Bad Bird by Chris Knopf

Author:Chris Knopf [Knopf, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781410439468
Publisher: Minotaur Books
Published: 2010-12-31T05:00:00+00:00

14

I spent the rest of the day reading Clinton Andrews’s brochure, which would be better described as a dissertation on the full realization of one’s life potential, at times a little wacky, but on the whole filled with fairly decent advice, which if followed would likely make for a healthier, happier person. But unhappily, I knew that would never happen for me.

As predicted, there was almost nothing on the robbery of his store in North Sea, the Peconic Pantry, except for his noting that he’d started on his quest after suffering a serious injury.

That night I tried to dig up more information on the Web about the robbery itself, looking for any mention of more than one perpetrator, but I’d already thoroughly mined what little was there, given that it all happened long before news was automatically stored in digital files. It was a miracle anything had been scanned in at all.

It’s like me to keep wringing a stone as long as I think there might be a molecule or two of blood stored inside, but I eventually gave up and went to bed, traveling the few feet from my desk to the bathroom, and then to the pull-out sofa, where once again I cuddled up to my deadly Austrian pal and slept the sleep of the conflicted and obsessed.

———

Ross Semple woke me up with a call to my cell phone, theatrically requesting the honor of my presence at ten that morning. The cell said it was already eight thirty, but there was time enough to ease wobbly into the day.

Hm, a surprise interrogation by Homeland Security. What to wear? I went with the most litigious-looking plain-Jane suit I’d retrieved from my house, the one that went with the blouse with the ruffled front that reminded me of the fruity things worn by judges. I went easy on the makeup, with just a tinted lip gloss, and wrestled my hair into a ponytail, which on me is more like the tail of a raccoon. I also brought along a pair of horn-rimmed glasses with clear lenses, since I still have twenty-twenty vision. I only wore them on professional occasions like this, just to round out the look of a former clerk to an originalist Supreme Court justice.

My co-interviewees were more flamboyantly attired, Sullivan in his best African mercenary outfit, Ross looking like he’d just rolled out of bed after sleeping off a two-week bender, which is actually how he usually looked. I was glad to see him smoking, since it meant I could steal one of his Winstons to go with my coffee. Sullivan sat with us stoically, trying not to breathe.

“Any thoughts before they show up?” asked Ross.

Sullivan shook his head.

“Could be anything,” he said. “No sense wasting energy on speculation.”

“Mind if I give you guys some friendly advice?” I asked.

They both looked like they wanted to be offended by that, but not enough not to listen.

“Is it free?” asked Sullivan.

“On the house.”

“Okay.”

“There are only four correct answers: Yes, no, I don’t know, and I don’t remember.

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