I ducked down an alley, in between two houses, past a caged, derelict liquor store until I came to a pay phone in front of a 7-Eleven. I tried O'Neill at work, then his apartment. No answer on either number. I found him at Elaine's. Some things never change.
"How's your morning tomorrow, John?"
"What? They didn't give you the Congressional Medal of Honor?"
"I need the stuff, now."
"I'm not in the office until three."
"It can't wait. I gotta see you first thing tomorrow, pick it up, and be back here by five."
I could hear chatter in the background, what sounded like ice cubes tinkling in glasses. O'Neill was well into happy hour. Happy hours.
"Sorry. There's no way I can change my rendezvous."
"Listen. You have no idea the ambush I walked into. It got real nasty. They lifted the immunity."
"Look, Max, I want this shit out of my life. The sooner, the better. In fact, don't come up here. I don't want to be seen with you. Give me an address and I'll FedEx the shit-no, better yet, find some Kinko's down there that'll let a crazy fuck like you hang by the fax machine for thirty minutes, call me first thing in the morning with the number, and-"
"No fax. No FedEx. I come get it, you understand. If I have to, I'll duct-tape it to my body and swim back to Washington."
There was a long sigh at the other end, a swallow.
"Who's bothering you, John? The Bureau?"
"My old comrades in arms. They came to see me this afternoon. More shit. This time it's about some money I borrowed while I was still in. All aboveboard but that's not stopping them."
"John-"
"It's you, Max. Don't you get it? You're toxic. I tried, right? But everything that touches you turns into fucking melanomas. I'm not going down with you on this one. I've got a new life."
I could hear a woman saying they were late, something about reservations, purring in his other ear.
"Okay. Okay," he finally said. "When?"
"Seven-thirty."
"Eight-fifteen in my office. And I mean it. If you're not there by nine, I burn it. The chimes start ringing and I light the fire."
"John!" I could tell he was about to hang up.
"What, for crissake?"
"Don't blow me off."
"I don't understand why you don't just come up tonight. Maybe one last drink."
"I got one thing to take care of first."