—
Lipsky rose and clapped Felix on the back. When the younger man stood, he seemed taller than Peter remembered. Maybe it was just how very thin he was. He strode without a glance past Peter to the white bags of fertilizer on their pallets, and bent to stack the fifty-pound sacks on the hand truck. He lifted one in each hand as if they weighed nothing, and worked with a focused, manic energy. Peter knew that if he tried to talk to Felix now, the younger man wouldn’t even hear him.
Lipsky watched with an odd smile on his face as Felix moved his heavy load out of the room.
“What kind of meds are you giving him?” asked Peter. “Something to really fuck him up, right?”
Lipsky’s smile widened, and Peter knew he’d guessed it. Lipsky had pushed the young Marine over the brink. But Lipsky would never admit it. “Hey, the man’s a patriot,” said Lipsky. “That’s all there is to it.”
“No, he’s zonked out of his gourd,” said Peter. “Delusional and damaged. So what’s your excuse?”
“You really should read your own manifesto,” said Lipsky. “Modern banks have wrecked the economy. They’ve grown so large they can gamble everything on a roll of the dice, and the government has no choice but to bail them out. They’re sucking money out of the middle class. They’re set up now just to profit themselves, rather than facilitate production and innovation, which is the role they’re designed to perform. Something has to change.”
“And you’re actually into this?” asked Peter. “Lipsky the revolutionary?”
Felix came in and stacked eight bags of fertilizer on the hand truck while Lipsky watched silently. After Felix walked back out, Lipsky turned to Peter.
“What I believe,” said Lipsky, “is that the social contract is broken. Government has proven itself incompetent, and our elected leaders are driven only by greed for wealth and power. Corporations are no longer loyal to their employees or their customers, just their stock price. Executives no longer do what’s best for their companies, just themselves. Enron, WorldCom, AIG, Countrywide, JPMorgan. The list goes on.” He shrugged. “The only response for a rational person is to act in his own best interest. To take what you can get.”
“Oh,” said Peter. “I see. You’re a thief. That’s why you’re working with Skinner. A prince among thieves.”
The veterans’ center door banged open and Midden came through, towing a stumbling bear of a man by one unnaturally angled arm. “I got sidetracked by this guy. He must have been watching the truck.”
Detective Frank Zolot moved in an agonized hunch, his face a furious clench of pain. His other arm hung free like a pendulum, some essential connection no longer functional. His cheap suit was rumpled and torn.
Peter thought about Lewis, parked by the loading dock, not by the veterans’ center.
Midden wasn’t even sweating and there wasn’t a mark on him. Although from the black specks on his face and the grime on his fingers, Peter knew he’d been under the truck. But Peter couldn’t imagine how Midden had broken both of the big detective’s enormous arms without any visible effort. Midden was clearly the most dangerous man in the room.
Lipsky walked over. “What the fuck? Where’d this guy come from?”
Zolot’s lip lifted in a silent snarl. Midden handed Lipsky a black automatic pistol. It looked like a Glock. “He had this. He said he was a cop.”
Lipsky took the gun. “Where’s the plastic? Did you find it?”
“I think so,” said Midden. “Give me a couple more minutes.” He dropped Zolot’s arm and the pain on the man’s face eased. Midden fixed Lipsky with a pointed stare. “Don’t kill anyone until I get back.”
Midden held the stare until Lipsky nodded. Then Midden walked out.
Lipsky turned to Zolot. “Hello, Frank.”
“Fuck you.” Zolot’s injuries had not improved the detective’s mood. Although his broken arms rendered him essentially harmless, the heat of his rage still radiated like a glowing forge.
“Who else knows about this?”
“There’s a SWAT team gearing up in a parking lot three blocks from here. They have orders to shoot you on sight.”
Lipsky grabbed Zolot’s wrist and twisted. Zolot gasped in pain.
“Who else knows, Frank?”
The big detective opened his mouth. Nothing came out but an agonized yelp.
Peter sighed. He’d wondered if Zolot could deliver the cops. If his reputation was too damaged. Now he knew. Zolot was just another man caught in Lipsky’s web.
Lipsky shook his head and released the other man’s wrist. “Nobody believes you, Frank. They never did. Shit, just look at you. You’re in a bad way, partner.”
“You’re not my partner. You were never my partner. You were only out for yourself. How much did that asshole Skinner pay you to look away? What’s the going rate to duck a murder?”