Chapter Forty
The night with Macy Francis kept bothering me for the next couple of days. It was like a sad song that played in my head. I hadn't expected it to turn out that way. I hadn't liked what I'd seen, or felt. The look in Macy's eyes stayed with me: a terrible mixture of hurt, vulnerability, and anger that would be hard to soothe. I grabbed Sampson on Thursday night after work. We agreed to meet at the Mark for drinks. The bar was a couple of streets down from Fifth. Local hangout. Tin ceiling, wideboard pine floors, long, worn mahogany bar, ceiling fan turning lazily. 'Sugar, damn,' Sampson said when he arrived and found me sitting by myself, nursing a Foggy Bottom lager while studying the old Pabst clock on the wall. 'You don't mind me saying, you look like shit, man. You sleeping all right? You still sleeping alone, aren't you.' 'Good to see you too,'I said to him.'Sit down and have a beer.' Then Sampson wrapped one of his mammoth arms around me. He hugged me as if I were his little kid. 'What the hell is going on with you?' he asked. I shook my head. 'Don't know exactly. The manhunt on the West Coast went real bad. I mean, it dried the hell up. There's no word on Betsey Cavalierre's murder either. Had a date the other night. Just about has me swearing off dating for the rest of my life.' Sampson nodded. 'I know the words to that sad song.' He ordered a Bud from the bartender, an ex-cop we both knew Tommy DeFeo.
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'The case I was working on in California ended real badly, John. The killers just disappeared. Thin air. So. How are you doing? You look good. For you.' He raised an index ringer. Then he pointed it right between my eyes. T always look good. It's a given. Don't try to change the subject on me. We're into something here.' 'Oh hell, you know I don't like to talk about my troubles, John. So tell me about yours.'I started to laugh. He didn't. Sampson just looked at me, said nothing, waited me out. 'You'd probably make a decent shrink,' I told him. 'Speaking of which, have you been to see the good Doctor Finaly lately?'Adele Finaly is my psychiatrist. Sampson has also seen her a couple of times. She helps. Both of us agree on that. We're fans of Adele. 'No, she's really pissed off at me. Says I'm not trying hard enough, says I won't embrace my own pain. Words to that effect.' Sampson nodded and smiled thinly. 'So why is that?' I made a face.'I didn't say that I agree with Adele.' I sipped my Foggy Bottom. It wasn't too bad, and I liked being loyal to a local brewer. 'When I try to embrace the goddamn pain, I keep coming back to the conflict between the job and the life I think I want to lead. I missed another one of Damon's concerts while I was out in California. Stuff like that keeps happening.' Sampson punched my shoulder. 'That's not the end of the world, you know. Damon knows you love his little ass. The young dude and I talk about it sometimes. He's over it. Now you get over it.' 'Maybe it's just that I've worked on too many bad murder cases in the past few years. It's changing me.' Sampson nodded approval. He liked that answer. 'Sounds like you're feeling a little burnt-out.' 'No. I'm feeling like I'm caught in a scary nightmare that won't go away. Too many coincidences whirling around me. The Mastermind howling my name, threatening me. I don't know how to make it all stop.' Sampson stared into my eyes. He locked into them. 'Back there a
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JA/VIES PATTERSON
little bit you said coincidences, sugar. You don't believe in coincidences.' That's what makes it so scary. If you want to know the truth, I think that someone really is after me, and they've been after me for a long time. Whoever it is, he's scarier than the vampires. I keep getting calls from the Mastermind, John. He calls me every day. Hardly misses a day. We still can't trace the calls.' Sampson ran a hand across his forehead.'I just can't work out who would be stalking you? Who would dare to take on the Dragon- slayer? Must be some kind of fool.' 'Believe me,' I said, 'this is no fool.'
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