“Get me Paul Krendler on The Phone. And get me The Pigmaster.”
CHAPTER 44
THE SAME helicopter that brought the foreign newspapers daily to Mason Verger also brought Deputy Assistant Inspector General Paul Krendler to Muskrat Farm.
Mason’s malign presence and his darkened chamber with its hissing and sighing machinery and its ever-moving eel would have made Krendler uneasy enough, but he also had to sit through the video of Pazzi’s death again and again.
Seven times Krendler watched the Viggerts orbit The David, saw Pazzi plunge and his bowels fall out. By the seventh time, Krendler expected David’s bowels to fall out too.
Finally the bright overhead lights came on in the seating area of Mason’s room, hot on top of Krendler’s head and shining off his scalp through the thinning brush cut.
The Vergers have an unparalleled understanding of piggishness,
so Mason began with what Krendler wanted for himself.
Mason spoke out of The Dark,
his sentences measured by the stroke of his respirator.
“I don’t need to hear …
your whole platform …
how much money will it take?”
Krendler wanted to talk privately with Mason, but they were not alone in the room.
A broad-shouldered figure, terrifically muscled,
loomed in black outline against the glowing aquarium.
The idea of a bodyguard hearing them made Krendler nervous.
“I’d rather it was just us talking, do you mind asking him to leave?”
“This is my sister, Margot,” Mason said. “She can stay.”
Margot came out of the darkness, her bicycle pants whistling.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Krendler said, half-rising from his chair.
“Hello,” she said, but instead of taking Krendler’s outstretched hand,
Margot picked up two walnuts from the bowl on the table and, squeezing
them together in her fist until they cracked loudly, returned to the gloom
in front of the aquarium where presumably she ate them.
Krendler could hear the hulls dropping to the floor.
“Oookay, let’s hear it,” Mason said.
“For me to unseat Lowenstein in the twenty-seventh district, ten million dollars minimum.”
Krendler crossed his legs and looked off somewhere into the dark.
He didn’t know if Mason could see him.
“I’d need that much just for media.
But I guarantee you he’s vulnerable.
I’m in a position to know.”
“What’s his thing?”
“We’ll just say his conduct has—”
“Well, is it money or snatch?”
Krendler didn’t feel comfortable saying “snatch”
in front of Margot, though it didn’t seem to bother Mason.
“He’s married and he’s had a longtime
affair with a state court of appeals judge.
The Judge has ruled in favour of some of his contributors.
The rulings are probably coincidence,
but when TV convicts him that’s all I’ll need.”
“The Judge a Woman?” Margot asked.
Krendler nodded. Not sure Mason
could see him, he added, “Yes. A woman.”
“Too bad,” Mason said. “It would be better if he was a queer, wouldn’t it, Margot?
Still, you can’t sling that crap yourself, Krendler. It can’t come from you.”
“We’ve put together A Plan that offers the voters …”
“You can’t sling the crap yourself,” Mason said again.
“I’ll just make sure The Judicial Review Board knows
where to look, so it’ll stick to Lowenstein when it hits him.
Are you saying You can Help Me?”
“I can help you with half of it.”
“Five?”
“Let’s not just toss it off like ‘five.’
Let’s say it with The Respect it deserves —
FIVE MILLION DOLLARS.
The Lord has blessed me with this Money.
And with it I will Do His Will : You get it
only if Hannibal Lecter falls cleanly into my hands.”
Mason breathed for a few beats. “If that Happens,
You’ll be Mr Congressman Krendler of
the twenty-seventh district, free and clear,
and all I’ll ever Ask You to Do is oppose
The Humane Slaughter Act.
If The FBI gets Lecter, The Cops grab him someplace and
he gets off with Lethal Injection, it’s been nice to know you.”
“I can’t Help it if a Local Jurisdiction gets him.
Or Crawford’s outfit lucks up and
catches him, I can’t Control that.”
“How many States with Death Penalties
could Dr Lecter be charged in?” Margot asked.
Her voice was scratchy but deep like Mason’s from the hormones she had taken.
“Three States, multiple Murder One in each.”
“If he’s arrested I want him prosecuted
at The State Level,” Mason said.
“No kidnapping rap, no civil rights violations,
no interstate. I want him to get off with Life,
I want him in A State Prison,
not a maximum federal pen.”
“Do I have to ask why?”
“Not unless You want Me to Tell You.
It doesn’t fall under The Humane Slaughter Act,” Mason said, and giggled. Talking had exhausted him. He gestured to Margot. She carried a clipboard into the light and read from her notes. “We want everything you get and we want it before Behavioral Science sees it, we want Behavioral Science reports as soon as they’re filed and we want the VICAP and National Crime Information Center access codes.”
“You’d have to use a public phone every time you access VICAP,” Krendler said, still talking out into the dark as though the woman wasn’t there. “How can you do that?”
“I can Do it,” Margot said.
“She can Do it,” Mason whispered from the dark.
“She writes workout programs for exercise machines in gyms.
It’s her little business so she doesn’t have to Live off of Brother.”
“The FBI has a closed system and some of it’s encrypted.
You’ll have to sign on from a guest location
exactly as I tell you and download to a laptop
programmed at The Justice Department,” Krendler said.
“Then if VICAP hides a tracer cookie on you,
it will just come back to Justice. Buy a fast laptop
with a fast modem for cash over-the-counter at a
volume dealer and don’t mail any warranties.
Get a zip drive too.
Stay off The Net with it.
I’ll need it overnight and I want it back when you’re through. You’ll hear from me. Okay, that’s it.”
Krendler stood and gathered his papers.
“That’s not quite it, Mr Krendler . . .” Mason said.
“Lecter doesn’t have to come out. He’s got the money to hide forever.”
“How does he have money?” Margot said.
“He had some very rich old people in his psychiatric practice,” Krendler said. “He got them to sign over a lot of money and stocks to him and he hid it good. The IRS hasn’t been able to find it. They exhumed the bodies of a couple of his benefactors to see if he’d killed them, but they couldn’t find anything. Toxin scans negative.”
“So he won’t get caught in a stickup, he has cash,” Mason said.
“We’ve got to lure him out. Be thinking of ways.”
“He’ll know where the hit came from in Florence,” Krendler said.
“Sure he will.”
“So he’ll want you.”
“I don’t know,” Mason said. “He likes me like I am. Be thinking, Krendler.” Mason began to hum. All Deputy Assistant Inspector General Krendler heard was humming as he went out the door. Mason often hummed hymns while he was scheming : You’ve got the prime bait, Krendler, but we’ll discuss it after you’ve made an incriminating bank deposit — when you belong to me.
CHAPTER 45
ONLY FAMILY remains in Mason’s room, brother and sister. Soft light and music. North African music, an oud and drums. Margot sits on the couch, head down, elbows on her knees. She might have been a hammer thrower resting, or a weight lifter resting in a gym after a workout. She breathes a little faster than Mason’s respirator. The song ends and she rises, goes to his bedside. The eel pokes his head out of the hole in the artificial rock to see if his wavy silver sky might rain carp again tonight. Margot’s raspy voice at its softest. “Are you awake?”
In a moment Mason was present behind his ever-open eye. “Is it time to talk about—a hiss of breath—what Margot wants? Sit here on Santa’s knee.”
“You know what I want.”
“Tell me.”
“Judy and I want to have a baby. We want to have a Verger baby, our own baby.”
“Why don’t you buy a Chinese baby? They’re cheaper than shoats.”
“It’s a good thing to do. We might do that too.”
“What does Papa’s will say … To an heir, confirmed as my descendent in the Cellmark Laboratory or its equivalent by DNA testing, my estate entire upon the passing of my beloved son, Mason. Beloved son, Mason, that’s me. In the absence of an heir, the sole beneficiary shall be the Southern Baptist Convention with specific clauses concerning Baylor University at Waco, Texas. You really pissed Papa off with that muff-diving, Margot.”
“You may not believe this, Mason, but it’s not the money — well, it is a little bit, but don’t you want an heir? It would be your heir too, Mason.”
“Why don’t you find a nice fellow and give him a little nooky, Margot? It’s not like you don’t know how.” The Moroccan music is building again, the obsessive repetitions of the oud in her ear like anger.
“I’ve messed myself up, Mason. I shriveled my ovaries with all the stuff I took. And I want Judy to be part of it. She wants to be the birth mother. Mason, you said if I helped you—you promised me some sperm.”
Mason’s spidery fingers gestured. “Help yourself. If it’s still there.”
“Mason, there’s every chance that you still have viable sperm, and we could arrange to harvest it painlessly—”
“Harvesting my viable sperm? Sounds like you’ve been talking to somebody.”
“Just the fertility clinic, it’s confidential.” Margot’s face softened, even in the cold light of the aquarium. “We could be really good to a child, Mason, we’ve been to parenting classes, Judy comes from a big, tolerant family and there’s a support group of women parents.”
“You used to be able to make me come when we were kids, Margot. Made me shoot like a belt-fed mortar. And pretty damn fast too.”
“You hurt me when I was little, Mason. You hurt me and you dislocated my elbow making me do the other — I still can’t curl more than eighty pounds with my left arm.”
“Well, you wouldn’t take the chocolate. I said we’ll talk about it, Little Sister, when this job is done.”
“Let’s just test you now,” Margot said. “The doctor can take a painless sample—”
“What painless, I can’t feel anything down there anyway. You could suck it till you’re blue in the face, and it wouldn’t be like it was the first time. But I’ve made people do that already and nothing happens.”
“The doctor can take a painless sample, just to see if you’ve got motile sperm. Judy’s taking Clomid already. We’re getting her cycle charted, there’s a lot of stuff to do.”
“I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Judy in all this time. Cordell says she’s bowlegged. How long have you two been an item, Margot?”
“Five years.”
“Why don’t you bring her by? We might … work something out, so to speak.”
The North African drums end with a final slap and leave a ringing silence in Margot’s ear.
“Why don’t you manage your little hookup with the Justice Department by yourself?” she said close to his ear hole. “Why don’t you try to get in a phone booth with your fucking laptop. Why don’t you pay some more fucking guineas to catch the guy that made dog food out of your face? You said you’d help me, Mason.”
“I will. I just have to think about the timing.”
Margot crushed two walnuts together and let the shells fall on Mason’s sheet. “Don’t think too goddamned long, Smiley.”
Her cycle pants whistled like building steam as she walked out of the room.
