Gun, With Occasional Music by Jonathan Lethem

Author:Jonathan Lethem [Lethem, Jonathan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Published: 2003-09-01T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

INQUISITORS KORNFELD AND TELEPROMPTER WERE WAITing for me at my apartment. I looked around for Morgenlander but he wasn’t there. The apartment looked okay—if they’d gone through things, they’d done it gently—and Angwine was gone, all trace of him removed. The inquisitors had left depressions in the couch where they’d been sitting, but when I opened the door, they were on their feet. The depressions weren’t so close together that I had to feel left out of something; if Kornfeld and Teleprompter tussled, they didn’t do it on company time, or at least not on a stakeout. I would have preferred to think Catherine Teleprompter kept clear of the Office clowns, but it really wasn’t any of my business.

“Out late,” said Kornfeld, too jauntily. “On a case?”

“Not really,” I said. I was tired, despite the fresh infusion of make, and I wasn’t in the bantering mood. I wouldn’t have minded talking to Catherine, but Kornfeld seemed to want to express himself verbally for a change.

“You must have been somewhere,” he said. “We’ve been waiting since eight.”

“Thanks, it makes the place feel lived in. I really appreciate it.”

“You’ve been warned off this case. More than once.”

“I’ve been warned off this case even more than you think. It’s getting pretty dull.”

The door was still open. Kornfeld went around me and closed it. “We don’t really want to talk about the case. The case is closed. We wanted to let you know that Orton Angwine is karmically defunct. As far as we’re concerned, that’s the end of it.”

“Great.” I turned away from Kornfeld and faced Catherine Teleprompter. She seemed smaller and less formidable out of the Office, which didn’t stop me from wanting to grab hold of her—it just made it seem more possible. She had her black waterfall of hair pinned back with a clasp this time, and it gave me a nice view of her throat. I watched it bob as our eyes locked, but she didn’t say anything.

“There’s just one more piece of business,” said Kornfeld from behind me. “I need your card.”

“Who gets credit for the nab?” I asked as I dug in my pocket for my card. “Morgenlander?”

“Morgenlander was transferred off the case this afternoon,” said Kornfeld. “He wasn’t familiar enough with the beat. It was a mistake bringing him in.”

I handed him my card. Kornfeld took it and switched on his magnet. I assumed this was the part where they built me back up to an acceptable level as closure to the case. Sort of a payoff for swallowing their interpretation of events without gagging too loudly. The red light on Kornfeld’s magnet blinked, and he ran it across my card, then handed the card back.

“How’d I do?” I asked.

“You’re down to twenty-five points, Metcalf. Your file is up for review. Don’t ask me any more questions or I’ll be forced to cave your face in.”

I was stunned. I put my card in my pocket and sat down on the couch, oblivious to Catherine Teleprompter, the case forgotten.

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