The Pelican Brief

He took an inch off the banana, and said nothing.

The animal lovers moved away in ragged formation as the leather lovers hissed at them.

“Anyway, it’s none of our business, and should be none of our business except the President now wants us to secretly investigate the pelican brief before you guys can get to it. He’s convinced we’ll find nothing, and he wants to know there’s nothing to it so he can convince Voyles to back off.”

“There’s nothing to it.”

Booker watched a drunk urinate in the fountain. The cops were riding off into the sun. “Then Voyles is having a little fun, right?”

“We are pursuing all leads.”

“No real suspects, though?”

“No.” The banana was history. “Why are they so worried about us investigating this little thing?”

Booker crunched on a small peanut still in the hull. “Well, to them it’s quite simple. They are livid over the revelation of Pryce and MacLawrence as nominees, and of course it’s all your fault. They distrust Voyles immensely. And if you guys start digging into the pelican brief, they’re terrified the press will find out and the President will take a beating. Reelection is next year, blah, blah, blah.”

“What did Gminski tell the President?”

“That he had no desire to interfere with an FBI investigation, that we had better things to do, and that it would be illegal as hell. But since the President was begging so hard and Coal was threatening so much, we’d do it anyway. And here I am talking to you.”

“Voyles appreciates it.”

“We’re go

He folded down the top of his brown bag, and stood. “Good. I’ll report to Voyles. Thanks.” He walked toward Co

The monitor was on a cluttered table in the center of the newsroom, and Gray Grantham glared at it amid the hum and roar of the gathering and reporting. The words were not coming, and he sat and glared. The phone rang. He punched his button, and grabbed the receiver without leaving the monitor. “Gray Grantham.”

“It’s Garcia.”

He forgot the monitor. “Yeah, so what’s up?”

“I have two questions. First, do you record these calls, and second, can you trace them?”

“No and yes. We don’t record until we ask permission, and we can trace but we don’t. I thought you said you would not call me at work.”

“Do you want me to hang up?”

“No. It’s fine. I’d rather talk at 3 P.M. at the office than 6 A.M. in bed.”

“Sorry. I’m just scared, that’s all. I’ll talk to you as long as I can trust you, but if you ever lie to me, Mr. Grantham, I’ll quit talking.”

“It’s a deal. When do you start talking?”

“I can’t talk now. I’m at a pay phone downtown, and I’m in a hurry.”

“You said you had a copy of something.”

“No, I said I might have a copy of something. We’ll see.”

“Okay. So when might you call again?”

“Do I have to make an appointment?”

“No. But I’m in and out a lot.”

“I’ll call during lunch tomorrow.”

“I’ll be waiting right here.”

Garcia was gone. Grantham punched seven digits, then six, then four. He wrote the number, then flipped through the yellow pages until he found Pay Phones Inc. The Vendor Location listed the number on Pe

The argument started with dessert, a portion of the meal Callahan preferred to drink. She was nice enough when she clicked off the drinks he’d already consumed with di

Darby spooned her coffee and ignored him. Mouton’s was packed, and she just wanted to leave without a scene and get to her apartment alone.

The argument turned nasty on the sidewalk as they walked away from the restaurant. He pulled the keys to the Porsche from his pocket, and she said he was too drunk to drive. Give her the keys. He gripped them and staggered on in the direction of the parking lot, three blocks away. She said she would walk. Have a nice one, he said. She followed a few steps behind, embarrassed at the stumbling figure in front of her. She pleaded with him. His blood level was at least point-two-zero. He was a law professor, dammit. He would kill someone. He staggered faster, coming perilously close to the curb, then weaving away. He yelled over his shoulder, something about driving better drunk than she could sober. She fell behind. She’d taken a ride before when he was like this, and she knew what a drunk could do in a Porsche.

He crossed the street blindly, hands stuck deep in his pockets as if out for a casual stroll in the late night. He misjudged the curb, hit it with the toes instead of the sole, and went sprawling and bouncing and cursing along the sidewalk. He scrambled up quickly before she could reach him. Leave me alone, dammit, he told her. Just give me the keys, she begged, or I’m walking. He shoved her away. Have a nice one, he said with a laugh. She’d never seen him this drunk. He’d never touched her in anger, drunk or not.

Next to the parking lot was a greasy little dive with neon beer signs covering the windows. She looked inside the open door for help, but thought, how stupid. It was filled with drunks.

She yelled at him as he approached the Porsche. “Thomas! Please! Let me drive!” She was on the sidewalk and would go no farther.

He stumbled on, waving her off, mumbling to himself. He unlocked the door, squeezed downward, and disappeared between the other cars. The engine started and roared as he gu

Darby leaned on the side of the building a few feet from the parking lot’s exit. She looked at the street, and almost hoped for a cop. She would rather have him arrested than dead.

It was too far to walk. She would watch him drive away, then call a cab, then ignore him for a week. At least a week. Have a nice one, she repeated to herself. He gu

The explosion knocked her to the sidewalk. She landed on all fours, face down, stu

Darby started toward it, screaming for him. Debris fell around her and the heat slowed her. She stopped thirty feet away, screaming with hands over her mouth.

Then a second explosion flipped it again and drove her away. She tripped, and her head fell hard on the bumper of another car. The pavement was hot to her face, and that was the last she remembered for a moment.

The dive emptied and the drunks were everywhere. They stood along the sidewalk and stared. A couple tried to advance, but the heat reddened their faces and kept them away. Thick, heavy smoke billowed from the fireball, and within seconds two other cars were on fire. There were shouts and voices in panic.

“Whose car is it!”

“Call 911!”

“Is anybody in it!”

“Call 911!”

They dragged her by the elbows back to the sidewalk, to the center of the crowd. She was repeating the name Thomas. A cold cloth came from the dive and was placed on her forehead.