Free The Fives Run North-South by Dan Goodin Page B

affixed to me, even if only by a private investigator I’d probably never meet again. So I realized that some part of me was hoping for another incident, simply to preserve my image as an intelligent, stable, and reasonable person.
    Damn. How odd.

    To add to my growing discomfort, the next four days passed without incident.

    “Good morning, Mr. Mann. It’s Curtis Viniteri,” he said over the phone.
    Great. I’d been expecting this.
    “Hi, Mr. Viniteri.”
    “Did I get you at a good time?”
    “There’s never a good time these days, but go ahead,” I said.
    “Well, I could call this a status call, which I do routinely, but thing is, I’ve not got anything to report.”
    “I’d say that’s a good thing.”
    “Well, so would I. And believe me, in my line of work a guy has to get used to watching over a whole lot of nothing. But at the same time, I don’t really want to keep up on the billables for nothing.”
    “Well, I appreciate your concern over my money.”
    He chuckled politely. “You’re the client. I do what you think is best. I’ll be glad to keep monitoring. But as you’d imagine, I’ve not even got a sniff of anything out of whack.”
    “What do you suggest?” I asked.
    “Well, I can at least keep it up over the weekend. You know, sometimes folks loosen up then. Have a few beers. Get brave.”
    “That sounds reasonable.”
    The line went quiet for a bit.
    “You still there?” I asked.
    “Sure am.”
    “You trying to think of a nice way to ask if perhaps I’ve overreacted?”
    “Not exactly.”
    “Okay. But you’ve not hung up, so you probably have something you want to add to this conversation.”
    “You’re a direct fellow, Mr. Mann. Guess that’s part of a CEO’s makeup, hey?”
    “Guess so.”
    “Okay,” he said. “So is there?”
    “Is there what?”
    “A chance you overreacted?”
    “There’s always a chance, Mr. Viniteri. But I supposed that’s why I hired you. Have to figure you’re better at making that determination than I am when it comes to odd circumstances. Am I supposing correctly?”
    “Yes, I’d say you are.”
    “So you tell me,” I said. “Based on your professional opinion and experience: am I overreacting?”
    “Let’s give it the weekend,” he said.
    “You have a deal.”

9
    S uze came back Friday. She sent me a text when she arrived, a few hours before I was to leave the office. I replied that I’d see her shortly. Neither of us mentioned that we’d missed the other, nor did either of us add any language that would indicate that it’d be good to be in each other’s company. Not sure what conclusions to draw from that. We were busy, had a lot on our minds, and it’s really not the kind of people we were.

    She was gone when I got home. I assumed she was at the grocery store, and turns out I was right. I pulled out my laptop, grabbed a glass of wine, and sat on the couch wrapping up the last of my e - mails . I’d intended to take her out to dinner, but maybe she had something else in mind. Seemed odd and a bit much to hit the store immediately after getting back from a long drive following the week in Vermont with Peter. But that’s Suze for you.
    After about forty - five minutes, I heard her pull into the garage. She came bounding through the door with her hands full of small plastic grocery bags.
    “You think you can give me a hand?”
    I stood up from the couch. “All you have to do is ask,” I said.
    “Shouldn’t have to,” she said.
    No , I thought, it’s so much easier this way . Imply all kinds of things, from laziness to lack of compassion. All for the benefit of the invisible supreme court of marriage. Sitting, watching everything from somewhere—possibly over the fireplace mantle—overseeing our every move and conversation. Collecting evidence for when they must pass judgment.
    I let her have that point, got up, and followed her back out to her car. The rear passenger door was open, her back seat full of