"The one I heard was very impressive."
"Thank you. I had no idea I could write until I actually had to sit down and do it. And even then, it wasn't until we printed little Jessica's first twelve Revealings and I saw them on the page that I knew how good they really were."
"You can't delegate that?" I said, just to make conversation and to keep Barry out of the room.
"Oh, no." He gave a manicured little laugh. "Very few people know how the Revealings work. Not even Mary Claire. Just you and I. And Brooks, of course. And Miss Chan."
"She doesn't know," I said.
"She certainly didn't seem to," he said absently. "She would have told us if she did. She would have told us anything. Barry rarely gets a chance to work on a woman. There was Miss Oldfield, of course, but that was over almost before it began. From Barry's point of view, I mean. I imagine it seemed longer to Miss Oldfield." He gave me the smile again.
"At any rate, we made the Church colorful on purpose. We wanted to be good copy. We wanted a certain amount of challenge. A religion can't survive without opposition. It knits the membership closer together, builds loyalty and so forth. The bunker mentality. And then, there's all that publicity. So, as I say, we invite a certain amount of adversity."
"Very wise," I said. My right hand felt bigger than the Goodyear blimp.
He leveled a finger at me. "But you're something quite new. I suppose we should be thankful that both you and Miss Chan had good reason to keep quiet about what you were doing. You wanted your money and Miss Chan wanted her story. That keeps the circle small. Manageable, in a manner of speaking. If you hadn't, I suppose I'd be packing now."
"Instead of sitting here talking to me."
"I almost wish we'd met under different circumstances." He sounded wistful. "You're smart and thorough and greedy. We could have used someone like you."
"You still can."
"No, I'm afraid not. You know too much to justify the level at which you'd be employed. It would make me uncomfortable, Simeon, and I can't work when I'm uncomfortable." He looked at his gold Rolex. "Barry," he called. I flinched.
Merryman laughed as the door opened and Barry came in. "Don't worry," he said. "Not yet, anyway. Meredith? Could you come in too, please?"
Brooks came through the door like a man walking into a forty-knot wind. He didn't look at any of us.
"Look at him," Merryman said cheerfully. "What you're seeing is the mummy when it's unwrapped. After centuries of miraculous preservation, he's about to turn to dust. You've been a bad boy, Meredith. We're going to have to evaluate our deal. In the meantime, I'm sure you'll be glad to know that this little forest fire is confined almost entirely to Simeon and Miss Chan-Eleanor, I mean." The name came out of his mouth coated with oil.
"When do I get paid?" I asked with a bravado I didn't feel.
"Well," Merryman said expansively, "I'm afraid you don't. If it had been just you, I might have bargained you down a few hundred thousand and let you go on your way. Even though you've irritated me. But there's Eleanor too. I could believe in your greed, but what am I going to do about Eleanor? She seems to be a pure spirit. Anyway, I've already promised you to Barry."
Barry grinned like a hound in a steakhouse. Brooks sagged against a wall.
"Don't like it, do you, Meredith?" Merryman laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair. "You'd rather be behind your big clean desk in Century City, adding up zeros while I take care of the loose ends. Well, you're in the middle of this one, my friend, and you're going to get very dirty. And then we'll sit down for a little heart-to-heart and see who has what on whom. Who knows? Maybe I'll even get to meet the fair Adelaide."
Brooks swallowed audibly. "Sure, Dick," he said. "Just an oversight."
"Maybe we'll all do lunch," Merryman said in a gleeful parody of a Hollywood agent. "Just you and me and Adelaide. I think we should all be a lot closer, don't you?"
Brooks managed a nod that looked like it fractured all his cervical vertebrae. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out but air.
"Fine," Merryman said. "All settled, then." He gestured dismissively at me. "You can have him, Barry. You can have both of them. But for Christ's sake find somewhere to put them this time. Not like poor Ellis."
Barry took two steps toward me.
"Wait," I said. 'There's a kicker."
"Kicker?" Merryman said politely. His voice was almost indolent, but the muscles in his shoulders tensed and bunched. "And what would that be?"
"There's a cop involved," I said.
"Too late," Merryman said, relaxing. "You and Miss Chan have been very persuasive on that point."
I forced myself to shrug, although my shoulders weighed a hundred pounds apiece. "What can I say? We lied."
Merryman looked at Brooks, and Brooks found his voice. "This is nonsense," he protested. "You were after a million dollars. Why would you talk to the police?"
"Merry," I said, "I don't know how to tell you this, but I wasn't really planning to collect the money."
Everybody looked at everybody else.
"Then why are you doing this?" Brooks finally said.
"Oh, who knows?" I said. "Adventure. Diversion. You know, Merry. Tally-ho."
There was a long pause. Then Merryman said, "Barry. Do something to him."
Barry did something to me and then he did something else, and a cloud of red came down behind my eyes and I heard my voice torn to tatters in my ears. When it was over and I was whimpering, Merryman said, "Are you finished, Simeon?"
"Al Hammond," I said in a whisper. Then, louder, I said, "Al Hammond." I think I said it three times.
"Hammond," Merryman said tonelessly.
"Hammond comma Al," I said. "You heard the messages on my answering machine," I said to Barry. "You know that Al Hammond called me."
"Barry?" Merryman said in a voice that would have frozen vodka. The charm-boy was long gone now, vanished to sunnier climes.
"There was an Al Hammond," Barry said. "He didn't say he was a cop."
"Is he a cop," Merryman asked, "or are you playing games?"
"He's a cop. Call the LAPD. Ask for Records and then ask for Al Hammond. Sergeant." I said. "Sergeant. Alvin. Hammond." I couldn't talk anymore.
Merryman pointed at the phone. We all sat there while Barry dialed and asked for Al. Then he hung up very slowly. "He's there," Barry said.
Merryman gnawed at the inside of his cheek. "I knew it was too easy," he said to no one in particular. "There are far too many loose mouths in this organization. Time to clean house." He seemed suddenly childish, anxious to fix blame.
"But this is awful," Brooks abruptly said. "The police? This is terrible."
"Shut up, Meredith," Merryman said. "You act like it's the end of the world."
"It is," Brooks said. Then he swallowed again.
"Not by a long fucking shot it isn't," Merryman said, gaining strength. "Go home to Adelaide. Borrow one of her dresses. When you've got it all out of your system, come back and we'll talk business." He looked at me. "This is a business, you fuckhead, a good business, and you're not going to disrupt it. Barry," he said, "put him on ice."
Barry came around behind me and I tensed, but all he did was undo the belt. He prodded me to stand up. When I did, he untied the handkerchief around my wrist and stuffed it into the pocket of my shirt. "There," he said. "You're beautiful again." He gave me a yellow grin and took my arm.
"One minute," Merryman said, assembling his poise piece by piece like a knight tying on his armor. "I want you to know something, Simeon, because you're going to wind up in Barry's hands sooner or later. It's inevitable. This is just a delay. Anyway, I want you to have something to think about in the meantime. His name isn't really Barry. We chose it for him because it's a name rich in the annals of sadism. Have you ever heard of the Doll?"