The First Councel

“Stay on subject here. Even if I jump in and take the beating myself, they’re still going to tear you down with me.”

I stop mid-step, a few feet from the scoreboard. “How do you know? Did someone say that to you?”

“They don’t have to say it-you know how it works.”

Much as I hate to admit it, she’s right about that one. Every time a bigshot falls, everyone near the epicenter goes down with them. Even if I’m innocent, the public needs to think we’ve cleaned house.

I close my eyes and shade them with my hand, hoping to get some distance. For the past two days, there was always at least one clear way out-sacrifice Nora and save myself. But once again, with Nora, it’s never that simple. Even if I give her up, they’ll still hang me out to dry. “Damn!”

My shout rumbles down the lane, but Nora never looks up. With her head bent over, and the way she stuffs her hands behind her knees, she once again becomes that little girl. It’s not easy for her either. She knows she’s put me in this one. That’s the penlight at the end of the tunnel-she’s not just worried about herself-she’s worried about me. “Michael, I swear to you, if I thought it’d be like this, I never would’ve-”

“You don’t have to say it, Nora.”

“No. I do. Whatever else happens, I got you into this, and I’ll get you out.”

She says the words forcefully, but I can still hear her fear. Her eyes are locked on the floor of the bowling alley. Her bowling alley. She’s got a lot more to lose. “You sure you want to risk this, Nora?”

Slowly, she looks up at me. She’s been debating this one since I dropped her off the other night. Her hands are still stuffed nervously behind her knees. But the answer comes as quickly as her grin. “Yeah,” she nods. “No question.”

My mind is racing with all the reasons Pam and Trey gave me to walk away. And all their Freud-babble explanations for why I’d stay: my need to protect, my need to help my dad, my need to somehow get the inside track to the President… But as I stand here-as I watch Nora-there’s only one real thing that makes sense. Unlike before, it’s not about the stupid things like the way she looks at me and the way she says my name. It’s not about how much she needs me, or even who she is. In the end, as I take it all in, it’s about what Nora Hartson is willing to give up-for me-to make things right.

“I’ll get you out,” she repeats confidently. “I’ll get you-”

“We,” I interrupt. “We got in. We’ll get out.” I take the seat next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. It’s the same thing with my dad-sometimes the only way to problem-solve is to look past how we got here. And while I don’t necessarily like it… with my family… it’s the only way I know how to live.

Once again, she picks her head up. A soft smile lights her cheeks. “Just so you know, I hate romantics.”

“Me too. Hate ’em with a passion,” I shoot back. She’s got the comeback ready, but I don’t give her a chance. The only way out of the box is to figure out what really happened. “Now what about your bodyguards? Did you tell them what’s going on?”

“These guys? They just work the weekends. I told them we went on a date and you pissed me off. They figure this is makeup time. Why? Did you tell your girlfriend Pam?”

“How do you know about Pam?”

“I checked you out, Garrick. I don’t date every slob in the building.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” I add.

“That’s not what she thinks, Romeo.” She gets up from her seat, heads for the alley, and throws an imaginary bowling ball down the lane. “You know Nixon used to come down here and bowl ten games back-to-back? Is that psychoville, or what?”

As she asks the question, I can’t help but notice how quickly her mood’s changed. Within seconds, she’s a different person. And once again I’m reminded that I’ve never met anyone who can make me feel so old and so young at the same time.

“So did you tell Pam, or what?”

“Yeah,” I say hesitantly. “I didn’t have anyone else to talk to, so I-”

“Don’t apologize. Chris said I should’ve got to you sooner.”

“You told your brother?”

“He’s family-and one of the few who can handle it.” She throws another imaginary ball down the lane.

Pointing to the rack of bowling balls, I say, “Y’know, the real ones are right behind you.”

She looks at me with those pick-you-apart eyes. “I hate bowling,” she says, matter-of-factly. “Now tell me what happened when you went to see her.”

“Caroline?”

“No, the other dead woman with thirty grand in her safe. Of course, Caroline.”

I quickly relay all the important details.

“So Simon narked on you?” she asks when I’m done. “Forget Washington-ruthless; this guy’s film-industry.”

“That’s the least of it. Let’s not forget he might’ve killed her.”

“You don’t think it was a heart attack?”

“I guess it could’ve been… but… with everything from the bar, it seems like a hell of a coincidence.”

“Maybe,” she begins. “But you’d be surprised why things happen-especially around here.”

I’m not sure what she means by that, and she’s not giving me a chance to ask.