Two Time Read Free Page B

Usually with a nitwit model or nose job JAP.”
    “Sometimes both.”
    “Only this guy was married. And local, too, if you think about it.”
    “Riverhead. Close enough.”
    “Yeah, right.”
    Sullivan pulled himself to the edge of the chair so he could lean into his story.
    “That’s all there is on this guy. There’s nothing else to say about him. Had a little shit office, traveled all over hell checking out high techs and start-ups. Worked through cell phones and fax and email—basically a one-man money machine with zippo overhead, and zippo contact with the rest of humanity.”
    “Tech’s had its ups and downs.”
    “Not an issue for this guy, from what they tell me. Up, down, middle, didn’t matter. Got paid comin’ or goin.”
    “No friends or family?”
    “No friends that they know about. Mother’s in a home in Riverhead. Off her rocker. Been there forever. A brother in Southampton. Some hippie artist. Can’t find the father, presumed dead. No other relatives. No record, no arrests, no press clips. No nothing. Very low profile.”
    “Pretty interesting.”
    “You think so?” he asked.
    “Well, yeah. An invisible guy somebody thought interesting enough to blow to smithereens.”
    “Yeah, totally. Nothing left. They said the car was wired with more explosives than that suicide thing in DC that killed, like what, thirty people? Dug a deeper crater.”
    “Hamptons are always topping everybody.”
    “Made the national news.”
    The windsurfer flipped up over a wave made by the wake of a big sport cruiser and landed with the sail flat on the surface of the water. I watched until I saw the guy pop back up again with his hand on the boom. Wind filled out the sheet and shoved him off in another direction—out of harm’s way.
    “Well, who knows,” I said, looking back at Sullivan. “The wrong advice from a broker, or an adviser, can lose you a lot of money. Can piss people off”
    “Like how much? I mean, like how much can you lose?”
    “Well, geez, I don’t know. Millions. Jillions.”
    “That’s what I keep telling these guys in East Hampton. They don’t get the dimensions of this thing.”
    “Aren’t there State and Federal people mixed up in this?”
    “There were—two months ago when it happened. I think the FBI interviewed his clients. Didn’t come up with anything they liked. The Staties gave a lot of forensic help and stuff, but they’re too busy setting speed traps and polishing their holsters.”
    “Sounds like Smokey envy.”
    The second beer killed whatever carpentry ambition the sun hadn’t already baked out of me. I took a bigger swig and leaned back in the chair, closed my eyes and tried to redraw Sylvia’s jaw in my imagination.
    “At least it’s not your headache,” I said to him.
    “Well, it’s not like it’s anybody’s headache, exactly. It’s like our job.”
    “East Hampton’s.”
    “Well, not really. Now that it’s all screwed up everybody’s got a piece of it.”
    I opened my eyes again and saw him staring down the neck of his beer. Sullivan wasn’t always the easiest guy to read. Probably because he often concealed what he was actually thinking. When he actually knew what he was thinking in the first place.
    “Things have been sort of slow for some reason,” said Sullivan. “Even with all the summer people pulling their usual crazy shit. Ross got us all together this morning and handed out copies of the file—had witness interviews, including yours, and the names of State and Federal people whore still officially assigned. Who’ll be happy to have somebody else to blame for turning up a big goose egg.”
    “Should keep you out of trouble,” I said, lofting my beer.
    The bottle felt cool in my right hand, and I thought I felt alittle breeze coming in off the bay. I slumped down deeper in my seat and put my head back against the wooden slats of the Adirondack. Trying to achieve a momentary state of perfect relaxation.
    The windsurfer took a