Sullivan's sting

13

They were walking on the beach, carrying their shoes. A gleaming crescent cast a silver dagger across the sea. The breeze was from the southeast, smelling strongly of salt. There were a few night swimmers splashing about, yelping in the chilly surf.

"He's having his pals over for a poker party," Rita reported. "Strictly stag. I can't go back till midnight so we have plenty of time. Did you eat?"

"I worked late," Tony said, "and had a pizza sent in. How about you?"

"I did some shopping at the mall and then grabbed a Caesar salad. Lots of garlic. Can't you smell it?"

"Smells good. These guys Rathbone's having over- the gang from the Grand Palace?"

"That's right. They're as thick as thieves, that bunch."

"Rita, they are thieves. Has he sent you back to the bank in Boca?"

"Not yet. I haven't the slightest idea what's going on there."

"Anything else?"

"Not much. He's got a new client, a retired professor with mucho dinero. "

"Damn!" Harker said. "I can't get a handle on how his swindle works. I had the SEC take a look at his accounts with Mortimer Sparco, who's a discount broker. Sparco runs a lot of penny stocks, but so far he's clean. Anyway, Rathbone has accounts for all his clients. But they're all holding blue chips like IBM and AT amp;T. But I know, I know Rathbone is skimming. I just don't know how."

She told him the story of how David got a refund from Hunneker's on a jumpsuit he didn't like. Tony laughed.

"A crook is a crook is a crook," he said. "The guy is making at least six hundred thousand a year, but he can't stand the thought of someone taking him, even for two hundred."

"In some ways," she said, "he's very generous."

"You already told me that."

"Well, he is! I bet if I asked him for a thousand, he'd hand it over and not even ask what I wanted it for."

"He's getting his money's worth," Harker said in a low voice.

She stopped walking, making him stop, and turned to stare at him. "That was a shitty thing to say. Let's you and I get something straight, buster. I'm not a total bubblehead, you know. I have very good instincts about people, especially men. I know David is a conniving thief and belongs in the pokey, but I happen to like the guy. Okay? I happen to think he's sweet."

"Sweet?" Harker said with an explosive snort. "He's a bum!"

"So he's a sweet bum. All right?"

They turned around and continued their stroll back to his motel.

"You claim you have a good instinct about men," he said. "What about me?" "You? A straight arrow. Uptight. If you could learn to relax, you could be quite a guy."

"Well, if it'll make you feel any better, since I met you I've stopped using my inhaler and tonight I had a pepperoni pizza."

"Bed therapy. Stick with me, kiddo, and you'll be tanning your hide in the sun." She hugged his arm, adding, "We've got till midnight."

His bedroom window was open wide, and they could smell the sea. The ghostly moonlight was all the light they needed. Her body was a hot shadow on the white sheet.

"Hand and glove," she said dreamily.

"What?"

"That's how we fit."

He was enraptured, lost and gone. He surrendered totally. I must never lose this woman, he vowed. Never.

Later, she took his face between her palms. "You're getting there," she said.

"Thank you, Dr. Sullivan," he said. "Would you like a cold beer?"

"I'd love a cold beer."

They sat up in bed, sipping. She rested the dripping can on his belly, and he winced.

"Mama told me," she said, "that I should never talk to a man about another man-especially in bed-but this is part of our job, so I figure it's okay."

"What is?"

"David Rathbone. You said he's a bum, and he is. He cheats his friends; I know that for a fact. But I've had a lot of experience with hard cases, and I've learned one thing about them: none are completely bad. A rapist can be devoted to a sick mother. A safecracker can help support his church. Even a murderer can drag a kid out of a burning house. None of us is one-dimensional. So when you call David a con man, a swindler, a thief, I know you're right. But he's more than that."

"If you say so," Tony said.

She left a little before midnight, and he went to sleep smelling the garlic on his pillow and smiling.

The next morning he gave Crockett an update. The chief listened intently, fingers laced across his vest. He looked as broody as an Easter Island statue. Harker knew he was bossing a half-dozen concurrent investigations; the man's brain must be churning.

Crockett stirred when Tony finished his recital. "Can't you move any faster on this?" he asked.

"No, sir. The two new men are coming in today. But I had to set up their legends first. I've established cover stories that'll back them up. I'll put one on Sidney Coe and one on Mortimer Sparco."

"Which on which?"

"I want to talk to them first."

Crockett nodded. "So all we've got at the moment is that paperman, Irving Donald Gevalt. You want to pull him in?"

"I don't think so, sir. He's small-fry. If we take him now, it might tip our hand and blow the whole investigation. We can pick him up anytime we want."

"I suppose so," Crockett said. "But Washington is screaming. They want to see some results from all the money they've been spending. Well, they'll just have to be patient. Like me. Anything else?"

"Yes, sir. I'd like you to authorize a black-bag job on Rathbone's town house."

"Tap his phone? We could do that at the central exchange if you think it would yield anything." "I doubt if it would. He's too clever for that. What I had in mind was to bug the whole apartment. He had the whole gang over for a poker session. I would have loved to hear what they talked about."

Crockett shook his head. "Too risky. If he has the place swept electronically, and the bugs are discovered, there goes your ball game."

"I don't think he has the place swept. I don't think it would occur to him that he could be a target."

"What would you bug?"

"Everything, though we may have trouble getting into his office. But certainly the living room and bedrooms."

"Bedrooms? And would you tell Rita Sullivan about the bugs?"

"Oh no, sir. Why would we want to do that?"

"Why indeed," said Lester Crockett, staring at him. "I'll think about it, Tony."