” again as if the answer had never been offered.

“I know,” Eric said. He was staring back down the hill, looking for Gavin Murray. He finally located him beside one of the gazebos, standing with a cell phone glued to his ear. Probably calling Chicago to provide the update and await instructions.

“Another family member would be my guess,” Eric said. “Or somebody from Campbell’s legal team. The old man’s dying, and he’s worth a few hundred million. Could be worried about Josiah.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. If Josiah’s close blood to the old man in the hospital, he could make a compelling legal claim to compensation. Campbell abandoned the family. A few generations ago, maybe, but there would be plenty of lawyers who’d be happy to argue for reparations on Josiah’s behalf.”

“But you don’t think the two Campbells are the same guy.”

“No, I don’t. Which makes this all the more interesting, don’t you think?”

“Sure. Also makes me wonder what your client will have to say.”

“Oh, yeah,” Eric said. “She’s getting a call. Right now.”

Down by the gazebo, Gavin Murray lowered the phone and put it back in the case at his belt and lit another cigarette. He was leaning against the rail, staring up at them.

“Think that’s a good idea?” Kellen said. “Telling her about this?”

“She has a better chance of understanding what the hell it’s about than I do. How can it be a bad idea?”

Kellen shrugged, then waited while Eric dialed Alyssa Bradford’s number. Cell first, then home. No answer. He left messages on both phones but no details, just a request to call him as soon as possible.

“Headache back?” Kellen said when he hung up, and Eric realized he’d been rubbing the back of his skull while he made the calls.

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s get moving. I told Anne we were on our way.”

As they drove away from the hotel, Gavin Murray lifted a hand in recognition. He was on the phone again.

Josiah left Danny at his grandfather’s and drove off without a word minutes after the Porsche pulled out of the drive. He considered following them, driving that polished piece of shit right off the road and hauling them out of it one at a time, administering the beating he should’ve issued at Edgar’s house. They were out of sight, though, no car visible ahead except for a blue minivan pulled into the weeds.

Josiah blew past that and on into town, stopped at the gas station and put twenty dollars’ worth into his empty tank and bought a six-pack, drank one down fast while he stood at the pump. Someone pulled in and tapped the horn, annoyed that Josiah was there blocking the pump while drinking a beer, but it only took one look to make the driver go on to the next available pump.