A Certain Justice

There were other considerations. First, she was certain she could in fact deliver. She'd been working for months now on some version of what was developing as her final plan. Because it was such a white elephant, Loretta knew that the federal government would like nothing better than to simply give the HPNR away, wash its hands of it, goodbye. Naturally, bureaucracies being what they were, this couldn't just happen in the normal course of events.

But that was the very point of the past few days – the normal flow of events had been radically altered. Symbols were needed, drastic action, red tape cut through to get the message across – we're all in this together, on the state and national level, good faith needed to be demonstrated, not talked about.

And so, early that morning Loretta had pitched the final draft of her proposal to a couple of her senatorial colleagues, as well as to the president's chief of staff, and it had been immediately embraced as brilliant and even visionary by each of them – the idea of an executive order that would release the HPNR to a trustee who would pledge to develop the site as a camp for underprivileged children. It would be a fine opportunity for the president to demonstrate his sensitivity to the plight of i

And who better to be the trustee than Philip Mohandas – a man with a vision who had shown even in this crisis a willingness to compromise for consensus? Mohandas had an undoubted commitment to the people he'd be serving, an organization already in place to administer the project. The moderate Senator Wager would vouch for his good intentions.

Finally, she had told Philip, he could expect federal funding (not even including what he could expect in matching or co-payment funds from the state government in Sacramento and the city of San Francisco) in the neighborhood of twelve million per year. A million a month. No taxes. Essentially – cash.

And, like cash, it was nearly impossible to keep perfect tabs on it. No one really even expected it. So Philip Mohandas had gone to Conrad Aiken and sold Alan Reston to the city of San Francisco as its new District Attorney.

Chris Locke's death, Alan Reston, Philip Mohandas, the HPNR – all potential negatives, and wasn't it marvelous to see how they all seemed to be working out?

'Let me drive. You look exhausted.'

Glitsky hesitated briefly, then shrugged and handed his keys over to Loretta. 'I won't argue.'

'And I'm paying for di

'I don't-'

'No discussion. Senators do not brook argument with lesser mortals, which includes everyone except the President, who doesn't brook much argument himself.'

Glitsky enjoyed her, no doubt about it. He was crossing in front of the Plymouth, going to the passenger side, smiling. 'What about the Vice-President?'

She gave him a disdainful look. 'He's just a senator who doesn't get to vote very often. Definitely a lesser mortal.'

'Governor?' he asked.

Opening the driver's door, she shot back, 'What state?' Inside, leaning to the side, she flipped up the lock on Glitsky's door.

He slid in. ' California.'

Loretta thought a minute, reached under the seat and tried to slide it forward. It didn't move. She wasn't big enough. 'Help me here, on three.' She counted, and together they got the seat far enough so she could touch the floor pedals. ' California, I'd say "brook." '

'Brook? What does brook mean?'

'Lieutenant, what are we talking about here? – the brooking of argument, are we not? And I'd say the governor of California would brook no argument from lesser mortals.'

He gri

'No brook.'

' Louisiana?'

'No brook.'

'Hmm. So police lieutenants – '

Turning the key – the car started right up – she patted his leg, slipping into the familiar patois she used with her daughter and almost no one else. 'Honey, they is only a hundred U.S. senators in the whole world. You got any idea how many police lieutenants they is?'

Glitsky actually laughed out loud, something he did with about the regularity of a lunar eclipse. 'So definitely they are lesser mortals? Police lieutenants?'

That disdainful look again, a Whoopi Goldberg glint in her eyes. 'Now you tell me, sugar. I don't make this stuff up. The numbers don't lie.'

'So I am definitely a no brook.'

'In theory, absolutely right on. But you, personally, Abe Glitsky, there might be a loophole…'

'Which part, the lesser or the mortal…?'

Her hand was on his thigh again. 'Good part of you ain't no lesser than nobody.'

They pulled out into Polk Street, into traffic, heading north – bantering, goofing one another.

Kids.

There were no tents in Washington Square. The riots had not yet infringed on the core of San Francisco, the compact and for the most part elegant wedge of pie bounded on the south and east by Market Street and on the west by Van Ness Avenue – thirty-five blocks north to south, seventeen east to west. The city within.

Glitsky was sitting with Loretta at a back corner table in La Pantera on the corner of Columbus at Washington Square. Up the street was the much more tony Fior d'Italia; across the park was Moose's, hangout, even in these days of crisis, of every bon vivant in the city. But La Pantera was a private place for anonymous citizens and that suited them both. This was a private di

'The rumor that just won't die,' she said. She pushed some tubular pasta around on her plate, drank some of her 7-Up, sighed. Glitsky marveled at the shape and tone of her face – unlined, the skin smooth as fine chocolate. 'The Pacific Moon,' she said. 'Sometimes I wish I'd never heard of the place.'

'I'm just telling you what I heard, Loretta. It's not an issue for me personally. It was just one of my inspectors trying to protect me, that's all.'

But she didn't seem to hear that. 'Now it's three million dollars? Time I'm sixty it ought to have grown to ten.'

"Three million is the profit.'

'I know, I know.' She held up a hand. 'Please. Wait. I want to tell you.'

He nodded, waiting.

'After… after the plane crash… you know about the plane crash, right? Colombia? I thought you did, but… well, Dana and I were having some problems even before then. It was one of the reasons I decided to go to work, get into politics again, have something of my own in case Dana and I split up, which at the time I thought was pretty likely.'

'You mind if I ask why?'

She took a long moment deciding. 'Dana was one of those men who was great to be around when things were going well, when he had money and things seemed to be under his control. He was all tied up in that.'

'Okay.'

'But his investments started to go sour. He took a couple of big hits in the stock market, tried to recoup some of that in real estate here in the city and guessed wrong. Notes were coming due and he couldn't pay them and I guess he started to panic. I mean, he was turning sixty by now. His confidence began to erode. I told him that it didn't matter, that we still had plenty. What was important to me was how he treated Elaine, if he loved me, personal things. But to him, if he wasn't a provider he wasn't anything – it was all tied up in that men's macho thing. And then he got so… well, we gave up on… the physical side, and that of course just continued the cycle.'

She sipped at her drink.

'But after Colombia…?'

'After Colombia, after I got back… I don't know. Maybe it shocked him awake. He wasn't that old. He wasn't going to lose both me and Elaine. He couldn't let that happen. So when I got out of the hospital we came back home and people started talking about me ru