White River Burning полностью

Gelter pursed his lips unpleasantly. “Kline’ll probably make you an offer. Maybe to run his investigation department. That something you’d like?”

“No.”

“I don’t blame you. Waste of your talents. Which are more substantial than you know.” The adrenaline grin returned. “You’ve got a shitload of modesty. Shitload of integrity. Big balls. You walked into that White River cesspool where nobody knew what the fuck was going on, you figured it out, showed the district attorney which end was up. That’s impressive.” He paused. “You know what else it is? It’s a story. A story with a hero. A cool, smart, straight-shooter hero. Supercop. That’s what that magazine called you, am I right?”

Gurney nodded uncomfortably.

“Damn, David, you are the man! You even have those old blue-eyed cowboy good looks. A goddamn real-life hero. You know how deep a hunger there is out there for a real hero?”

Gurney stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“The hell you think I’m talking about? Beckert’s out, Gurney’s in!”

“In what?”

“The office of the attorney general.”

The Nordic beauty appeared with two delicate china plates. The one with an artfully arranged antipasto she placed in front of Gurney. The one with a dozen or so mandarin orange segments arranged in a circle around a small finger bowl she placed in front of Gelter. She left the room as quietly as she’d entered it.

Gurney’s tone matched his incredulous expression. “You’re suggesting I compete in the special election?”

“I can see you winning it by a bigger margin than Beckert would have.”

Gurney was silent for a long moment. “You don’t seem upset by what’s happened.”

“I was extremely upset. For ten minutes. More than that’s a self-indulgent waste of time. Then I asked myself the only sane question. What now? It doesn’t matter what life puts in front of us. Could be a gold mine. Could be a pile of crap. The question’s the same. What now?”

“Does it bother you that you were so wrong about Beckert?”

Gelter picked up a little wedge of orange and examined it before popping it in his mouth. “Life goes on. If people disappoint you, fuck ’em. Problems can become solutions. Like this situation right here. You’re better than Beckert, which I might not have realized if he was still around. That worthless lump of socialist shit, Maynard Biggs, won’t have a chance against you.”

“You hate him that much?”

He examined another orange wedge before devouring it. “I don’t hate him. Don’t give a flying fuck about him. What I hate is what he stands for. The philosophy. The belief system. The entitlement.”

“The entitlement?”

“With a capital fucking E. These useless fuckers have rights! Rights to whatever they want. No need to work, save, support their own children. No need to do a damn thing—because they had a great-great-great-great-fucking-grandfather who three hundred fucking years ago got sold by some African scumbag to a slave trader. This ancient history, you see, entitles them to the fruits of my current labor.” He turned his head to the side and spit an orange seed out onto the Oriental carpet.

Gurney shrugged. “The one time I saw Biggs on television his statements on the racial divide seemed mild and reasonable.”

“Pretty wrapping on a box of scorpions.”

“And you see me as some sort of solution to this?”

“I see you as a way to keep the levers of power out of the wrong hands.”

“If I were to be elected with your help, what would I owe you?”

“Nada. The defeat of Maynard Biggs would be my payment.”

“I’ll sleep on it.”

“Fine, but don’t sleep too long. There’s a filing deadline three days from now. Say yes, and I promise you you’ll win.”

“You really don’t think Biggs has a chance?”

“Not against you. And I could always turn up a few students who might recall instances of inappropriate advances from their professor.” Gelter smiled venomously.

Gelter’s main course arrived, a colorful bouillabaisse, followed by Gurney’s boeuf bourguignon. They ate, mostly in silence, and both declined dessert.

The subject of their meeting wasn’t mentioned again until they were out in front of the restaurant, about to get into their cars.

“As soon as you say yes,” said Gelter, “we’ll put you on NewsBreakers and have Kilbrick and Kronck introduce you to the world. They’re both dying to talk to you.” When Gurney didn’t reply, he continued. “Just think about what you could do with the power and influence of the AG title. All the right contacts. Whole new world. I know people who’d kill for that spot!”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Opportunity of a lifetime,” Gelter added, flashing his adrenaline-charged grin one more time as he stepped into his red Ferrari.

Gurney sipped the cup of coffee he’d made the minute he’d arrived home from Lockenberry. Purple finches were busy at the feeder Madeleine had set up at the edge of the patio. She was at the sink island chopping onions for soup.

“So,” she said lightly, “what did he want?”

“He wants me to run for attorney general.”