Thick as Thieves

14

“A lot of phone time for Howie tonight,” Dennis says, “and he didn’t sound good.”

They’re at the workhouse-Carr, Bobby, Dennis, and Latin Mike-and the pent-up heat of the day is suffocating. Mike is tilted back in a kitchen chair, clean-shaven, hair slick from a shower. The half-smile on his face sets Carr’s teeth on edge.

“He called the Caymans a few times,” Dennis continues, “his pal Prager’s number, but he never got past the help. Then he called his pimp. Took him four tries to go through with it. First three times, he hung up before anyone answered.”

“Prager didn’t take his call?” Carr asks.

Dennis shrugs. “The secretary said he wasn’t in, but she had to go away and check before she said it. The second time, she told him Prager would get back to him.”

“Has he?”

“Not yet.”

Mike grins nastily. “I thought Prager was his friend,” he says. “That’s not so friendly, jefe. ”

“And the pimp?” Carr asks. “What was going on with the three hangups?”

“He didn’t want to pull the trigger,” Bobby says.

Carr squints at him. “Pull the trigger on what?”

Dennis shakes his head. “He didn’t say on the phone.”

“Who’s the pimp?” Carr asks.

“Calls himself Lamp. Works for the Russian brothers.”

Mike dangles a cigarette from his lip, but doesn’t light it. “Howie’s gotten whores for his friends before. How come he’s nervous now?”

Bobby shakes his head. “The guy is freaked about something. The way he blew his lunch this afternoon-I thought his socks were gonna come up.”

Carr looks at Dennis. “You find out more about Bessemer’s friends?”

Dennis taps at one of his keyboards. “Plenty,” he says, “though I’m not sure it amounts to anything. Brunt and Moyer are retired money guys, like Stearn. Moyer was a bond trader; Brunt was an investment manager.”

“They all work at the same place?”

“Different companies, different places. Stearn was in London, Moyer in New York, and Brunt was in Chicago.”

“And the other two guys?”

“Tandy is also retired. He was a partner in a law firm up in New York. He got downsized a few years back-him and half the firm. As far as I can tell, Scoville has never worked. Lives in the guesthouse on his mother’s property, a few miles down the road from Stearn. Besides sailing and heroin, lying around the pool seems to be the only job he’s ever had.”

“Married?”

“Not Scoville, but the rest of them are.”

“Any of them have records?”

“Scoville took a couple of possession busts in New York, one with intent to sell. He got probation and rehab.”

“Any of them friends with Bessemer before he came down here?”

“Not that I can tell.”

“So Howie is what to them-the only guy they know who knows the rough trade?”

Mike lights his cigarette and chuckles derisively. “We trying to get inside their heads now too? Who gives a fuck?”

Carr ignores him. “And we think Howie’s doing this… why?”

Bobby sighs. “Same reason people do most things,” he says, “for the money.” He looks at Dennis.

“The guy’s chronically short,” Dennis says. “The divorce cleaned him out pretty good. His house is paid for, but his grandmother’s trust throws off barely enough income to cover the taxes and his liquor bills, and she set it up so he can’t get at the principal.”

“My abuela was a bitch too,” Mike mutters.

“I thought Prager was hiding money for him,” Carr says. “What happened to that?”

Dennis shrugs. “It’s not in any of the accounts I can see, though I can’t see into Isla Privada.”

Carr shakes his head. “When’s Howie meeting the pimp?” he asks.

“Monday,” Bobby says, “outside the Brazilian place. I’ll be there.”

Carr looks at Latin Mike. “We’ll all be there.”

“Sure, jefe,” Mike says, smiling. “All of us.”

The night is close and the airport throws sheets of flashing light against the low clouds. The smell of the jet fuel, of the house, of Mike’s cigarettes, and of his own sweat are caught in Carr’s clothing, and he walks the long way around the block to get to his car. He’s halfway there when he hears footsteps behind him and whirls.

Latin Mike chuckles from behind the glowing end of a cigarette. “That’s slow, man. I want to hurt you, you be all the way hurt by now.”

He steps from the shadows and Carr takes a slow, deep breath to quiet his pulse. “You going out again?” Carr says.

“Just for some air. Not enough in that dump tonight. And you?”

“To bed. You want something?”

“Me? No, I got what I need-but you’re still looking for something.”

Carr sighs. “We’ve been over this. I want to know more before we go at Bessemer. I want to know why-”

A barking laugh, and Mike blows smoke into the blinking sky. “I’m not talking about Bessemer. Bobby says you’re still asking him about Mendoza. Says you did it again today.”

Carr takes another deep breath. “And?”

“And I want to know what that’s about.”

“It’s about what it seems to be about: I want to know what happened, what went wrong. Bobby didn’t tell you?”

“Bobby tells me everything, jefe. But why you keep asking him about this? You think he’s gonna tell you something new? You think he doesn’t get what you’re doing when you ask the same questions over and over? That you’re calling him a liar.”

“I didn’t know it was upsetting him so much.”

“Sure you did. So why don’t you cut it out? You still got questions about what happened down there, ask me.”

“Why, are you going to tell me something new?”

Mike barks again. “I’m gonna tell you to fuck off.”

“So nothing new.”

Another laugh. “You want new, maybe you need to get different questions.”

“Maybe I have one.”

Mike smiles and rolls out a line of smoke rings that break on Carr’s shoulder. “Give it a try, cabron. ”

“Okay. Did you get into that barn before Bertolli’s guys turned up?”

In the long silence that follows, a car passes, a jet passes, someone shouts from somewhere in Brazilian Portuguese. Mike flicks his cigarette into the street. He shakes his head and laughs to himself. “Deke was always so hot on you-always talked about how smart you were, how good at planning, how you saw angles other people didn’t, how you thought big. It was like you were his kid or something.

“Me, I never got it-and I told him so. More smoke than fire, I said. Too much complication. Too much bullshit. After a while, he didn’t want to hear it: told me to shut up or move on. I thought about that a long time, and decided to stay. I liked Deke; I was used to him, and I liked the paydays, so… I didn’t change my mind about you, but I kept my mouth shut. But when the old bastard bought it, I tell you I was ready to book. I would have too if this gig had been any smaller, and if Bobby and Val hadn’t asked me-shit, they begged me-to stick it out.”

Carr kicks at a piece of broken pavement. It skips and skids and ends up in a storm drain. He laughs softly. “I don’t hear anything new, Mike, and I don’t hear an answer to my question.”

Mike’s fists clench and his arms swell. “Here’s my answer, pendejo -if you’re running this thing, then run it, and if you’re not, then shove off. ’Cause this is the last fucking job I’m doing, and if it turns to shit, it’s you I come looking for. No one else-just you. So get your mind off Mendoza and Declan and Bertolli’s fucking barn, cabron, and get it on Bessemer and Prager.”

Mike turns and walks back into the dark, and Carr sees his lighter flare as he fires up another smoke. “Was that a yes or a no about the barn?” Carr calls, but Mike doesn’t answer.