The Book of Fate - Brad Meltzer [59]
Sacred Rule #8: If you really want to know what people think about you, leave the room and listen to what they say. Lisbeth learned this one the hard way on the Palm Beach party circuit, when a local socialite paid a parking valet $1,500 to eavesdrop on Lisbeth’s conversation with a confidential source. A week later, Lisbeth saved the $1,500 and simply signed up for two separate cell phones. Today, cell phone A was in her purse, back with Wes and Dreidel. Cell phone B was pressed to her ear. When she put her notepad away, all it took was the press of a button for A to speed-dial B. One faked important call later, Sacred Rule #8 proved why it would forever be in the top ten.
“But if she finds out about Boyle . . .” Wes said on the other line.
“Easy, poppa—she’s not finding out about Boyle,” Dreidel shot back. “Though speaking of which, tell me what you found . . .”
Alone in the lobby, Lisbeth stopped short, almost falling out of her scuffed high heels. Boyle? She looked around, but no one was there. They were all inside, lost in the hum of An Evening with President Leland F. Manning. Lisbeth could hear his voice rumbling off the main stage. A rush of excitement flushed her freckled cheeks. Finally . . . after all these years . . . an honest-to-God A+.
31
Ahhh!” The Roman roared as Benjamin used sterilized scissors to cut the dead gray skin from the edges of the wound in his palm. “That hurts!”
“Good—that’s a sign of no nerve damage,” Benjamin said dryly in the small basement office his ex-wife used to use for her electrolysis practice. The Roman sat on a modern leather sofa; Benjamin swiveled slightly on a stainless-steel rolling chair. “Hold still,” he added. Pressing his thumb in The Roman’s palm and his fingers on the back of The Roman’s hand, Benjamin squeezed tightly on the wound. This time, The Roman was ready. He didn’t scream at all.
“No bony tenderness or instability . . . though I still think you should have it X-rayed to be sure.”
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah, I could tell that by the way you passed out in the doorway. Just a picture of health.” Unbending a paperclip, Benjamin twisted the metal until the two tips of the clip were almost touching, barely half a centimeter apart. “Do me a favor and close your eyes.” As the Roman obliged, Benjamin lightly pressed the tips of the paperclip against the side of The Roman’s thumb. “How many points do you feel?”
“Two,” The Roman said.
“Good.” Finger by finger, Benjamin repeated the question, then wrapped The Roman’s hand in fresh gauze. Eventually working down to The Roman’s bloodied foot, he tweezed pieces of sock and shards of shoelace from the wound and applied the same paperclip test to each toe. “How many now?”
“One.”
“Good. Y’know, it’s a miracle you didn’t fracture any tarsal bones.”
“Yeah, God’s on my side,” The Roman said, wiggling his fingers and tapping the gauze bandage on his palm. The blood was gone, but the pain was still there. Nico would pay for that one.
“Just keep it clean and elevated,” Benjamin said as he eventually wrapped The Roman’s foot.
“So I’m okay to fly?”
“Fly? No . . . forget it. This is rest time. Understand? Take it easy for a few days.”
The Roman stayed silent, leaning down and carefully sliding his foot into the shoes Benjamin had brought from upstairs.
“Did you hear what I said?” Benjamin asked. “This isn’t the time to run around.”
“Just do me a favor and call in those prescriptions,” The Roman said, fighting the urge to limp as he headed for the door. “I’ll call you later.” Without looking back, he stepped outside and pulled his cell phone from his pocket.
Ten digits later, a female voice answered, “Travel Office, how can I assist you?”
“I’m trying to make a reservation,” The Roman said, walking out into the darkness as a gust of Virginia chill tried to blow him sideways. “I need the next flight you have for Palm Beach.”
32
This?” Dreidel asks as he stares down at the unfolded fax. “This’s the last thing Boyle got from the library?”
“According to the