Sighing: “Yeah, I acknowledge it.”
“And the other encounters with your brother over the years—his visits with you in Siesta Corta, and your relationship once you’d returned to San Francisco—”
“That stuff was all true.”
“Jane…”
“I mean, OK, he wasn’t really there, but the conversations we had, the advice he gave me…Look, I knew Phil. I might not have liked the little shit, but I knew him, he was my brother, and I know what kind of person he’d have grown up to be, if…So those conversations I told you about, they were genuine. They were accurate.”
“But he wasn’t really there.”
“Yeah, all right, no.”
“Because he’s dead.”
“No!” She bristles. “That’s not true.”
“Jane…”
“Even the police could never say that. They never found a body. They never found anything, and Doyle—”
“Jane, the man was implicated in the killing of two other children. I’m sure you want to believe your brother survived, but—”
“No! I mean, yes, I wanted to believe that, and for years belief was all I had, but now, now I know. Phil’s alive.”
“How do you know that?”
“For Christ’s sake,” she says, “what do you think this whole story I’ve been telling you is about?”
“You found your brother?”
“Yes.”
“In Las Vegas.”
“Yes…Only I didn’t find him, exactly, I mean I haven’t seen him, but I know he’s here. And I know what really happened to him.”
“And what did happen to him?”
“Well, Doyle took him. That part’s true. And it’s probably also true that Doyle wanted to kill Phil, the same way he killed those other kids. But he wasn’t allowed to.”
“Who stopped him?”
“The other bad monkeys, of course.”
“The other bad monkeys.”
“The ones who put him up to it,” she says. “The anti-organization. The Troop.”
Bad Monkeys, Inc.
TRUE WAS WAITING FOR US AT A roadside diner just outside the Vegas city limits. A waitress with a name tag that read HI THERE! I’M JANE! took us to his booth, then hovered while Wise decided between the blueberry and the chocolate-chip pancakes. I spun my wheels, impatient to ask the question that had been gnawing at me for the past three days; but when the waitress finally left us alone, True beat me to the punch.
“It’s time we had a talk about your brother,” he said.
“Fine. Let’s talk. Let’s start with the fact that you know about him. You’ve known all along, haven’t you?”
“Of course.”
“And you never thought to mention it? Like when you were recruiting me, maybe? ‘By the way, one of the reasons we think you’ll be really good at hunting down scumbags is because one of them took your brother.’”
“That is one of the reasons we thought you’d be good at it, as a matter of fact.”
“Then why not say anything?”
“If I’d told you we knew about your brother’s kidnapping, you’d have wanted to hear what else we knew. Then I would have had to lie, which I don’t like to do, or put you off, which would have made us all unhappy. You’re a difficult enough person to deal with when your wishes are being granted.”
“Why would you have to lie to me?”
“To preserve operational security.”
“You mean this operation? It’s got something to do with Phil?”
“Yes.”
“Then Phil is…He’s alive? He’s OK?”
“He’s alive.”
I must have blanked out for a minute, because suddenly Jane the waitress was back with our breakfasts. When she started talking to Wise about syrup flavors, I gave her the eyes of death and said: “Fuck off. Now.” She did, and I turned back to True: “Tell me everything.”