I backed up the dozer and attacked the corner of the bigger pile, pushing it toward the dark gash in the earth just this side of the crooked concrete wall. It took less than an hour to fill it, all the way around. Not a perfect job, but effective, and I ran the inside track of the dozer along the edge of the foundation to pack it tight.

  By the time I was finished, the sky was brightening in the east, but the half-moon had disappeared behind a thick stack of clouds pushing toward us on that west wind. When I cut the engine, my ringing ears were filled with the hiss of the trees. I knew his truck would be up on the main road. I would find it and dump it in the Wal-Mart parking lot in Auburn. I shivered and pulled my coat tight around my shoulders, walking the perimeter of the foundation, sick from the smell of diesel and from what I had done, but at the same time light-headed over how perfectly I had covered it up. 58

  BUCKY'S EYES SHOT OPEN. It was pitch dark. Scott's snoring shook the rafters and the wall between their two rooms. Bucky's feet were on the floor. He blew into his hands, pacing the bare wood floor, the eagerness to get back making his skin crawl.

  He started a fire in the stove, then filled the sink with hot water to do the dishes later before filling the pot to make coffee. After dressing, he put on both coat and boots and fumbled around outside in the dark, draining the water lines, shuttering the windows against the coming winter. That done, he took some fish from last night's dinner and put it into a pan with some potatoes and onions. Scott appeared, bleary-eyed and scratching his stomach between the button holes of his one-piece underwear.

  "Never thought I'd be sick of that smell," he said, pouring two cups of coffee and sitting down at the table.

  "Too much of a good thing," Bucky said, emptying the frying pan onto two plates and setting them down.

  "You'd think it was you who was stir-crazy to get out of this place," Scott said. "Banging around underneath the floor in the dark."

  "You're the one who wanted to leave last night," Bucky said.

  "I think in your younger days you weren't afraid of the dark," Scott said, grinning. Bucky chewed carefully, staring at his plate. He took a swig of coffee and winced.

  "What's wrong?" Scott asked.

  "Little strong."

  "Not the coffee."

  "Just a feeling," Bucky said, swallowing his last bite. "Maybe we should have gone back across in the dark. I've got that GPS."

  "I was kidding you, Buck. It's not about Mike Allen?"

  "No," Bucky said, wiping up the grease with a folded piece of bread. "He'll be fine. Relieved, I bet."

  "It's bad?"

  "Like I said, lots of stealing," Bucky said. "Everything's behind."

  He looked up. Scott stared out the window at the pale light, his lip curled.

  "Ready?" Scott asked.

  "Put your stuff in the boat," Bucky said. "Let me rinse these and close up."

  In minutes they were out on the water, cresting the foamy rollers, knit caps pulled tight on their heads, engines drumming steadily for home in the light of dawn. Scott kept his boat in the smooth water of Bucky's wake. By the time they got back, even the harbor was in a chop. The sky was angry and gray and the wind howled through the leafless trees, rocking the few boats that remained at dock and casting a spray across the water's surface. Bucky tied off both boats and climbed into his truck, dialing Russel's number before the door was shut. Scott got in on the other side. Bucky started the engine while Russel's phone rang. He hung up when he got voice mail, then listened to his own messages. Russel left one at three a.m. telling how he'd followed Thane to the offices, saying he could show someone the window where the lights had gone on and that that might give them a clue to what he was doing.

  "Can't be anything good," Russel said with a yawn before hanging up. Bucky flipped his phone shut, comforted by the recent message. It would explain why Russel hadn't answered his phone. After being up so late, he probably turned it off to get some sleep. And it was quite possible that Russel's late-night observation would give them a leg up on the enemy. Their plan now was to drive to New York to see Mike Allen in person. Scott insisted that they stop on the way so he could see his fiancee, Emily, and also his mom. Bucky couldn't argue, and it wasn't long anyway before they were racing down the interstate for Manhattan, Scott on the phone, setting up a meeting with the King Corp board chairman.

  Mike Allen's personal office was a corner of glass overlooking Central Park. Mike sat facing them in a dimpled crimson leather chair. His gray suit, as always, was crisply pressed. The bright green handkerchief in his pocket matched the fashionable tie. Mike was dressed for business. He even had his lawyer.

  Bucky had a low regard for lawyers. On their own they weren't always bad, but they tended to talk too much and he'd never seen anyone bring a lawyer to a meeting with good intentions. Like the lawyer and Mike, Scott also wore a suit. Bucky was comfortable, though, even in the fancy office, wearing boots, jeans, and a short camo jacket that matched his cap.

  "I spoke with the woman agent in charge of the investigation," Mike said. "She said she wouldn't confirm or deny that Thane is a suspect."

  "But she cleared me?" Scott said.

  "I knew it wasn't you from the start," Mike said. "Come on."

  "So, you'll help us?" Scott asked.

  Bucky heard the lawyer clear his throat and say, "We've talked with the SEC. We have to be careful. This is a public company. Our allegiance in all this has to be to the shareholders."

  "Mike?" Scott said. Bucky heard the pinching sound of Scott's fingers digging into the leather armrests.

  "You know how I feel," Mike said. "Your dad and I went way back. But we don't want to jump to conclusions. Look, people were saying you were the one. I said nothing. We need to make sure, that's all. You guys were friends."

  "Yeah? Ben was our friend," Scott said. "And my dad treated him like a son. Bucky saw his footprint that night, and the FBI is testing the slugs they took out of Ben to see if they came from his gun."

  "But the FBI says they'll neither confirm nor deny," Mike said, holding his hands up. "That's how they said it. What am I supposed to do? If it's him, why won't they say?"

  "They don't care if you leave Thane in charge, bleeding this company. They're worried about headlines. They want to take down the union, organized crime, not some corporate executive. You think they care what happens to this company?"

  "So," Mike said, with a sigh, "you want me to call a meeting?"

  "Right away."

  "And if I do, and they want to stay with Thane?"

  "How long will it take to get them together?"

  "At least three days," Mike said. "I need a quorum."

  "Do you think any of the old partners will help me?" Scott said.

  "A lot of them are gone," Mike said. "But the ones who are there? Morris and Snyder you can probably count on."

  "Good," Scott said, his jaw set. "In three days, Bucky and I will have enough to make it easy for them."

  59

  "And you didn't know?" he asks.

  "I was like one of those bubbles in the market," I say. I see his confusion.

  "The stock market," I say. "A bubble. Everything's hot, racing along. It's all good. You can't lose."

  "Okay."

  "Then it bursts."

  Jessica dropped Tommy at school, then picked me up at the Wal-Mart. A fat guy with a long beard and thick glasses looked at me funny when I got out of Russel's truck, but he climbed into an old Chrysler station wagon, sagging and rusty. He was no federal agent.

  I got into the H2 and Jessica slid over. She wore a leather coat and sunglasses, even though the sky was gray and windy.

  "I saw how red your eyes are in the bathroom," I said, glancing over.

  "We've all got issues," she said, staring straight ahead.

  "I didn't mean it like that," I said. "I'm worried, that's all."

  "Me too," she said, looking over at me. "You just buried Bucky's son in our foundation."

  "You're the one who says pretend like it didn't happen."

  "Only now how are we going to have them fix it? Just don't dig here, fellas. That Jimmy Hoffa thing. You know. Christ."

  "So, we'll build it a little crooked like you wanted to in the first place."

  "But Dino won't."

  "I'll find someone."

  She turned facing the road again and we drove in silence. She puffed her cheeks and let some air out and seemed to relax.

  "Let's take a vacation," she said.

  "Sure."

  "I'm serious."

  "Why not?" I said, still sarcastic.

  "Yeah," she said, not getting it. "Remember when they found out about the Iran-Contra scandal?

  Reagan was at his ranch, and they asked him about it and he just smiled and got on his horse and rode off waving to everyone? That's how you do it."

  I shook my head, but knew better than to argue, so I smiled and asked her where she wanted to go. She decided Barbados was the place. Sandy Lane. Five grand a night for a luxury suite. I figured, what the hell. We told Amy we needed her to watch Tommy for three days straight. I called the pilots and told them to saddle up. The Citation X had us there by teatime.

  We watched the sun melt into the ocean from two lounge chairs on the beach. Next to me in the sand I'd buried six empty bottles of Banks beer. Jessica climbed over on top of me, rum on her breath.

  "God it's beautiful," she said.

  I took her to the room and you would have thought we were back in that first summer we met. After, I lay spread-eagle on that big bed, the paddle fan slowly spinning, the tiny waves gurgling against the sand beyond our terrace. I shut my eyes. Everything seemed okay.

  Then we went to dinner. The Ledges. A table on the water's edge, looking down at the sheer stone and the turquoise water sloshing below. We were drinking and laughing at the stuffy British foursome two tables down. One of the men had a bad rug and the tight-faced women were bleached-blond with crooked teeth and saggy necks.

  The fun brought tears to our eyes and I wiped mine on a napkin. Jessica got up to use the ladies' room. I watched her go, her narrow hips and waist swaying slightly off key from her high heels and the wine. I sighed when she disappeared up the steps, then signaled the waiter and ordered another bottle of Dom.

  I waited until my head began to nod, then I shook myself and stood up. My blood was instantly hot with panic and something more. I went upstairs, gripping the handrail to keep my balance. I scanned the bar. Men in blue blazers and women in white and floral dresses, made up for the night with fancy purses and matching shoes. Jessica wasn't there. The bathrooms were just beyond. I eyed the hostess, then ducked into the little hallway and rapped on the bathroom door, calling her name. A fifty-something woman with fake boobs and a facelift opened the door and glared. I told her I was looking for my wife and she told me she was the only one in there. I turned to the hostess.

  "My wife," I said.

  "I think she may have stepped out for some air," the hostess said in a heavy Dutch accent. I pushed through a country-club-looking foursome who had just arrived and stood glaring around from the top of the steps. There was a doorman there in a uniform and hat, the guy who flagged cabs off the street. In his eye was something I didn't like.

  "Where is she?" I asked.

  He tried to pretend ignorance.

  "Little," I said, holding my hand at her height. "Pretty. Dark hair. My wife."

  His eyes got wide and flickered to my right. I jumped down the steps and started down the curve of the drive where three small cabs were queued up. They were empty. There was a plank fence that ran along the drive and when I reached the corner of it, I saw a little gathering. Three cabbies and my wife. She had a pipe in her mouth, drawing from a blue flame one of them provided from an upside-down Butane lighter. She looked at me with those glassy eyes, giggling, smoke curling from her nose. The cabbies laughed with her. Their teeth glowing in the dark.

  One of the cabbies casually slid his hand off of her ass.

  "And?"

  I sigh and say, "I knocked one down, but he wouldn't fight. I was shouting. They were scared shitless. She told me to calm down."

  "Did you?"

  "I shoved her a little too," I say, looking him in the eye. "I'm not proud of it. We made up.

  "Anger and sex," I say, smiling stupidly at the shrink. "It's a wild brew."

  "Did she have a problem?" he asks.

  "Looking back, I probably did too."

  "You used drugs?"

  "I was drinking like a fish. That's a drug, right?"

  "The painkillers, though? Cocaine? That's what she was smoking?"

  "Not me. She said she needed something. We were on vacation. The next day she got ahold of two bottles of Vicodin. Not that I couldn't have used it. I was crawling out of my skin. My hands shaking like an old lady's. The sun burning through the veins in my eyelids. Hungover. Cotton mouth. Tired. Sleeping like shit. Yeah, it was a hell of a vacation. On paper."

  "And then you went back?"

  "Yeah. What we deserved, I guess. Out of the pan, and into the fire."

  60

  WE WENT HOME and had a nice family dinner. Since we'd been gone, Jessica stayed straight long enough to put together a stir-fry with chicken and vegetables. Good food. Good for you. She grilled Tommy about school and how late Amy let him stay up. The caring mom. I listened and worked on a bottle of Heron Hill Riesling, reminding Tommy that nothing came easy and getting a two on his math homework wouldn't get him much more than a job pumping gas. His eyes filled up, the lower lip came out, and he asked to be excused. Jessica gave me a frown, and I told her I wished my old man cared enough to encourage me to do my homework.

  We went to bed like everything was normal. Except she was higher than a kite and I was smashed so bad I couldn't properly enunciate "good night."

  The next morning, I took four Advils and left without waking anyone. I stopped at Johnny Angel's for a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich and a coffee, forgetting to wipe the crumbs off my suit until I was walking into the office. It was weird going in, thinking that the last time I'd been there was the middle of the night to steal some files.

  Darlene wore this scared face that put a lump in my throat. She told me she was sorry and I looked into my office and saw Scott sitting there, waiting. I waved her off, telling her no problem, walked in, and shut the door behind me.

  "Welcome back," I said, extending my hand.

  He sat looking at it. I shrugged and sat down behind my desk, firing up my computer.

  "What can I do for you?" I asked, my eyes on the screen like I was unconcerned.

  "It's over," he said. "I want you to know that."

  I laughed and looked at him.

  "That it?" I said.

  He leaned toward me, his ears flattening against his head.

  "The board is meeting tomorrow in New York," he said. "You'll be finished. I thought I'd let you know. For old times' sake."

  "To make up for the time I covered your back outside Sutter's Mill when those three guys jumped you?" I said.

  "My family made you a lot of money since then," he said. "The chance you got here, most people would cut their arm off for. The top one half of one percent."

  "You guys didn't do too bad off of me, either," I said.

  His face turned a deeper shade of red.

  "The FBI is on you."

  "Funny," I said. "I've been working with them for a month now and no one said anything about me being on the wrong side."

  "Don't they say the husband is always the last to know?" he said.

  The remark hit home and my mind spun this way and that, Johnny G came to mind. Did Scott really know something or was he just trying to fluster me?

  "I got work to do," I said, punching in my password and logging on.

  "Payoffs?"

  "Whatever it takes to get this baby done," I said, typing. "Building downstate is something your dad never did. It takes a special understanding."

  "Fuck you," he said, getting up from his chair and reaching for the door. "Enjoy your last day."

  61

  THE CALL FROM MIKE ALLEN came within a half hour. I was rereading an e-mail update from Con Trac for the tenth time, trying to focus, but I pretended like Mike's call was just part of another busy day and something that I'd been expecting. He was nice, but there was enough distance in his voice to tell me I was now on my own with the board. I called Jessica and asked her if she needed anything on Madison Avenue.

  "They called an emergency board meeting," I said. "It'd be good to have you with me. For luck."

  My tone of voice was what I thought she would have wanted. What she would respect. Confident. Bold. At that moment, I was actually feeling that way. This wasn't about murder, I knew. I hadn't been arrested. This was about business.

  My mind rang with the success stories she'd reminded me of. Enron. Martha Stewart. There was no reason not to be confident. For every executive punished for robbing a company blind, twenty others floated to earth with their golden parachutes. I'd seen deals get done just on one guy's nerve. There was no reason mine couldn't fend off this attack.

  We got a suite at the Waldorf because the best rooms at the Palace were all filled up. We had dinner at Fresco by Scotto and drank three bottles of Opus One with dinner. Afterward, I had a fifty-year-old port while Jessica sipped a Sauterne. Back at the hotel, we were both too drunk to do anything and she didn't even try to hide the three pills she popped down. The bed spun me to sleep, but it was like some kind of crash landing.

  I kept waking up. Sweating. Delirious. Dreaming about Ben and Russel, Johnny G and Jessica. I groped for her somewhere in the night and she shoved me off. Sometime before daylight, my head started to pound. My mouth was dry. I stumbled to the bathroom and pulled the towel down off the mirror. My eyes were red, my skin pale and green, and my hair--where it wasn't plastered to my temples--stuck out all over the place. I threw up, then took four Advils again and lay back down, wishing away the minutes until the medicine could silence the drumbeat. Somehow, I fell back asleep and when I woke, sun streamed bright through the gap in the curtains. I looked at the clock. I was late for the meeting.