Dead at First Sight

38 Tuesday 2 October

Johnny Fordwater dialled the number Gerry had given him.

It was answered almost immediately, in a brusque, businesslike, American voice. ‘Sheriff’s office.’

‘Is it possible to speak to Matthew Sorokin?’

‘Completely possible, you got him now.’

‘Ah, right, hello. My name is John Fordwater. I was given your number by our mutual friend, Gerald — Gerry — Ronson.’

‘That son of a bitch?’

It wasn’t the response Johnny had been expecting. He wasn’t sure if it was humour or anger in Sorokin’s voice.

‘You know what I would do to Gerry if I had him in range?’ Sorokin said, ending Johnny’s uncertainty. ‘I’d squeeze his scrotum so tight his testicles flew out hard and fast enough to win me a coconut. OK?’

‘OK,’ Johnny echoed, uncertainly. ‘Should we talk?’

‘We sure should. How much you been suckered for?’

‘Close to 500,000 dollars, in your currency. You, er... Matt?’

‘A lot less, but all my savings.’ He hesitated then he said, ‘Ninety thousand give or take. I’ve been a goddam fool.’

‘I think you and I are members of a very big club.’

‘Tell me about it. So what’s your story? Apart from having the same misfortune as me to know Gerry.’

Johnny told him. Sorokin listened in silence until he had finished. Then he said, ‘You and I — we’re in the same deep brown stuff. I’m down a little less than you but that don’t make the pain any easier. Thing is, John, I don’t take crap lying down. You don’t strike me, from your background, as a guy who does either. Are you in my boat?’

Johnny Fordwater didn’t know the expression. But he had a good idea what it meant.

‘I’m in your boat,’ he replied.

‘An old colleague, Pat Lanigan, is still working in law enforcement in New York. He has connections, know what I’m saying?’

‘What kind of connections?’

‘You got enough dough left to buy yourself an air ticket to New York?’

‘Just about.’

‘Good. We have a plan. I’ll meet you there. Next Monday too soon?’

‘Not soon enough.’