Low Pressure

Haymaker’s recliner sprang upright. “Hey!” He tried to snatch the phone from Dent’s hand.

He held it just out of the other man’s reach. “Moody’s number is in here, right? Call him. Tell him we want to talk to him. Tell him you think it would be a good idea. It would give him a chance to validate the outcome of his investigation.”

“He doesn’t have to validate shit.”

“Then that’s what he can make clear to us.” Acting on a hunch, Dent added, “At the very least, he can explain how he and Rupe Collier built their case against Allen Strickland.”

Haymaker’s elfin eyes darted back and forth between them. “You’ve got nothing on them.”

“So there were some machinations?” Bellamy said.

“That’s not what I said,” he sputtered. “Don’t put words in my mouth, missy.”

“We’re not really interested in what you have to say, Haymaker. We want to talk to Moody.” Dent grinned with malice. “If he bent some rules, we’ll be giving him a chance to cleanse his soul. When he dies, he’ll go to heaven instead of hell. Good fo

r everybody.”

“Call him, Mr. Haymaker,” Bellamy softly urged.

He silently debated it for several moments, then held up his hands in surrender. “Okay. Fine. I’ll think about it.”

Dent said, “You’ve got five seconds.”

“Look, come back tomorrow—”

Dent made a honking sound like a quiz-show buzzer. “Can’t wait till tomorrow.”

“How come?” Haymaker looked at Bellamy. “What’s your all-fired hurry?”

“I have my reasons for needing to see him as soon as possible. Call him.”

The former cop continued to fidget, continued to stew.

“Time’s up.” Dent slid his thumb across the bottom of the screen, engaging the phone. “If you call him, you’re his concerned friend offering advice. If I call him, you’re the buddy who betrayed him. You choose.”

When Steven saw the name on his phone’s caller ID, he signaled William to take over for him at the hostess stand and quickly made his way into the relative quiet of the office behind Maxey’s busy kitchen. His phone had stopped vibrating by the time he closed himself in, so he redialed. Olivia answered on the first ring.

“Sorry I couldn’t answer in time, Mother. Is it Howard?”

“He’s holding on by a thread.”

Steven could tell by the hoarseness in her voice that she’d been crying.

“So am I,” she added shakily. “A very slender thread. He’ll have minutes of perfect clarity, and then periods when he lapses into a semiconscious state that terrifies me. I’m afraid he’ll never come out of it. He looks so old and feeble I can barely believe it’s my Howard.”

“Jesus. I know how hard this must be for you.” If William were dying, he would feel like his world was collapsing and he was powerless to stop it. “I’m sorry you’re there dealing with this alone.”

“Bellamy was here last night.” When he didn’t say anything, she softly added, “I know she came to see you, Steven. She told me. I was surprised she went all that way, given Howard’s condition. He was desperate to talk to her last night.”

“I’m sure he fears that each time he sees her will be the last.”

“Exactly. Which makes me wonder why he sent her away.”

“He did?”

“She was here barely an hour. She saw Howard alone for ten, maybe fifteen minutes, then she and Dent left.”

“Dent was still with her?”