Greg Iles - The Devils Punchbowl

“I spoke to Paul Labry today about running for mayor after I resign.”

“Resign?” She draws back as though she can’t quite believe this. “And what do you plan to do after that?”

“Move somewhere that you can be happy working in your job, and where Annie can go to a top-flight school.”

Caitlin blinks several times, then looks curiously at me. “And you?”

“I can write anywhere.”

She turns toward the street and leans on her porch rail. “I don'’t know what to say.”

“I thought you’d be happy to hear that. More than happy, actually.”

A sad smile touches her mouth. “I would have thought so too. I’'ve waited a long time to hear it. A very long time. But now that I have, what it sounds like is…you’re running away.”

“Running away? From what? The job?”

“I don'’t know.” She turns to me with anger in her eyes. “From Tim’s death, from Sands, this whole dirty mess. And, yes, the job too. What about the noble work that meant so much to you two years ago? I don'’t get it. It’s like for the first time in your life, you’re trying to take the easy road. And I don'’t—that’s not the man I fell in love with.”

I'm so stunned I can hardly get my thoughts together. “You want me to

stay

here? Finish out my term? Is that it? You want Annie to stay in St. Stephen’s?”

“That'’s not what I want, no. But I don'’t want you to slink away from this place either. Or from what’s caused this problem between us.”

A surge of resentment rises in me, but I press it down. “Look, it’s

not like I'm Achilles sulking in his tent, okay? I’'ve made some decisions about the case too. I'm a lawyer, Caitlin. And I'm going to attack the Sands problem like a lawyer. After Po is in custody and Sands is in the system, I'm going to use every resource in my power to have him indicted on state murder charges. And if I can’t prove them, I'’ll get him on the others. Kidnapping, dogfighting, money laundering, whatever it takes to put him behind bars.”

She nods distantly, as though this is the minimum I should do. “What if they don'’t get Po?”

“Then Sands won'’t be of any use to the government anymore. He’ll lose his protection from Hull. Hull will probably nail Sands himself.”

“No, he won'’t. Don’t you see?

That'’s

my fear. You’re so naďve sometimes. It will just go on and on, this teasing game, where Hull thinks he’s running Sands, but it’s really the other way around.”

“So what do you want to do? Take it all public?”

Her jaw tightens abruptly. “Maybe. I'm thinking about it. If the Po sting doesn’'t work, it’s certainly an option. And please don'’t remind me of our deal. As far as I'm concerned, you'’ve stepped away from this case, and I'm free to make my own decisions.”

This statement starts an alarm ringing in my head. “What have you been doing today?”

“Trying very hard not to think about all this.”

I know she doesn’'t want me to pry, but I can’t help myself. “What are your plans tomorrow?”

“I’'ve been talking to those people I was in touch with on the Katrina stories. The Danziger Bridge incident, mainly, but also trying to sort out what really happened in the convention center down there. And the Superdome.”

The bridge incident means her “friend’s” documentary.

“Yes, I’'ve spoken to Jan today, if that’s what you’re wondering. He’s shooting some footage tomorrow with some Danziger witnesses. I'm thinking of going down to help out. He doesn’'t have much crew down there.”

This prospect bothers me far more than I would have expected it to. I mean, I practically just asked this woman to marry me, and she’s telling me she’s going to New Orleans to shoot a film with another guy. “When were you thinking of leaving?”

“Tomorrow.”

I should conceal my feelings better, but I realize I'm shaking my head angrily. “I don'’t know what to say. This isn’t the reaction I expected. The opposite, in fact. I guess…I’d better think about what you'’ve said. What you’re doing.”

She nods and gives me the sad smile again. “I want to think about what you said, as well. Resigning would be a very big step for you. I didn't mean to belittle it. Like I said, I’'ve waited a long time to hear you say what you did.”

“Too long, maybe?”

“I don'’t know. I'm not sure why this Sands thing has affected me so deeply.”

Without thinking, I reach out and take her hand. “Will you have lunch with me tomorrow? At the Castle, like we used to? Maybe we’ll have some perspective on this by then.”

She looks at me a long time, leaving her hand in mine. “If I'm still in town, I will.” Her fingers slide out of my grasp. “If I don'’t show up, that means I had to take more time with it. Do you understand?”

I nod slowly. “I wish I didn't.”

She hugs herself against the chill. “I’d better go in.”

“Thanks for letting Carl stay with you.”

“I know there’s danger. I'm not going to compromise my safety just to make some kind of point.”

I'm glad she’s thinking clearly on this issue, at least. Last night she seemed perfectly willing to do just that.

“I'm sorry I didn't come see Annie,” she says. “I just don'’t want to confuse her right now.”

“No, you’re right. If this is how you feel, it’s better that way.”

“I know she’s glad to be home.”

“She is. Good night.”

Caitlin waves, then slips inside her door.

I find Kelly splayed out on the couch in my den, the Styrofoam cup in his lap, his eyes nearly closed. The television’s playing an old Sydney Pollack film,

Three Days of the Condor,

very low.

“Hey?” I say. “You okay?”

Kelly’s head slides forward in what might be a nod. I'm about to

turn and go upstairs when he says, “That didn't take long. I guess it didn't go so good, huh?”

“Understatement of the millennium.”

“Don’t worry about it. She’s just young. Still got a few illusions left. Give her time.”

I know he’s right, but I hate to think I'm waiting for Caitlin to become as jaded as Kelly and I about human nature and the legal process. “Maybe she’s right. Maybe we should just go public with the whole stinking mess.”

“No way. Then Po skates for sure. I just wish we’d wasted Sands before we knew the bigger picture. Then we could say. ‘Uh-oh,’ and go about our business.” Kelly laughs softly, but for once his dark sense of humor strikes a dissonant note.

I walk deeper into the den and look down at him. “You say that so easily. Like killing Sands would be no big deal. But last night you wouldn'’t even kill that dying dog.”

Kelly’s red eyes open momentarily, but he doesn’'t look up. “I told you…we had to leave that place like we found it.”

“There was more to it than that. Were you testing me or something?”

His chest rises as he takes a long breath. Then he sighs heavily, the sound almost like a snore. “You got it done, man. Just let it go.”

“I want to know.”

He scowls, then sips from his cup, swallows audibly. “When I went into Delta training, I was ready. Ninety-seven percent of the volunteers wash out, and they come from elite units to begin with. Then there’s the mental shit they put you through. I got through that just fine. But later on, after I was in, they put me in a rotation called dog lab.”

One eye opens and seeks me out, trying to see if I’'ve heard of this. I shrug.

“The idea,” he says, “is to prepare you to handle the kinds of wounds you might encounter in the field. I mean, we didn't have medics along on our ops. We were our own medics.”

“So what was dog lab?”

“Well…it’s pretty simple. The army takes some stray dogs and shoots them—or ‘inflicts missile wound trauma’—usually with the kinds of rounds you’re likely to be hit by in the field. AK-47s, shit

like that. Then they give you the wounded dogs. You have your medical kit. You’re supposed to stabilize the dog, then nurse it back to health. Every guy gets his own dog. They’re in shock when you get them, of course, like that dog last night. Bleeding out fast, panicked eyes, howling in pain. You start an IV, do everything you’d do for a human being. And that’s when you realize that textbook training doesn’'t mean shit. In the field, it’s different. So all you do for a week, ten days, is try to save your dog. You live with it, and with the other guys and their dogs. The guys bond with the animals in weird ways. They name them, and they get territorial about their dog’s space, or other people touching their dog. Some die, of course. But most of them make it—the ones that survive the initial shootings.”

Kelly takes another noisy sip from his cup.

“My dog got septicemia,” he says. “I had him on antibiotics, but not the right kind, I guess. He was dying steadily, and the other guys were riding me about it. I wanted to load him into a jeep and drive off-base to a fucking veterinarian. But you couldn'’t do that. So when it got really bad, I took a syrette of morphine and put him down. The officer in charge of us went batshit, of course. I flunked dog lab. But I’d done so well on the hard-core stuff, they weren’t about to wash me out for that.”

“So last night—”

“Last night, when I leaned over that pit bull, I was back in dog lab. Canine PTSD. Isn’t that a riot? I’'ve killed human beings without batting an eye, but I go to pieces over a fucking mutt.”

“I’d say that’s a good sign.”

Kelly shakes his head with sudden vehemence. “It ain’t that simple, boss. Loving dogs doesn’'t make you a humanitarian.

Hitler

loved dogs. He had a dog named Blondi. He loved Blondi, but he still murdered millions of people. He offed the retards and the handicapped people too.

Homo sapiens

is one fucked-up species, Penn. Sometimes I wish I was still like Caitlin.”

I lean over and squeeze his knee. “Don’t think about it. Just go get in the bed.”

“I'm good right here.”

“You sure?”

“I'm good.”

As I climb the stairs, my cell phone buzzes to announce a text

message. When I check it, I'm surprised to see it’s from Caitlin. It reads: I THINK YOU’RE MAKING THE RIGHT DECISION FOR ANNIE, WHETHER IT’S RIGHT FOR YOU AND ME OR NOT. I LOVE YOU.

Halfway up the stairs, I stop and key in my reply: I LOVE YOU, TOO. I HOPE I SEE YOU TOMORROW.

Then I walk up the steps and collapse onto my bed.

CHAPTER

45

Caitlin stands in her kitchen, reading Penn’s text message and blinking back tears. In all her time with him, she’s never lied like that, not even by omission. But the deepest hurt is from shock at her own lack of feeling. She’s waited a year and a half for him to make the decision he made today, but tonight, hearing the words, she felt…betrayed. It made no sense, but that was what she felt.

Wiping the corners of her eyes, she reaches back and switches off the gas burner. She’d started making tea, but the last thing she wants is to lie in bed for an hour thinking about what just happened. She walks down the hall to the stairs and stops suddenly, startled by the sight of a man sitting on the floor of her living room. Carl Sims looks up from a copy of

Shotgun News

with a friendly smile. There’s a pistol on the floor by his knee, and his sniper rifle leans against the wall beside his shoulder.

“Everything okay?” he asks. “didn't mean to scare you.”

“It’s all right. I just forgot. Where were you when I came in?”

“Well, I was out there when you were talking to Mayor Cage. I mean, I wasn'’t close enough to listen or anything. I was just covering you guys. You know.”

“Thank you, Carl. I'm sorry I don'’t have a TV down here for you.”

“That'’s okay. I'm fine for the night. I’'ve got this magazine, and I got one of Mr. Cage’s novels to read if I get tired of the

News.

Major

McDavitt keeps telling me I ought to read one, so I'’ll probably give it a try tonight. They any good?”

Caitlin walks to the foot of the stairs and stops. “I think so. The first three, especially.”

“The major told me you might be in one or two of them. Kind of disguised, like.”

“Oh, I don'’t know. Maybe parts of me.”

Carl smiles knowingly.

“You like Penn, don'’t you, Carl?”

Sims sticks out his lower lip as though pondering the question. “I do, yeah.”

“Why, do you think?”

“Same as the major, I guess. He’s somebody who does the right thing, if there’s any way to do it.”

“Isn’t that what you do?”

“Well…I try to. But seeing what’s right, and doin’ it—that’s two different things.”

“What about what we’ve been going through this past week?”

The sniper shrugs. “Life gets complicated. That'’s a fact. But I know this. Taking an enemy from the front ain’t always the best way. I figure Mr. Cage knows what he’s doing—even if he don'’t know he knows it himself yet. You know what I'm saying?”

Caitlin is surprised to hear herself laugh. “Actually, I think I do. I'm not sure I agree with you in this case. But I understand.”

Carl watches her for a few moments, then suddenly looks down, like a boy caught staring. “I didn't mean to keep you down here.”

“No, it’s all right. I appreciate hearing what you have to say.”

He looks back up at her. “You know what I think? I think you two gonna be all right. Sometimes it just takes a while.”

“How old are you, Carl?”

“Twenty-six.”

“You look thirty. And you sound like you’re sixty.”

He laughs warmly. “I'm just quoting what my daddy’s said to me.”

“Well…let’s hope he’s right.”

“Oh, he usually is. Good night, Mrs. Cage—oops, my bad.”

Caitlin smiles and shakes her finger at him. “I

know

that was on purpose.”

The deputy laughs and looks back at his newspaper.

“Call me if you need anything, Carl.”

“Same to you. I'm the one guarding you, remember?”