“Yes, I’m sure! It’s Buck, goddamn it. They murdered him. Not Buckman and Donnelly, maybe, but the younger guys. Probably Holland and Cowart, maybe Russo as well. They shouldn’t get away with that.”
“No, they shouldn’t. But they’re prepared to pay Quinn a million dollars in compensation. Have you asked her what she thinks?”
“No,” I admit.
“Maybe you should. Here’s my philosophy: the greatest good for the greatest number. That’s my mantra. I practiced law for seven years, and I can tell you this: justice is rare and fleeting. This Azure Dragon deal will shower good things on this area for decades. That’s its own kind of justice. It’s not the moral justice that Buck or his wife deserve, but it’s still a blessing.”
This was neither the answer I expected from her, nor the one I wanted. “And what about the little matter of betraying my profession?”
“Most people sell their soul in small pieces, my friend. You’ve kept yours intact long enough to get a high price. Be glad of that. And do it.”
“I wouldn’t want that on my tombstone.”
“Hey, if they put up a fifty-million-dollar public school in this town, you’ll earn your soul back ten times over. You hear me?”
This is the Nadine I remember. “Thanks for that.”
“Who else did you ask about this?”
“My dad.”
“And?”
“He articulated both sides. But if it were up to him, I think he’d side with you.”
“Who else?”
“Jet.”
“Ah.” That single syllable communicates a new tension. “Did you give her her earrings back?”
“I haven’t seen her.”
“I’m surprised. What did she say about your dilemma? Same as before? Blow up the deal?”
Tell him to make sure that footage is destroyed, or you’ll nuke that Azure Dragon deal like Kim Jong Un—“Actually, she agrees with you today. Denying the town all the things the Poker Club offered would be criminal.”
“Maybe she woke up on a different side of the bed.”
I guess Nadine and Jet are never going to be friends. The conversation of a group of people ordering coffee and pastries comes through the phone. “You sound busy.”
“I have a book signing starting in ten minutes.”
“Oh, man, I’m sorry. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Are you going to accept their offer?”
“I’m close to saying yes. But sitting here now, I realize I’ve forgotten something. If they build that mill on the present site, they’ll destroy the Indian settlement that Buck meant to be his legacy.”
Nadine doesn’t answer immediately. At length she says, “I get that. Maybe you demand that they move far enough downriver to save the site.”
“I have a feeling that’ll be a deal-breaker. Buckman’s ready to give me whatever he can, but that would be up to the Chinese. And it’s bound to be complicated.”
“Don’t mess this up, Marshall. Save the site if you can, but work it out.”
I click off.
I should call Arthur Pine right away. My allotted hour expired two minutes ago. The thing is, I dread giving him the answer they want. I now have more rationalizations than I need to justify saying yes, yet still something stops me. What? Is it my contrary nature? Am I simply too proud to knuckle under? Does it mean that much to me to tell Claude Buckman and his cronies to go to hell?
I pack Buck’s guitar back into its hard-shell case, then pick it up with my left hand and start down the narrow wooden steps of the ceremonial mound. With my right hand, I take out my iPhone and search my contacts for Pine’s number. I’m pretty sure I have it from a couple of stories where I contacted him for quotes. While I try to maintain my balance on the steps, my burner phone starts ringing in my pocket.
Knowing it must be Jet, I set the case on the grass and dig the phone out of my pocket. “Are you there?” I ask. “You got cut off before. I freaked out a little bit.”
“It was Paul. I don’t think he heard me. I was in my closet. I heard him open the bedroom door, and I killed the phone and threw it in a drawer just before he walked in.”
“God.”
“Something has happened, though.”
The hair all over my body stands erect, and fear spreads through me in a paralyzing wave. “What is it?”
“Max gave him a photo.”
“No.”
“Take it easy. It’s not the video. It’s you and me hugging, from yesterday.”
“What the hell? What is Max doing?”
“Jiggling the swords over our heads. He wants you to find that cache.”