Ariel's Crossing - Bradford Morrow [155]
“You obviously know them.”
No reaction.
“We can arrange to hook you up if you were of a mind to help them out of their jam—”
That was rich.
“—and clue them in that we’re here to accommodate them, if possible.”
“They’ve got a few hours of daylight yet today and it’d be best for everybody if they agreed to come out.”
“Whatever the grievance, we can discuss it.”
Kip surprised the standing man by saying he’d be willing to speak with Delfino Montoya. Immediately, the seated man rose to his feet and left the room by the door, which was opened from the outside.
“Could I get some more milk?” Kip asked. “More of those graham crackers, too.”
Baby food. But even the chocolate the rangers had given him on the flats hadn’t stayed down. Reduced to pablum, it seemed.
“You got it.”
“By the way, I’d like to speak with this lawyer of mine.”
“It can be arranged.”
“Am I under arrest? Officially, that is?”
“You can’t arrest people unofficially. I’m not sure I get your question, Captain.”
He hadn’t been addressed by that designation in a long time.
“What I’m saying is, can I ask to leave these premises and legally be granted my request?”
“Afraid not, sir.”
“I understand. My lawyer, please.”
Kip was left alone with his refreshments and gathering worries. As his guru Wagner would have concurred, these imminent reckonings were merely his wishes finally come true. Too bad he wasn’t the suicidal type, an idea that brought an odd smile to his lips, and a question. Why are you so scared? With all the choices having been made and their consequences come or coming to pass, there was nothing to fear anymore. He’d failed too many times to enumerate, his most recent fiasco having landed him in this blinding tomb. Body failing, the last of his health—for lack of a kinder euphemism—fading. For crying out loud, this paper cup of skim milk felt as heavy as slagged ore in his hand. Chewing the crackers was labor and swallowing them a strain. The starch in these jammies abraded his sunburned skin. His injured feet throbbed beneath the physician’s dressings with more authority than the shy beating of his heart. Death, mercenary or merciful, had hovered at his shoulder for many years now. So what was the problem.
The problem was this. Everything had always been Kip, Kip, Kip. Even when he tried to be generous, the Kip fix was in. His chaplain behavior toward Franny had bordered on emotional slapstick. Who was he to preach? Besides, Franny received the fatherly concern he’d always denied Ariel, and while he meant the tenderness he hoped was expressed, it was misdirected. The fieldhouse sheltered whose head from the sun and snow if not his own? His invitation to Brice those few years ago, what was it but a dead man’s trying to stave off death by thieving the life’s breath from another man’s happiness? Even Delfino was to be robbed of his desperate revolt in the name of fraternity. And now Ariel had tracked down her travesty of a father. At least she would have the chance to see what little she’d missed out on. Wake-up call. The disappointment would be healthy for her. Odd idea, that by letting your daughter down one last time you’d be doing her the biggest favor you ever managed.
Ariel would have been saddened by all this self-condemnation were she aware of it, but she was caught in a swirl of thoughts very different from these. Rereading Kip’s letter in the ledger, hoping to draw strength for the standoff, she’d come to other conclusions about him. Her day had transpired in slow minutes. A governor