Palindrome by Stuart Woods

around much longer; I'd like to see more of you."
    "I want to see more of you, too, Grandpapa, but, well, there are too many distractions here."
    "More distractions than Rome?"
    "Ah, but there are no armadillos in Rome; no deer, no gators. Those are the distractions."
    "I always thought pheasant was the ultimate distraction, myself." Angus chuckled. "I always had a hard time concentrating during the pheasant season."
    "You still hunting with your Purdeys?"
    "No, I haven't fired a gun for a couple of years, I guess."
    Keir laughed. "Maybe you are dying, at that!"
    "I'll tell you how close to death I am," Angus said. "This morning I gave one of those shotguns to James."
    "James Moses?"
    Angus looked at him for a moment before answering. "That's right. James Moses. That boy has been at my beck and call for years, and I never so much as tipped him a dime. He's a good boy, smart; he'll do well, if somebody pays some attention to him. You might do that sometimes, Keir; pay some attention to James. You'd like the sort of boy he's grown into."
    "I'm afraid I won't be around long enough to be of much use to James, Grandpapa. I just came to see you, really. I'll have to be off again soon."
    "Don't come back to bury me, you hear?" Angus was adamant. "Don't you go buying any airplane tickets with your money just to see me put in the ground. I always hated funerals, myself. I won't go to mine, if I can help it."
    Keir looked at his grandfather and smiled. "Grandpapa, if I come back to see you buried, it'll be for my own peace of mind, not out of any sense of duty. I know how you feel about funerals. I won't embarrass you after you're dead."
    Angus looked around him. "I don't know what's going to happen to this island when I'm gone," he said sadly.
    "It will always belong to you," Keir said, "and I'll see that nobody ever builds anything on it that you wouldn't like, not while I'm alive, anyway."
    "That's the way I like to hear you talk!" Angus grinned. "Your cousin Jimmy would like to pave over the whole place, I expect."
    "Don't worry, Grandpapa. I'll keep your island wild."
    "Excuse me a minute, Keir," Angus said. He pulled over and, leaving the engine running, got out, walked a few yards into the woods, unzipped his fly, and took a long, satisfying leak. He zipped himself up and returned to the jeep. His grandson was gone. On the front seat was a tiny conch shell. Angus picked it up. It had been polished to a high gloss. The boys had done that when they were little; they'd scrape the shell and rub it against their noses, letting their body grease slowly raise a gloss. Angus shook his head. They were strange, his grandsons, especially Keir. He put the shell in his shirt pocket and drove away.

CHAPTER 12
    AI Schaefer was still floating on the best week of his career, when he had earned more than three hundred thousand dollars from Elizabeth Barwick's settlement. There had been weeks when he had won a judgment for more money; weeks when a larger check had arrived; but there had never been a time when he had initiated a case, settled it, and received such a huge payment in a single week. And, since he had no partners and felt no need to reward either of his two associates with a bonus, it was all his. First, he had set aside thirty-three percent of his fee, the maximum combination of U.S. and Georgia income tax he might have to pay; that came to a hundred and ten thousand dollars. Then he had put a hundred thousand into long-term CDs at a good rate. Finally, he had sent a check for thirty-five thousand dollars to the American Civil Liberties Union. His country, his security, and his conscience thus accommodated, and all his ordinary office and personal expenses taken care of by his other income, he was left with eighty-eight thousand dollars and change with which to amuse himself without guilt. He thanked his stars that his divorce had been final five months before, so he would not have to share the loot with what's-her-name. Al started