I said quickly, “None taken.”
“He get a bad burn or something when he was a kid?”
“Burned, yeah. A long time ago.”
“That’ll make a person strong. It shows. Your uncle’s not wimpy, like the actor, and he doesn’t have the TV hair. But in the face, you know what I mean? Around the eyes, and the way he smiles.” Coach Mike was nodding. “Bring him to a Jets game sometime. You always have the most interesting relatives. I’d like to get to know Sam better.”
I replied honestly, “Some people say that my uncle’s unforgettable.”
As we approached, the waitresses from the rum bar, Liz and Milita, were watching as Ginger Love talked, rapid-fire, moving her hands as if conducting a symphony. Wilson faced her, expression patient. When he saw us, though, he held up a palm, telling us to stop where we were. “Sorry I’m late, guys. I’ll be right with you.” Setting up his escape.
Pretending we couldn’t hear, Ginger said, “Sam, it’s such a shame that Doc didn’t inherit your charm. Or your sense of civic responsibility. Some men, though”-her laughter was weighted with forbearance-“never grow up. He and Tomlinson are so alike in that way.”
I noticed that her eyes never lingered on the president’s face. It’s impolite to stare at scars, which is why I’d suggested it.
The Rum Bar waitresses were walking toward us as Wilson replied, “Very insightful to recognize the similarities, Ginger. But I don’t agree with your assessment. You should get to know the guys better.”
What was different about his voice? Had he added a slight Southern accent? I was paying closer attention as Ginger replied, “Oh, I’ve tried and tried with those two, my friend. They’re both terrified of strong women. Poor Doc, he scampers into his little world of fish and chemicals and experiments. Know why I think he’s not politically involved? He’s so naive. If the man was somehow magically transported to a foreign country? A place where life is hard -places we’ve experienced, Sam-I think he’d be as helpless as a child.”
I heard Wilson say, “Well, I hope you’re wrong about that, ” as Milita and Liz stopped with their backs to Ginger Love, close enough for Liz to whisper, “Bitch.”
Both women grinned.
“We tried to rescue the poor man. But Ginger pretended like we were invisible.”
“Typical,” Milita added. She turned to look at Wilson. “We really like your uncle, Doc. I wish he wasn’t wearing that wedding ring-a man like Sam, a woman doesn’t care about age. Why isn’t his wife with him?”
Tomlinson and I exchanged looks. “She transitioned to the next Dharma,” he said. “It was less than a year ago.”
“Dah-harma?”
I translated. “She’s dead.”
“Oh no! That’s so sad! Geez, poor Sam, I bet he was married to a good one. You can just tell, can’t you, Liz? He’s so… solid.”
Liz was nodding but also listening. She timed it so she interrupted Ginger in midsentence when she called, “Sam? Sam! We need your advice about something. Personal, if you don’t mind us borrowing him, ma’am. ”
Ginger didn’t like being called “ma’am.” It’s something I’ve noticed in women of a certain age. She stood glaring as Wilson joined us. She was still glaring as we turned down the beach toward our cabin, Milita saying, “If you’re going to be in the area for a while, Sam, why don’t you stop by the Rum Bar for a drink?”
When Wilson, Tomlinson, and I were alone, the former president said, “Nobody recognized me.” He was delighted. “Know what I worried about most? Someone recognizing my voice.”
I was right about the Southern accent.
“It comes natural,” he explained. “I spent the first part of my life in a little piney-woods village. I worked hard at getting rid of the drawl. But it’s always right there if I want. Just a hint-actors always overdo it.”
Tomlinson leaned to get a close look at Wilson’s face. “Did you have a professional makeup artist create that?”
“In a way. But not for me.”
“It’s artistry, man. Even from here, it looks real. Such a small thing-but what a difference.”
“So far, so good, but the fewer people I meet, the better. I was nervous, at first, the way the woman with the hat was looking at me.”
The president had given us a condensed version of what had happened between Ginger Love and the water cops. Something to do with her being questioned about a loggerhead turtle shell she’d found. He was more interested in how strangers had reacted to him.
“Most people averted their eyes, pretending not to notice. One of the deputies said I looked familiar, but even he wouldn’t look at my face. The woman asked if I’d ever thought about going into politics.”
I said, “What did you tell her?”
“Told her I was flattered. But I came too damn close to using a Richard Nixon line-I have to stop quoting presidents. It’s become automatic. But I was right. They didn’t make the connection.”
There was a boyish quality in his tone.
“What’s the Nixon line?”
I’d omitted the prefix, which irritated Wilson. “ President Nixon said that politics would be a helluva good business if it wasn’t for the goddamn press.” He looked at his watch, then at Tomlinson. “Can we leave in an hour?”
Tomlinson said, “Sam, we can leave now if you want,” celebrating, his inflection saying You did it, man. You’re free.
11
Three miles off Redfish Pass, wind out of the southwest, No Mas on a starboard tack: Tomlinson said softly, “He used the same leverage on me.”
“How?” I kept my voice low. Kal Wilson was belowdecks, reading.
“He said I don’t really know who you are. That there are things about myself I don’t know. And that he could get me pardoned. Because the president owes him.”
Meaning the current president. During Wilson’s last days in office, Tomlinson explained, he signed nine executive pardons as a personal favor for the man who would succeed him two terms later.
I said, “I know. He showed me the list. It checks out-if you believe he’ll do it.”
Tomlinson said, “Yeah. If.” He thought about it a moment as I checked my watch. It was a few minutes before 6 p.m. The Gulf of Mexico was gradually encircling us as we moved off shore. Waves slid past, gray buoyant ridges that lifted No Mas, zeppelinlike, inflating then deflating the fiberglass hull.
“Doc?”
“Yeah?”
“The man didn’t have to threaten me. Hell, I still don’t know exactly where we’re going. But I wouldn’t’ve missed taking a trip like this, unless… unless he’s on some kind of destructive mission-”
I held up a warning finger as Wilson’s head appeared in the companionway. He came up the steps carrying a nautical chart.
“I feel like I’m interrupting, gentlemen. Comparing notes?”
I said, “Tomlinson’s worried you’re planning something destructive. He was telling me he would’ve come along even without the coercion. I probably would’ve, too.”
Wilson appeared pleased by my honesty. “The definition of coercion varies. Didn’t we talk about that? I’m offering you both something of value in return.”
Tomlinson said, “If I committed a crime, man, I have a moral obligation to pay. Reciprocity, man. That’s what karma’s all about.”
Wilson looked at him sharply. He said, “ If you committed a crime. You really don’t remember-?”
“I do remember. That’s what I’m saying. I helped build a bomb. A man died and I’m guilty. For me, there’s no such thing as a pardon. It doesn’t matter that it happened twenty years ago.”
The former president was paying attention, no longer impatient. “Then why did you say if?”
Tomlinson was lounging shirtless, using his toes to steady the wheel. He straightened, thinking about it. He’d been institutionalized after the bombing. Weeks of electroshock therapy had scrambled his memory synapses. “I… don’t know. You’re right. I’ve admitted that I’m guilty. There isn’t a day goes by that I don’t expect the cops to come banging on my door”-he glanced at me-“or worse. A bullet through the old coconut, maybe.” He reflected for a few seconds more. “I don’t know why I said ‘if.’ It just came out.”