Breach of Trust

46

Charlie was in a rare good mood today. I didn’t know what market-driven event had lightened his capitalistic heart-maybe landing an anchor tenant on one of his commercial properties-but I thought it would be good to take advantage.

“Missed you last night,” he said. The Porsche was humming down the interstate to the south side.

“I was there.”

“Yeah? Well, that place was a mob house. So who are we doing today? Hoffman, right? Eric Hoffman?”

“Right,” I said.

“We’re blowing through that list.”

It was true. Knowing Charlie, he had the whole thing charted out. Someday, he might want to compare his chart with the one on a conference room in the U.S. attorney’s office.

“Hey, I was noticing,” I said. “I saw on the list that one of the companies didn’t have a number next to it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Starlight Catering. Any particular reason we’re leaving them alone? Or was it an oversight?”

He didn’t answer right away. He was thinking about his response.

“Don’t worry about that,” he said.

“What does that mean?”

Charlie grew quiet. I had snapped him out of his uncharacteristically good mood back to the angry, aggressive one. That told me something right there.

Charlie made an aggressive move with the Porsche, switching into the right lane and then swerving onto the off-ramp.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He didn’t answer. We took a right after the ramp. He found the nearest gas station and parked at the far end, where we were alone.

“Get out,” he said.

I paused, but too long a hesitation could be lethal. I got out and met him at the rear of the Porsche.

“Open your coat,” he said.

My heart did some gymnastics. I had hit a nerve with Charlie.

And now he was going to search me.

I unbuttoned my winter coat. My suit coat, the left inner pocket of which was holding the F-Bird, was already unbuttoned. I raised my arms. Charlie put his palms on my shirt at the chest and then ran his hands down to my belt.

“Spread your legs.”

“Jesus, Charlie.”

“Spread your legs,” he repeated.

I did. He did a quick pat on my thighs.

“You want me to empty my pockets, too?” I asked with indignation. I wasn’t eager to do it, of course, but I knew that was his intention so it only made sense to appear willing. Better than unwilling. Indignant, insulted, offended was fine. But not unwilling.

I didn’t try to stall or talk him out of it. I pulled my car keys out of my right overcoat pocket and then turned the pocket out. There was nothing in the left coat pocket and I turned it out, too.

Charlie didn’t seem inclined to stop me. He threw my keys to the ground and put his hand out.

I didn’t want to think about what might happen next. I couldn’t seem the least bit apprehensive. I tried not to think about the fact that after my pants pockets, there was nothing left but my suit jacket and the F-Bird.

From my right pants pocket, I removed my cell phone and money clip before turning that pocket out. Charlie threw the money to the ground but held on to my cell phone.

One more pocket until we got to the suit coat and the F-Bird.

From my left pants pocket, I removed my wallet and a crumbled photograph I carry around of Talia and Emily. Charlie dropped the wallet but took a look at the photograph.

His expression relaxed. He struggled a moment.

“This is your wife and daughter,” he said.

I nodded. “Please don’t damage it,” I said. “It’s irreplaceable. It-means something to me.”

Charlie let out a sigh and dropped his arms. As I hoped, the photo, combined with my clear willingness to comply with his search, had taken the wind out of his sails. “Okay, kid, sorry-sorry.” He handed me the photo, then the cell phone. He bent down and retrieved my wallet and money and car keys. “Just-you with your questions. It makes me nervous.”

“Charlie, I’m going to try real hard not to be offended.”

He reached for my shoulder. He felt bad now. “Just being careful. The questions and all.

“Sorry,” he said again, as he got back in the car.