Page 36 of The Session

“She’ll be here,” Henley assured him.

“Hopefully soon, because I’ve got to call Marnie Lightman in an hour and give her an update.”

“Not Max?” Blaise asked.

“He’s still doing ‘research,’” Morris said, using air quotes.

“Skidmore—he’s with Consolidated Insurance, right?” Henley asked, looking at the list of names on the monitor at the end of the room.

“Yes,” answered a petite young woman in a tight-fitting skirt and business jacket at the other end of the room.

“Thanks, minion number two. Skidmore’s into motorcycles, right?” Henley asked.

“Yes,” the woman replied after waiting to see if anybody else was going to respond. “He’s done the American Saga motorcycle tour five times.”

“Is that the one where you all put a bunch of geezers on Harleys and have them drive cross-country to retrace the steps that Lightman and Feingold did when they created this operation?” Henley asked.

“Yes,” Morris confirmed.

“Does that include the LSD trip and the stint they spent in jail in Salt Lake City?”

“We’ve made some adjustments,” Morris replied.

“Now that pot’s legal, we’ve been able to undo those adjustments in some states,” Tru said as she entered.

“And does Skidmore like the new adjustments?” Henley asked.

“Reportedly, he didn’t disagree with them,” Morris replied.

“Okay, um . . . We can get away with a lot on the island, but we can’t overtly point that out,” Henley said. “I think we invite him to . . . Can we still get that little cay? What’s that called?”

“We have four now: Lightman Banks, Feingold Shores, Marnie Cay, and Enlightenment Bay,” the seated assistant replied.

“Great, but I don’t care what their names are. The point is, I think you should do a campout and probably suggest that substances will be involved. I’m sure Tru can wordsmith that,” Henley told the room.

Tru nodded. “Anything the Master of Vices requires.” She picked up the remote from the table and changed the video wall to a folder screen. “We had to clean your footage up a bit,” she told Henley. “But I think we’ve got something. If not the solution to our present problem, perhaps a solution to something else.”

“Your last ‘solution’ was trying to dig one of Max’s indiscretions out of cold storage,” Blaise said, then quickly shut his mouth when Morris glared at him.

“Actually, this relates to Mark Greenley,” Tru said.

“Wasn’t he involved in some kind of police shooting?” Morris asked.

“Yep, but the story we were told is very different from what actually happened. The police managed to lock down all of the body-cam and surveillance video footage. Only the gunman’s defense attorneys had access to it. But it really didn’t make them look good either. And that’s why it hasn’t leaked. Until, um . . .” Tru nodded to Henley.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Tru clicked play on a video. It was body-cam footage from the point of view of the police officer who had hidden behind Mark’s ambulance.

The view shifted from the rear door to the street: Mark rolled out of the driver’s side and ran toward the body of Officer Bettencourt. Gunshots sounded in the distance.

“The police said they had the situation in hand, but then Mark pulled his ambulance into the line of fire, giving the gunmen a chance to take better positions. But as you can see from here,” Tru narrated, “it’s nowhere near that, and the cops are in the middle of taking wild shots back and forth. The only one with any common sense is the woman over there who just moved behind the pillar to get a better position and then risked her life to take a shot.”

The body camera stayed aimed at Mark and Bettencourt. The audio of the panicked police officer captured him hyperventilating and swearing to himself. Mark reached the downed officer and started administering first aid.

“This certainly looks different than what the news said,” Henley noted innocently.

“No shit. Keep watching,” Tru said.