The Last Refuge by Martin Hill

Author:Martin Hill [Hill, Martin Roy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: M. R. Hill Publishing via Indie Author Project
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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Michael Larrs had what the TV news business calls good timing. Not only did he deliver the news in an authoritative voice with good measure and a flair for the dramatic, he knew when to grab hold of a news event and ride it for what it was worth. He was as much a celebrity for his nightly commentaries – three spite-filled minutes he called his perspectives – and the legend he had built around his career as he was for his news reporting. But I knew his legend was all myth, that he claimed as his own the hard work of other reporters who didn't have the bully pulpit that enabled Larrs to focus attention on himself. Besides, I thought his timing stunk, just as it did that day.

Larrs rapped at my door just as I was getting out of the shower. I'd been back from my phone call with Fred Danbury for less than thirty minutes, just time enough to call Jo, pass along what Fred had passed on to me, and to shave and shower. I quickly rubbed the towel over myself, pulled on a pair of jeans and padded to the door in my bare feet. My stomach growled for breakfast and I needed another cup of coffee.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, glaring at Larrs through the screen door.

He looked like a mannequin in a tailored gray pinstripe suit, a red Yves St. Laurent tie flawlessly knotted and snugged up against his Adams apple, and with hair combed as perfectly straight as the pinstripes on his suit. He smiled, rubbed his ear, and looked around the neighborhood. His finely manicured nails glistened with varnish. A gold Rolex glittered on his wrist.

"You know, Brandt," he said. "They'd probably let you into a better neighborhood if you'd learn some social graces."

"Funny, I was wondering who let you into this neighborhood."

"Witty as ever," Larrs said. "Are you going to invite me in or are we going to talk through this screen door? I didn't even know they made screen doors anymore."

The screen door creaked as I pushed it open. I made certain to bump it into Larrs and leave a trace of dust on his tailored suit. Larrs brushed it off as he glanced around the front room, his mouth puckered in distaste.

"So what'd you do, Larrs?" I asked. "Make a wrong turn on the way to La Jolla and end up in Ocean Beach?"

Larrs walked casually past my desk, not so casually examining the papers there.

"I came to offer you a business deal," he said. "I found your address in the press club directory."

"I knew I should have listed my P.O. box."

"Is that coffee I smell?"

"Yes."

He stood looking at me in silence, just smiling with his capped teeth.

"Oh, all right," I finally said. "Milk or sugar?"

"Black with sweetener, if you've got it," he said. "Got to watch my figure, you know."

I detoured to the bedroom and pulled on shoes and a shirt. I poured the coffee, sweetened Larrs', and walked out of the kitchen to find the son of a bitch going through my desk.

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