The Mural. Michael Mallory

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СКАЧАТЬ “You looked like you were walking to the executioner.”

      “Good day for a hanging, don’t you think?”

      “Jack, Mr. B. wanted me to remind you to submit your written report along with the pictures he asked for.”

      “Right,” Jack said, hanging up. He was halfway through typing out his report when he realized something: if Broarty was so crooked as to fake the photos for Emac’s benefit, what was to stop him for altering the report to match it? Then when Resort Partners finally found out they were sinking money into a wasteland, someone was going to have to take the fall for the debacle, and Jack strongly doubted it would be Broarty. He could argue that his report had been altered, and it would be his word against Marcus’s. He could refuse to file the report at all and risk termination, particularly after his stunning performance earlier this morning. He could contact Emac over Marc’s head and tell him the truth about Wood City, and run the risk of exposing the company to exactly the kinds of legal action and attention that Marc viewed with terror.

      No matter which direction he looked, he was screwed.

      Only one direction held any appeal: the one that led from his office to The Tap House, a brewpub three blocks away which, unbeknownst to Elley, he frequented at lunch hours (always paying cash for his burgers and beers, so as not to have them appear on the Visa bills). It was only a quarter to ten, and he was not even sure the place was open yet, but he would like to find out. Maybe leaving this job and heading for the pub was the answer. Maybe telling Marcus Broarty what he could do with his fat self was exactly what he needed at this point in his life. Crane wasn’t the only building inspection company in the greater L.A. area. There were others, many others, and finding another job shouldn’t be too hard, even in this economy. Or maybe it was time to chuck the whole inspection game altogether and go do something else. What was stopping him from walking out on both Broarty and Elley, and restarting his life?

      Robynn, that’s what.

      Her face popped into his mind, and even though he wanted a beer now more than ever, he knew he could not run away and get one. No matter what, he had to stay put. He had to do it for Robynn.

      Jack’s cell phone rang and half expected it to be Elley calling from the airport, giving him an ultimatum, but he was surprised.

      “Hi, Jack,” said Dani’s voice. “I hope this isn’t a bad time to call.”

      “No, no, it’s fine,” he said, going over to shut his office door. “In fact, given the day I’ve had so far, hearing from you is quite welcome. What’s up?”

      “I wanted to apologize if my calling your house last night got you in trouble. Your wife seemed a little annoyed.”

      “Annoyance is the only human emotion Elley expresses these days.”

      “God, I’m sorry.”

      “It’s okay. I was already in the doghouse before you called. The worst part was that my daughter picked up that something was wrong and she fell into a snit. She was kind of a mess this morning when I dropped her off at school.”

      “Did you tell Elley about us?”

      “No. You didn’t, did you?”

      “No, of course not.” There was a long pause before Dani said, “Jack, how do you feel about what we did?”

      “I don’t know. If you’re asking me did I enjoy it, hell yes. If you’re asking did it make me feel like I was alive for the first time in quite a while, again yes. If you’re asking me am I proud of it, then no. If you’re asking if I’m ashamed of myself, I really don’t know.”

      “I guess I’m asking if it was worth it. I mean, was it worth risking losing your family.”

      “My daughter, no,” he said quickly. “Nothing is worth risking that. As for Elley, well, I think it’s only a matter of time. Maybe I’ve been in some kind of denial about that and meeting you was the catalyst I needed to finally accept the truth.”

      “Jack, what I really want to ask is...this might sound a little crazy...but when we were having sex, particularly the first time in the truck, did you feel like it was really you? Or did you feel like you were somebody else?”

      “I think I’m ready to be somebody else for a while, Dani. Being me isn’t exactly paying dividends.”

      He didn’t feel it, Dani thought, he didn’t feel that sense of wrongness. Maybe there was nothing to feel. She changed the subject then and started to tell him what she had learned from the folklore book, and Jack telling her the stunt that his boss was about to pull on their client. Then his intercom buzzed. “Uh oh, that’s trouble calling. Can you hold on a second?” Jack jabbed the intercom button and said, “Yeah, Yoli, what’s he want now?”

      “He’s still waiting for the Wood City pictures.”

      “Right. I’ll send them right now.” Hanging up on Yoli, he told Dani: “I have to go, but call me again, just make it on the cell, okay?”

      “And you have my number, right?”

      “It’s displayed, I’ll write it down. Bye, Dani.” Jack hung up, and after a brief but dangerous pang of loneliness, he pulled out his laptop out of its carrying case and powered it up, then went to his picture file. He found photos of a job site from the week before, an abandoned warehouse in Torrance, and there were a few personal shots he had taken of Robynn playing in the backyard, but the photos of Wood City were nowhere to be found. “Aw, no!” he cried, launching a general search through his entire system, which came up empty.

      How could this happen twice? There had to be a problem with the camera.

      Jack was about to call Yolanda, but decided that news like this might have to be delivered personally. Trying to ignore the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, he got up and walked to Broarty’s office, telling Yolanda on the way that he had to see him. Jack was told to wait, a move he interpreted as one of Broarty’s patented “power-pauses”—the attempt to put the other person on their guard by making them cool their heels before deigning to see or speak with them. But if it had been Broarty’s intention to put him in his place, this time it had backfired, because Jack used the next four minutes to formulate an idea, one that might solve several problems all at once.

      The intercom on Yolanda’s desk rang, and she picked it up, then announced that Jack could go in.

      “Pictures, Jack, pictures,” Broarty said as he entered the large corner office.

      “Marc, I don’t know what in hell I did,” Jack began, “but I can’t find any of the second group of pictures that I took of the place, either. The first ones I emailed to you from the motel, but those didn’t arrive, and then they disappeared. The new set I took have disappeared too. I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with my machine.”

      “No pictures?”

      “Sorry, Marc, no pictures.”

      “That was money well spent, sending you up there,” Broarty sneered.

      “I know, and I’m sorry. But look at it this way: now you don’t have to Photoshop anything, because they don’t exist.”

      “You may have a point. But we have to tell Emac something.”

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