A Deceit to Die For (24 page)

“No thanks.”

“You drink tea with everyone but me. Why is that?”

She leaned against the door frame with her hand on her hip, clearly determined to receive an answer. Besides, the American boy was handsome, easy on the eyes. She figured him to be about 185 cm tall. His thick, dirty brown hair wasn’t long enough for a pony tail, but long enough that his bangs dropped like a veil over his blue eyes. He was quiet and hard to reach. She had pegged him for a travelling hippie, but he had turned down all of her invitations to party.

“I’m just tired that’s all. The caffeine keeps me from going to sleep.”

“Why would you want to do that? You’re dead when you’re asleep. Listen, my roommate is gone tonight. Why don’t you come over? I’ve got some ecstasy.”

“I can’t tonight.”

“I want to be your friend. You’re Irish and I love the IRA.”

“I appreciate that. Tonight’s just not a good time.”

She walked over and stood in front of him. He looked up into her eyes.

“You think I’m a slut, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do, and you’re right. I am, and I hate myself for it. Are there any guys who can see past these?” she asked, pointing to her breasts, “and this?” pointing to her ass.

Gary dropped his head. The girl was drop-dead gorgeous. He couldn’t figure out why a finance major from the Harvard of Turkey was working in a bookstore, especially when the Turkish banking sector was booming. There was talk of Istanbul becoming the new Beirut, the Switzerland of the Middle East. Banks were hiring. There was a tremendous influx of foreign money, especially from the Gulf. Goldman Sachs was involved in dozens of acquisitions. The demand for qualified English-speaking personnel was enormous, and yet this girl worked in a bookstore as a cashier.

“What are you doing here? Why don’t you use your degree and apply to a bank or something?”

“It’s bad enough I prostitute myself. I’m not going to be a slave to the banksters, pimping the country with their damn fiat currency!”

“Is that why you like the IRA?”

“Yeah, rage against the machine. Rand was right. They’re all a bunch of parasitical bastards.”

“You read Ayn Rand?”

“Don’t worry. It’s not catching here. These people wouldn’t know an individual if they saw one staring at them in the mirror,” she shrugged indifferently. “If you don’t like tea, maybe you’d like something else? Cola?”

He kept his eyes fixed on the computer monitor.

“No, I’m going to take off as soon as I’ve checked my mail.”

“Well, if you ever need anything, anything at all, you just have to ask.”

She pulled the door to and Gary sighed in relief. She had never been so direct. He signed into his mail account and groaned when he saw over a hundred email messages.
What is wrong with the damn spam filter?
He started scanning down the list of messages and stopped about halfway down the first screen. It said simply:

Gilbert O’Brien Need to reach you immediately.

Gary clicked on the heading to open the email. True to form, Gilbert was short and to the point.

Please send me a telephone number where I can call you. It is urgent. Please respond immediately
.

Two “pleases” in one sentence. Must be awfully important. He clicked REPLY, typed in 90 212 293-6968 and hit SEND. He knew the phone would ring within five to ten minutes. If anybody was wired into the matrix, Gilbert was. Cyberspace was his playground. He started picking up the papers off of the floor. He hadn’t finished when the phone rang.

“Hello.”

“So, you’re still in Istanbul, ey?”

“It’s a nice place with good memories of Mom and Dad dragging us around on their academic adventures. Beats Bombay.”

“Most places do.”

“True.”

“I need you on the first flight to London tomorrow.”

“Can’t make it. I have a regular teaching schedule here.”

“Listen, there’s a flight at 05:30. I would really like you to be on it.”

“
You
aren’t listening. I told you I have classes tomorrow.”

“I’ll cover the ticket.”

“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

“I’d rather tell you in person.”

Gary got a sick feeling in his stomach.

“Is Gwyn alright?”

“She’s fine. I’m surprised you care.”

Gary ignored the barb.

“Gilbert, I’m an adult now. You can tell me. If it’s not Gwyn, then it’s Dad. What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s had cancer for six months, Gary.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m not, but if he had, you wouldn’t have known about it, now would you?”

Gary again held his tongue. The silence was deafening.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong with Dad, or are you going to keep scolding me like a little kid?”

“There’s nothing wrong with him, not anymore. It’s just that . . . Well . . . He’s . . .” Gary could feel Gilbert’s emotional turmoil through the telephone receiver. Finally he was able to force the words out. “He’s dead, Gary.”

Now there was silence on the Istanbul end of the line. Gilbert gave his brother a minute to take it all in. Gary waited until he was sure his voice wouldn’t crack. It was a long, uncomfortable silence.

“How did it happen?”

“Don’t know. I just found out myself a couple of hours ago. I was in DC. The Metropolitan Police gave me the news. I’m flying to Dallas now to break the news to Gwyn and bring her back to London.”

“She doesn’t know yet?”

“No, I thought it best to tell her in person.”

“Thank God, you’ll be there to tell her. It would have been horrible if the police had called her. Okay then, I’ll get a ticket booked for tomorrow.”

“It’s already done. I’m sending you the e-ticket now and I’ve reserved us a room at the Bonnington too. I’ll call you when I arrive. Give me your cell phone number. ”

“Sorry.”

“For the love of Mary, Gary, get yourself a freaking cell phone and join the twenty-first century. Damn it, a little more responsibility, a little more consideration, and a little more communication would be very much appreciated. I’m probably lucky you checked your email tonight.”

The exasperation in his voice shot across the Atlantic like ocean water around a faulty hatch on a submarine at ten thousand psi. Gilbert continued, “My cell phone number will be in the next email.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Gary sat there with the phone in his hand until he heard the click on the other end.
So, Dad is dead.
It was a hard thought to process. Ian O’Brien had been a good man, a man he loved and respected, but after everything he had gone through in the last two years, he felt that so many family ties had been severed it could never be the same. Certainly not with his father gone.
Gilbert won’t make it easy either.
His brother was so predictable, so western, so much like a corporate junkie living off the high of position and power. Gary unzipped the front pocket on his backpack and pulled out his cell phone to make sure it was charged. Six thousand miles to the West at a height of thirty-three thousand feet, Gilbert stared out the window on a cloudless sky of severe clear, wondering what his brother had become.

CHAPTER
22

D
ALLAS,
T
EXAS
  
Gwyn’s face lit up when she saw Gilbert walk through the doors. Gilbert gave her a big smile, but the guilt of hypocrisy promptly wiped it away. He sat his bag down and wrapped his arms around his sister. Gwyn knew immediately something was wrong. She couldn’t remember when he had last given her such a warm and tender hug and when she let go, he didn’t. It would have been awkward with a friend, and it was no less awkward with her brother. When he held her at arms-length and looked her in the eye, she could see tears welling up in his.

“Gilbert, what’s wrong? This isn’t for business, is it?”

Thoughts tumbled into her mind.
Is it his marriage? Has he been fired? Gary
?

“My dear Gwyn, I do have business and my business is you.”

“Me? Well, I’m not such a hot commodity.” she joked weakly.

“Let’s find a quiet place to sit down so we can talk.”

He picked up his bag, put his free arm around her shoulder and steered her towards a quiet corner. They sat down in an empty row of seats.

“Actually my business is in London, but I’m going to need you there with me, so I’ve come to pick you up. I don’t think I can do it alone.”

“Pick me up? But, I’ve only just arrived, Gilbert. Please speak plainly. What is going on here?”

He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. He had spent almost the entire flight planning how he would break the news. He wanted to remind her of what a blessing it was that they had been given so many years with such a great man. He took a deep breath and leaned close to her ear.

“My dear sister, our chieftain has departed for the bright land of eternal sun, and I have come to escort his princess to the farewell party. He and Mom are together again, reunited at last. We should rejoice at their happiness.”

She furrowed her brow, her eyes narrowed and then went wide in horror as her face began to contort. Gilbert did not stop.

“We are like wild flowers in the spring, Gwyn, all of us. We grow and bloom and then we are gathered up and planted by the river of life, where nothing withers or fades.”

Gwyn broke down sobbing and threw her arms around Gilbert. He stroked her strawberry blonde hair and held her tight. He was glad he had come. She was sobbing uncontrollably. People were staring, but Gilbert was oblivious to everything except his grieving sister. It was several minutes before she finally pulled away. Her eyes were red and tears were still streaming down her face. Gwyn reached over and grabbed his hand. He looked into her blue-green eyes.

“We have lost them both now, haven’t we? We are orphans.”

“We have each other.”

“As do the children in an orphanage . . . How did he die, Gilbert?”

“I don’t know, Gwyn. I got a call from the Metropolitan Police at noon today. All they said was that he had been found in his apartment. The fellow who called me hadn’t even received a police report yet.”

There was silence. It was awkward. He didn’t know what to say. She was the first to find words.

“Thank you for being here. You broke the news the way I needed to hear it. It’s all so fleeting, isn’t it? Our life, I mean. Oh, Gilbert, it was so thoughtful of you to fly down here and break the news to me like that.”

She pulled some kleenex from her purse and wiped her eyes. Then, she quietly blew her nose. In spite of what he had said, Gilbert was overcome with grief. He regretted how busy he had been the last couple of years. Right now, this fact grieved him almost as much as his father’s death. After all, death was something God ordained. He couldn’t prevent his father’s death, but he could have behaved differently while he was alive. Family had taken a back seat to his career and work for the company. Suddenly, he felt her hand clamp down on his knee. He looked up and found an expression of horror on her face.