Sullivan's sting

44

Henry Ullman was sticking close to Mike Mulligan in Boca. Four evenings a week he met the banker for drinks at the Navigator Bar amp; Grill. And on Saturday nights, Ullman took a bottle or two to Mulligan's pad, and they hoisted a few while waiting for the guests to arrive.

Ullman figured the mousy banker had about a dozen women on the string. Some showed up alone, there were a few duos, and one trio: all reasonably clean and attractive, not too old, and marvelously complaisant after dipping into the toilet tank in Mulligan's bathroom.

Henry wondered if, in the line of duty, he should be banging women zonked out of their gourds on high-quality coke. It was an ethical dilemma, and it bothered him for at least thirty seconds.

He didn't have drinks at the Navigator with Mulligan on Friday evenings because on Fridays the Crescent was open till seven p.m. to cash paychecks and take deposits. Mike worked late, and Ullman spent the evening writing out his weekly report for Tony Harker. It was usually a brief, uneventful account, although Henry included the names of Mulligan's female guests and their addresses if he could discover them.

Then, one Saturday night, just two days before Christmas, he showed up at Mulligan's apartment with two bottles of Korbel brut, and the weekly orgies came to a screeching halt.

When the banker opened the door, he looked like death warmed over. His poplin suit had obviously been slept in, there were food stains on his vest and gray stubble on his chin. Even worse, the man was crying; fat tears were dripping down his cheeks onto his wrinkled lapels.

"Mike," Ullman said, closing the door quickly behind him, "what in God's name is wrong?"

Mulligan shook his head, said nothing, but collapsed onto the couch. He leaned forward, face in his hands, shuddering with sobs. Ullman took his champagne into the kitchen. The place was a mess: unwashed dishes, encrusted pans, a broken glass. The agent found a bottle of bourbon in the freezer. He poured a healthy jolt into a clean tumbler and brought it to the banker.

"Come on, Mike," he said gently, "take a sip and tell me what's wrong."

Mulligan took the drink with trembling hands and gulped it down. Then coughed and coughed. Ullman waited for the paroxysm to subside, then asked again, "What's wrong?"

The other man wouldn't look at him; he just stared dully at the carpet. "I'm thirty thousand short at the bank," he said in a low voice.

"And that's what knocked you for a loop? It's just a bookkeeping error, Mike; you'll find it."

Mulligan shook his head. "It was a cash deposit. I signed for it without counting it. Then, last night, I discovered it was thirty thousand short."

"I don't understand," Ullman said, but beginning to. "How much was the total deposit?"

"Almost two hundred thousand."

Ullman whistled, then put an arm across the man's

thin shoulders. "Tell me all about it," he said softly. "I may be able to help."

"I was just doing a favor for a close friend. I swear that's all it was."

"So you accepted cash deposits over ten thousand and didn't report them?"

"So much paperwork," Mulligan said. "Besides, we only held the funds for a short time and then they would go out in drafts."

"But Crescent profited while the money was in the bank-right? Short-term paper? Overnight loans?"

"Yes."

"Who authorized the drafts? The depositor-your close friend?"

"No. The president of the corporate account authorized the drafts."

"Who was that?"

"Mitchell Korne. It was just a name to me. I never met the man."

"Who were the drafts paid to?"

"Another bank."

"Where?"

"Panama."

"How long has this been going on, Mike?"

"Two years. At least."

"You knew it was drug money?"

Mulligan stared at him with the wide-eyed, innocent look of a guilty man. "I suspected but I had no proof. It could have been the cash proceeds from a real estate sale.''

"Oh sure," Ullman said. "Or a yacht. Let's get back to your shortage. When was the deposit made?"

"Yesterday morning."

"In the lobby of the bank? Over the counter?"

"No. Back door." "So the tellers didn't know about it?"

"No."

"Someone else in the bank must have known. Vice president? President?"

"They knew, but they let me handle it."

"I can imagine. All right, the two hundred grand was deposited at the back door of the bank yesterday morning and you signed for it without counting it."

"It would have taken a long time. It was Friday and I was busy. Besides, previous deposits had always been accurate to the dollar."

"How was the deposit made? I mean how was the cash delivered? In a shopping bag?"

"A suitcase. A cheap vinyl suitcase."

"What did you do with it-put it in the vault?"

"No. I brought it home."

"You did what?"

"I couldn't leave it in the bank. The examiners are coming in first thing Tuesday morning, the day after Christmas."

"Good enough reason. Where is the suitcase now?"

"In the bedroom, under the bed."

"No wonder you've got the jits. Mike, why don't you just tell your friend he was thirty thousand short and he'll have to come up with it."

"He won't believe me. He'll say all his previous deposits were accurate. He'll say I signed for the total amount. He'll say I have to make up the loss."

"So? You have thirty thousand in liquid assets, don't you? And if you don't, the bank does. If Crescent's top brass is in on this, they won't squeal too loud."

"Don't you think I've thought of that? But what if we keep getting shortchanged on the deposits?" "There's an easy answer to that: Tell your friend to get lost."

Mulligan lowered his head. "I can't do that."

"Why not?" Ullman said. "Because he's got you by the short hair? Because for two years he's been paying you off with that white stuff you keep in your toilet tank?"

The banker's head snapped up. His mouth opened; he stared at Ullman, horrified. "You're from the police, aren't you?" he said.

"Sure I am," the agent said cheerfully. "But that doesn't mean I don't like you. I really want to help you."

"You just want to put me in jail."

"Nah. You're more valuable out. Look, if you cooperate maybe we can cut a deal. You'll get a fine and probation. Your career as a banker will be over, but you won't be behind bars with all those swell people. That's worth something, isn't it?"

"When you say cooperate, I suppose you want me to name my friend, the man who made the deposits."

"James Bartlett?" Ullman said casually. "No, you won't have to name him."

Mulligan gasped. "How did you know?"

"You just told me. What do you say, Mike? Will you play along?"

"I don't have much choice, do I?"

"Not much. Now you go take a quick shower, shave, and put on fresh clothes. Then I'm going to drive you down to Fort Lauderdale to meet a couple of men you can deal with.''

"It'll be late," Mulligan objected. "They'll probably be asleep."

"I'll wake them up," Ullman promised.

"Am I under arrest?"

"Let's just call it protective custody. Now go get cleaned up."

"May I have another drink?"

"No. You'll want a clear head when you start talking to save your skin."

Mulligan went stumbling into the bathroom. Ullman went into the bedroom and dragged the vinyl suitcase from under the bed. He snapped it open and took out all those lovely bundles of twenties, fifties, and hundreds bound with manila wrappers. He stacked them neatly on the bed, then peered into the emptied suitcase. What he saw made him happy: a layer of confetti that felt oily to the touch.

He left the fluff there, repacked the currency, and closed the suitcase. Mike Mulligan, showered and shaved, came into the bedroom to dress. Ullman took the suitcase into the living room. Then he went into the bathroom and lifted the jar of glassine envelopes from the toilet tank. He took that into the kitchen and found a shopping bag under the sink. He put the cocaine in the bag and added his two bottles of champagne. He went back into the living room, poured himself a shot of bourbon, and sipped slowly.

They were ready to leave a half-hour later. Mulligan carried the shopping bag, and Ullman lugged the suitcase of cash. The banker carefully locked his front door, and then they waited for the elevator. The door slid open. Pearl and Opal Longnecker got out and stared with astonishment at the two men.

Ullman smiled at the sisters. "The party's over, ladies," he said.