Chapter LXXII

I met Angel and Louis for breakfast at the Bayou Kitchen on Deering, which was one of their regular haunts since they'd bought their Portland apartment. They had already ordered by the time I arrived, because they knew I'd stick with toast and coffee.

"This joint is wasted on you," said Louis. "They ought to give you the bum's rush the moment you arrive."

"They only let you in because you enhance its authenticity," I said. "It's always a good sign when the Black folk pick up on a southern place. Also, it keeps the racists away."

Their orders came: Three Alarm Eggs for Louis, and a breakfast sandwich with all the fixins for Angel, which meant grits, home fries, and beans and rice on the side. Somewhere way back, Angel and Moxie Castin might have shared a common ancestry. I had to admit that my breakfast looked pathetic next to their offerings, as though I were suffering from some form of digestive ailment, but food wasn't my priority that morning. I was just glad for their company, but then rarely was I not.

We ate, and I told Angel and Louis of the previous evening's encounter with Attorney General Nowak, as well as my conversation that morning with Mattia Reggio's wife.

"Are you worried?" asked Angel.

"Not yet, but I'm getting there."

"Reggio's no pushover. Wherever he went, you can bet he brought a gun with him."

Angel was right, but there was a difference between busting heads and trying to get inside them. Also, back in his Office days, Reggio would have known what he was getting himself into and why. I was good at what I did, but right now even I couldn't find my feet in the Clark case, because the ground kept shifting beneath them.

"If he does land in trouble," said Louis, "it'll be delayed retribution for his past failings."

Louis harbored a marked dislike for career criminals of the Boston school, based on a point of principle: he took exception to most things that came out of Boston, including, but not limited to, the Red Sox, the Wahlbergs, and Aerosmith. Also, a man could die of hunger in Boston while trying to find a good diner, which was anathema to Louis.

"Regardless," I said, "we may have to go looking if Amara doesn't hear from him soon, so pack a toothbrush and a change of socks."

"Like you, we've learned to keep a bag packed," said Angel. "What about Nowak?"

"I'll give Moxie an update when we're done here, but I know he'll politely tell Nowak to take a hike. The fact that Nowak even made the pitch indicates he's worried about Erin Becker squaring up to Moxie in a fair fight."

"Do you think he knows about you and Macy?" asked Louis.

He and Angel had yet to spend any time in Macy's company. If they were uncomfortable with the idea of my dating police, they were keeping it to themselves.

"If he does," I replied, "he hasn't said anything to her. We're being circumspect, or as much as anyone can be in a town this size."

"Can't last."

"The subterfuge or the relationship?"

"The first certainly can't," said Louis. "As for the second, you're marked in a few states, but here is where the shadow is longest. As soon as the suits find out that it touches Macy, they may be tempted to turn the screws."

He wasn't telling me anything I didn't already know, but the idea of Macy being forced to choose—and the choice she might make—bothered me. I liked being with her. I'd spent too long in solitude.

"We'll have to wait and see," I said.

Angel called for the check, which was a rarity. Mind you, it didn't mean he was going to pay it. Angel routinely treated checks the way people with bad backs treated anything over ten pounds in weight: as too risky to pick up.

"You ever see that interview Warren Zevon did with Letterman, shortly before he died?" asked Angel.

"Letterman's dead?" said Louis.

"Funny," said Angel. "Zevon's dead. Letterman's just old. He's got a beard like one of Noah's deckhands. Anyway, Letterman asks Zevon if facing death has taught him anything. Zevon thinks about it, and says, ‘Enjoy every sandwich.' The sandwich is a metaphor. Or I think that's what it is. It might also be an actual sandwich."

"Please let there be a point to this," I said.

"What I'm trying to say is, the Macy thing, just go with it. If it doesn't work out, you'll have had some good times. Doesn't mean it won't hurt if it falls apart, but it won't kill you either."

The check arrived. Angel passed it to me.

"For the life tutelage," he said. "That kind of advice doesn't come cheap."

I STEPPED OUTSIDE TOcall Moxie. He was surprised to learn of Nowak's approach, but as anticipated, he took it to mean that the AG wasn't convinced Erin Becker could secure the required verdict at trial, and Nowak would accept a partial victory over a total defeat. Moxie also agreed that the fact Becker hadn't been present for the discussion meant she wasn't feeling the same degree of pessimism. It betokened a potential fracture in the prosecution's ranks, which might be helpful to our side.

"Where are you now?" asked Moxie.

"The Bayou Kitchen. We're on our way to talk to Bobby Ocean."

"Who's ‘we'?"

"Use your imagination."

"For the last time, are you sure this visit is absolutely necessary? You already put Antoine Pinette on notice."

"Bobby overstepped the mark once. I want to be sure he doesn't try again."

"And then?"

"I've done what I can here. We need to go hunting for Mara Teller."

"All three of you?"

"Four. We'll be taking Sabine Drew with us."

"I got some used tea leaves here, if you think they'll help. I could also spring for a Ouija board."

"She may have her own. One more thing: Reggio has gone dark, which Amara says is out of character. It could be nothing, except she believes he may have been working independently on the Clark case."

"Give me strength," said Moxie. "Does she want to go to the police?"

"That would be a last resort. She's going to send me whatever she can find in his home office."

"I can tell you he's not having an affair. She'd kill him if he did. I'll drop by to see her in an hour or two. If he doesn't surface by tomorrow, I'll take her down to talk to the cops myself. They'll be reluctant to designate him a missing person too quickly, but I may be able to have them spread the word. I know Reggio's not to your taste, but he's solid, and I like him."

"I admit I may have judged him too harshly."

"You?" said Moxie. "Hush your mouth."