Day Three
July 23, 1952
Wednesday Morning
“So what do you say? Are you in?”
London was waiting for an answer.
Her stomach was pressed to Wilde’s.
Her lips were open.
Her breathing was shallow.
Wilde was at a crossroads, the kind that lasts only a few seconds and then ripples forever. Part of him said yes, go; screw his whole existence, disappear with London and let whatever happens happen. The other part said no, don’t even think about it; he hardly knew the woman, certainly not enough to throw away everything he’d built up in Denver.
He blew smoke.
Then he looked down into her eyes and opened his mouth to talk.
He still didn’t know what the answer would be, but knew it was time to give it.
The silence was over.
It was time to decide.
It would come to him as he mouthed the words.
Suddenly a noise came from behind him. He turned to find a man in the room, a man he knew-Crockett Bluetone, the hotshot lawyer, the head of London’s firm.
London was as surprised as Wilde and took a step back.
“The door was open,” Bluetone said. Then to Wilde, nodding at his cigarette, “You got another?”
Wilde hesitated; then he tapped one loose and extended the pack.
Bluetone pulled it out, said “Thanks,” and lit up from a fancy gold lighter.
His eyes were on London.
He flicked the lighter shut, stuck it in his pocket, blew smoke at London and looked at Wilde.
“She’s a beautiful woman. I wouldn’t take her offer, though, not if I was you.” He focused on London and said, “Tell him why.”
Wilde turned to London.
Her face was a mixture of hate, fear and confusion.
“Get out of here,” she said.
“Sure, partner, whatever you say. We’ll be talking, though. Trust me on that.”
Then he was out of the room and down the stairs.
The front door opened and slammed.
He was gone.
Partner.
Partner.
Partner.
The word ricocheted through Wilde’s brain.
“What did he mean, partner? He didn’t mean law partner, did he?”
London took a step back.
The wall stopped her from going farther.
“He’s scum,” she said. “The guy who tried to kill me last night-Bluetone hired him. That’s why I’m getting out of Denver. That’s why I can’t practice law anymore.”
Half of Wilde wanted to take the woman in his arms.
The other half wanted answers.
“Answer my question,” he said. “What did he mean, partner?”
London exhaled, then slumped to the floor.
Wilde sat next to her.
“Talk,” he said.
London took his hand in hers, brought it to her mouth and kissed it.
“Partner refers to the Mexico deal,” she said. “Technically we were partners in that.”
Wilde nodded.
That’s what he thought.
“Go on,” he said. “Keep talking.”
A beat.
“It’s not pretty,” she said.
“Fine, I’ve been warned. Now keep talking.”
“If I keep talking, you’ll hate me.”
Wilde took a drag on the smoke.
“Let’s find out.”