Palindrome Read Free Page B

the Atlanta Bobcats, don’t you?”
    “Yes, I do,” Hoyt drawled.
    “How long have you known me, Henry?”
    Irritably, “I don’t know, Al, fifteen years?”
    “Do you know me to be a serious person, Henry?”
    Near exasperation, “Yes, Al, you’re a serious person.”
    Hoyt had good reason to know, Schaefer reflected; he had carved the man, his forty-eight partners, and his two hundred associates into a pretzel shape seven years before, in a huge personal-injury verdict against the firm’s biggest client. The case had tripled his billings.
    “Well, I’m serious now, Henry. Last night, one of your most expensive ball players tried to murder his wife, whom I now represent.”
    Weakly, “What?”
    “I won’t keep you in suspense, Henry. It was Bake Ramsey.”
    Involuntarily, “Jesus Christ.” “He very nearly succeeded in the attempt. I’ve just seen the woman; she will never be the same again, physically or mentally.”
    “Who knows about this, Al?” Hoyt was recovering.
    “I know about it, Henry;
everybody wants
to know. I’m not sure how long I can keep a lid on it.”
    “It’s a little early in the game for threats, isn’t it, Al? You and I have to talk.”
    “You and I and Bake Ramsey, tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock in my office. Not a minute later. I don’t want any team management there. I’ll expect you to be authorized to act.”
    “I don’t know about that.”
    “Oh, you’ve got plenty of time to explain it to them, Henry. If they balk, tell them that this attack probably took place because the team has been shooting old Bake up with steroids since well before last season.”
    “That’s very dangerous talk, Al.”
    “It certainly is, Henry. Just two more things, then I’ll say good night: I want you to tell Baker Ramsey who I am, just in case he doesn’t know; then I want you to tell him that if he goes anywhere near his wife, I’ll make sure he doesn’t see the light of day for the next twenty years.”
    “Al …”
    “Yes, Henry, I know; that’s a threat. You just make sure Ramsey understands I can make good on it. I’ll see you tomorrow at two.”
    Schaefer hung up and gripped the steering wheel. Sweat from his palms seeped into the soft leather. Once in maybe three or four years, he got to talk like that to a senior partner in an establishment law firm. It was better than sex. Al Schaefer winged his way home.

2
    R aymond Ferguson sat next to the bed and looked at the sleeping Elizabeth Barwick. He was glad she was asleep; it gave him a moment to accustom himself to the transformation of the loveliest woman he knew into a swollen, discolored lump of flesh. He willed himself to stop feeling sorry for her—she would know it in a minute if he did, and she would hate him for it. He took a deep breath and touched her hand.
    “Lizzie? It’s Ray.”
    She opened her eyes as much as she could. “Hey, Ray,” she said. She sounded as if she were smiling.
    He fixed his eyes on hers as she pressed the button that raised the bed. “I hear you’re going to live.”
    “You bet. Have you got something for me?”
    Ferguson smiled and produced a package wrapped in expensive paper. “First copy,” he said.
    She took the package and ripped it open, ignoring the beautiful paper. “The Beauty of Sport,” she read, “Photographs of Athletes by Elizabeth Barwick.” She turned the pages rapidly, bringing the book close to her face. “The printing is gorgeous,” she said excitedly. “You were right to take a chance on those people.”
    “I’ll use them again and again,” Ferguson said. “Are you happy with it?”
    “Ray, it’s just wonderful; you’ve made me look great.”
    “You’ve made yourself look great. By the way, good news: the Bobcats have bought ten thousand copies. They’re offering them as a premium for season ticket buyers.”
    “That
is
good news,” she said. “Maybe after today they won’t want them.”
    “Don’t worry about it,” he said.