46

"So your thinking is-"

"The thinking, Dick. This isn't, this is, what I'm trying to say, do you see what I'm trying to say, Dick?"

"I, yeah, I, I-"

"There's no case, after all."

"Well-"

"Well, what? DEA's guy has disappeared."

"We think he's dead. I mean, what else would he be?"

"Good. I mean, I didn't mean it that way."

"Of course not."

"He was, I gather he was pretty good."

"Apparently. Yes. Anyway, without him there's really no, I mean, I suppose we could reconstruct the case… but as you say, the thinking is-"

"The thinking is, there's a heck of a lot else to do. We're in a war here, Dick."

"Absolutely."

"The Noriega trial thing is going to be, well, it's going to be…"

"I understand, John."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"That's good, Dick."

"How do you, how do you want us to handle the boat situation?"

"I thought that might be better coming from Jim's shop. It's more of a State thing."

"Right. Right."

"American citizen goes on, on a vacation and he's attacked by drug people and his people are killed and, and it's, it's a terrible thing."

"Right."

"It's a question of spin, really."

"Yeah, it has to have the right spin."

"Jim's people are good at spinning."

"Oh yeah. I was thinking, actually this could be a win situation for us, war-on-drugs-wise."

"If it was spun right."

"Sure. Absolutely."

"Hell of a thing, Dick."

"Hell of a thing, John."

Epilogue

"Frank?"

Diatri's head jerked up out of his sleep. His chair was pulled up next to the old man's bed. The dawn was coming through the French windows, a soft blue light full of the gossip of nuthatches, thrushes and blackbirds, with a screech of cock pheasant. The LED display on the IV stand gleamed brightly. Diatri saw with embarrassment that his hand was resting on top of the old man's. He pulled it away.

"Yes, boss."

"The priest, is he gone?"

"Yeah, he's gone."

"Shut that thing off, would you?"

Diatri reached over and clicked off the IV. "You feeling better?"

"Frank, he gave me absolution."

Diatri shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

"Well, it wasn't just any confession."

"You want some water or something?"

"The way he was looking at me, it was like he didn't believe me."

"I think I'm going to have some water. It's, with confessions it's basically, as I understand it, it's the intention. That's all that really matters."

"That's right, Frank. I feel better."

"That's good, boss."

Charley stared at the Baudelaire "Absinthe Drinker." "I'm going to give that to the museum, Frank. I'm awful fond of it, but it's-I'm going to give it to the museum."

"How about some water?" Diatri reached for the pitcher on the nightstand next to the photo of Tasha and Margaret.

"I'd like a whiskey. Let's us both have a whiskey."

Diatri laughed. "Okay." He poured out a couple of brown fingers and gave the glass to Charley. The old man's hand was weak, but he held it himself. He raised the glass. "To Tasha and Felix."

"To Tasha and Felix," said Diatri.