The Lasko Tangent by Richard North Patterson Read Free Book Online Page B

part of Georgetown, where you could still park, away from M Street’s weekend circus. The house itself was at least one hundred years old and sat amid quiet oaks a good bit older, giving off the subtle aroma of money and good taste. A lot of the money probably belonged to someone else. When people said that they were dying to live in Georgetown, they usually meant financially.
    Mary was wearing white slacks, a green blouse, and a real smile. “I’m taking a chance—seeing you. You’re nicer on the telephone.”
    “I know. It’s terminal smart-ass. Someday I’ll probably die from it.”
    She looked amused. “I wouldn’t doubt it. Anyhow, dinner’s a good enough apology. I was a little officious myself.”
    “Then let’s call it even and start over.”
    We got in the car and headed for the deck at the Washington again. The city had few outdoor bars, and the night was cooled by a pleasant breeze. We ordered the same two gin and tonics and looked out at the city.
    Mary smiled. “Here we are again,” she said, picking up her drink. But she was leaning back easily in the wicker chair. Her body had declared amnesty. She looked across at me. “You’re rather quiet tonight. Is this what happens when you run out of smart things to say?”
    I grinned. “I spend my life concealing that I’m duller than hell. You’re sharp to catch it so soon.”
    She gave me a glancing smile. “The commission seems to be filled with people who don’t know anything more about you than what they see.”
    Her voice had a dash of challenge. I seemed to spend a lot of time explaining to women why I didn’t talk about the things that they thought were important. I didn’t enjoy it. So I threw back the ball. “Have you been checking up on me?” I tried to register genteel shock at the notion.
    “A little. Between college and law school you were a reporter for two years, supposedly a good one. Why did you quit?”
    “It was just a holding action. Anyhow, I did crime stuff—started out with muggings and ended up with murders. Pretty soon everyone I met was a corpse. I began to feel like a pathologist, and I wasn’t doing anyone any good.”
    “Is that why you’re such a cynic?”
    “Look around you,” I shrugged. “So what else did you learn?”
    “That a lot of people think you’re the best lawyer McGuire has. That you’ve put some people in jail, though not enough to suit you. And that you go your own way. Nobody seems to know a lot about you—personally, that is.”
    I had been listening to her talk. Her voice had a buried Mediterranean intensity, as if she had once lived with people who talked with feeling and then had trained her voice into upper-class politeness. The thought was interesting. So was she.
    “What was your husband like?” I asked.
    “Frank?”
    “Your husband’s name was Frank?”
    She sipped again, nodding with her drink. She looked up to see my eyes. “What’s so funny?”
    “I’m sorry, Mary. I have this thing about names. I can’t see you married to someone named Frank.”
    She gave a small smile. “It looks as if I couldn’t either.”
    “What happened?”
    She pulled the black hair from her face, then tossed it around her shoulders. “Don’t subjects like this just get us into trouble?”
    I grinned. “We’ve been in trouble from the time you forgot my name.”
    “You’re an arrogant bastard, aren’t you?” The flat voice was matter of fact, as if she were committed to finding out.
    “A little. Sometimes a lot.” I tried to head her off. “But I’m not my own favorite subject.”
    “Why not?”
    How many reasons would you like, I thought. “Because self-analysis is a bore. Because most of what people tell you about themselves is bullshit, intentionally or otherwise. And because if someone really interests you, you’ll learn about them yourself.” I softened my voice. “So what was Frank like?”
    Her forehead furrowed as if she were organizing a summary. “Frank was a