Final judgment

FIFTY-THREE

“Where’s the money?” Fish asked.

Kelly lifted an aluminum briefcase onto the kitchen counter, snapped open the locks, and raised the lid, revealing neatly wrapped bundles of hundred-dollar bills packed tightly together like tiles. Fish elbowed Samuelson out of the way to get a closer look.

“Old money?”

“Heavily circulated, nonsequential serial numbers,” Kelly said.

“You can trace that?”

“Completely. Don’t get too ambitious. You’ve got enough problems as it is.”

Fish laughed. “You don’t have to worry about me, Miss Holt. You’ve already put me out of business. It’s my former partner who’s got ambitions.”

“You think Sylvia will call back?” Samuelson asked.

“She’ll call, and when she does, you better have the rest of the money,” Fish answered.

“Hold on,” Samuelson said. “It was hard enough to get the hundred thousand. You don’t really think we’re going to come up with another million and stick it in a safety deposit box for you to play with?”

“Actually, that would be another one million sixty-seven thousand. I told you that nobody believes exact numbers. And that’s what you’ll do if you want this to work. What’s the combination?” Fish asked, snapping the briefcase closed and thumbing the numbers on the lock.

“You aren’t serious?” Kelly said.

“I have too much respect for money to joke about it. I told Sylvia that I had the hundred at home. How’s it going to look if she shows up here and I don’t have it?”

“You think she’d do that?” Samuelson asked.

Fish rolled his eyes at Mason and let out an exasperated sigh. “Amateurs,” he muttered. “What do you think she’s going to do? Ask me to mail it to her?”

“There’s no way we’re leaving this money here with you,” Kelly said.

“Out of the question,” Samuelson added.

Fish picked up the phone and began dialing. Sylvia’s number flashed across the laptop screen. Samuelson snatched the phone from his hand, ending the call before Sylvia could answer.

“What in the hell are you doing?” Kelly demanded.

“I’m calling Sylvia to tell her I threw the money out with the trash and she can forget I ever called her.”

“You do that and our deal is off!” Samuelson said. “You’ll die in prison.”

“Fine,” Fish said, his hands clasped beneath his belly. “So I’ll die in prison. You think this house isn’t a prison? No wife, no kids, no grandkids. At least in prison I’ll have someone to talk to. Now get out of my house!”

Samuelson looked at Mason, pleading. “Talk to your client.”

Mason shook his head. “You put him up to this. If he can’t deliver the money to her, the deal blows up. There’s no way for him to know if Sylvia is going to call back, show up, or send someone in her place. You can park someone here to babysit him and the money but that could complicate things if someone knocks at the door.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Kelly asked. “Trust him? He’s a crook!”

“Then get a receipt for the money or pick someone else,” Mason said.

Kelly motioned Samuelson into the living room while the technician gathered his equipment. Fish poured himself a cup of coffee and read the paper. Mason stared out the kitchen window, trading glances with a blue jay bobbing on a sapling’s narrow branch.

“Okay,” Samuelson said when they came back five minutes later. “We’re going to install surveillance cameras and microphones throughout the house. That money walks out of here, we’re going to know about it.”

“Isn’t it supposed to walk out of here?” Mason asked.

“Well, yeah,” Samuelson managed. “But not without us knowing it.”

Fish waved a hand at Samuelson. “First I’m a snitch and now I’m a movie star. I don’t want anybody seeing me naked.”

“We can’t make any room in the house off-limits,” Kelly said. “I’m sorry.”

“Tell you what,” Mason said. “Keep a camera on the briefcase at all times. That’s all you need to worry about. The man is entitled to some privacy.”

Kelly looked at Samuelson, nodding. “Okay. We’ll wire the house today,” Samuelson said.

“Good. Now give me the combination,” Fish said. Samuelson scratched the numbers on a piece of paper, handing it to Fish, who glanced at them and handed the paper back. “This is just seed money. Sylvia and Wayne won’t take my word about the rest of the money. They’ll want to see all of it before they take any chances.”

“How are you going to pull that off?” Samuelson asked. “You already told her you can’t go near the money.”

“I can’t, but he can,” Fish said, pointing to Mason. “I’m going to give him my power of attorney and the key to my safety deposit box.”

Three copper canisters labeled Flour, Sugar, and Salt sat on the kitchen counter against the wall. Fish opened one that said Flour, reached in, and pulled out a plastic bag caked in white powder. He unsealed the bag and removed a key, handing it to Mason.

“It’s for box number 4722 at the U.S. Bank branch at Fifty-first and Main. I’ve had it for years. It’s under the name of Myron Wenneck.”

“I can’t believe we didn’t find that key when we searched your house,” Kelly said. “Or that the police didn’t find it when they did their search.”

“Who’s going to look in the flour?” Fish asked. “You’re policemen, not cooks.”

“You’ve got a safety deposit box under a false name?” Samuelson asked. “That’s against federal bank regulations.”

Fish gave him a sheepish grin. “What are you going to do? Arrest me again? I can’t open a new box. They’ll see the signature card when Lou takes them into the vault to show them the money. If the box doesn’t have a history, we don’t have a story.”

“I don’t want you involved,” Kelly told Mason. “I’ll get an agent about your age and build. Sylvia won’t know the difference.”

“I’ve been on TV as much as Avery has. She’ll know it isn’t me before my double gives her one of my business cards. I’ve got to do it or it falls apart.”

“There has to be another way,” Kelly said, looking hard at Mason. “You’ll end up a witness in the case against Al Webb or Wayne McBride-whichever name we charge him under. Once you’re on the stand, who knows where the questions will go.”

Kelly’s comment and the piercing look she gave him were packed with warning, as if she somehow knew which questions he didn’t want to answer. He glanced at Fish, who was dissecting Kelly’s words and the mask she was wearing. Fish turned to him with narrowed eyes and a thin-lipped smile that said, Watch your step, boytchik.

Mason nodded. “I’ve got an alternative. My legal assistant, Mickey Shanahan, just got back in town. Fish can vouch for him and he can go to the bank.”

“Swell, but what about the money?” Samuelson asked again. “My boss is going to think I’m out of my mind.”

“You’re the government,” Fish said. “Print the money.”

Mason looked at his watch. He was supposed to be at Vince Bongiovanni’s office to swap information about Ed Fiori and Charles Rockley.

“I’ve got to get going. Let me know when you hear from Sylvia.”