Assumed Identity

8

Doyle stared at him. “How bad?”

Buchanan’s cheek muscles hardened. “I’m not sure. I’ll know in a minute.” He kept his hand on the phone.

But it took only ten seconds before the phone rang again.

Buchanan scowled and let it ring three more times before he picked it up. “Bon Voyage, Inc.”

“Crawford, don’t kid yourself that you can get rid of me that easy,” Bailey said. “I’m stubborn. You can fool the Mexican police, and you can fool the American embassy, but take my word, you can’t fool me. I know your real name ain’t Grant. I know your real name ain’t Potter. And all of a sudden, I’m beginnin’ to wonder if your real name is even Crawford. Who are you, buddy? It ought to be worth a lousy hundred thousand to keep me from finding out.”

“I’ve run out of patience,” Buchanan said. “Stop bothering me.”

“Hey, you don’t know what being bothered is.”

“I mean it. Leave me alone, or I’ll call the police.”

“Yeah, the police might be a good idea,” Bailey said. “Maybe they can figure out what’s goin’ on and who you are. Go ahead. Prove you’re an innocent, upstandin’ citizen. Call the cops. I’d love to talk to them about those three spic drug dealers you shot in Mexico and why you’re usin’ so many different names.”

“What do I have to do to convince-?”

“Buddy, you don’t have to convince me of anything. All you have to do is pay me the hundred thousand bucks. After that, you can call yourself Napoleon for all I care.”

“You haven’t listened to a word I’ve-”

“The only words I want to hear are ‘Here’s your money.’ Crawford or whoever the hell you are, if you don’t get with the program soon, I swear to God I’ll phone the cops myself.”

“Where are you?”

“You don’t really expect me to answer that. When you’ve got the hundred thousand-and I want it by tomorrow-then I’ll let you know where I am.”

“We have to meet. I can prove you’re wrong.”

“And just how are you gonna do that, buddy? Cross your heart and hope to die?” Bailey laughed, and this time, it was he who slammed down the phone.