Thick as Thieves

34

They leave Bessemer with the remains of lunch, and they walk as Carr talks-he and Prager in the lead, Kathy Rink trailing. It’s a slow saunter around the grounds, and they stop occasionally to admire the horticulture or the view, but throughout, Prager and Rink maintain a careful silence. No questions, no comments, not even a sigh. Carr has waited a long time to make this pitch, and he knows Frye’s business as well as Frye himself might, if he weren’t fictional.

“It’s a simple operation: I’m basically a middleman, a wholesaler. I buy stones in quantity-sometimes large quantities, sometimes smaller lots-and I resell them to other middlemen, or to retailers. The nature of my suppliers is such that I pay significantly discounted prices, so I can offer merchandise to my buyers at a price point way below other wholesalers, and still maintain a very fat margin. As you’d expect, it’s a cash business, end to end: my suppliers want only cash, and I take only cash from my buyers.

“I started out regional-the Boston area, and New England-but, my trip to Otisville aside, I’m good at what I do and I’ve been successful. I can handle quantity in a hurry in either direction-buying or selling-and I can ship it, so now I’ve got suppliers and buyers all over the United States and abroad. Like I said before, they come to me, and I can do business anywhere. I keep my overheads low, in part by contracting whatever services I need-security, transpo, storage, whatever-so, no employees. I spend a few months here, a few months there, but I’m based pretty much nowhere, and that’s how I like it.

“I figure my banking needs are nothing new to you. I’ve got cash to move, and to put on deposit somewhere-with somebody who’s not going to file a whole lot of paper. I want to invest what I deposit-build a diversified portfolio, nothing too aggressive, but with some international exposure. China definitely, maybe India-we can talk about it. And I need someone who can help me repatriate my assets-give them a boring history, something I can pay taxes on, though not too much. But something that’ll stand up to an audit. And of course I want access-cash on demand, wherever I happen to be, in the States or abroad.

“In terms of quantity, I’ve got ten bucks I’d want to place up front, and I’d be looking to place maybe two bucks a month afterward. Maybe more sometimes.”

Carr pauses as they approach Prager’s pink guesthouse, waiting for some reaction but getting none. The guesthouse has a wall of French windows on the ocean side that open on to a patio. There are two tables there, with umbrellas and chairs, and Prager sits in one and watches the surf unfurl. Rink sits next to him and looks at Carr, who continues.

“What’s different about my setup-where maybe there’s an opportunity to work with somebody like you-are my buyers overseas. I have a lot of them-in Europe, Latin America, Asia, all over-a whole network of gray market independents. And all they do, all day long, is buy and sell stones-for local currency, for euros, for dollars, for pretty much whatever you want. Cash goes out, diamonds come in; cash comes in, diamonds go out-all day long, and no questions asked. And they all know how to ship.”

Carr pauses again, waiting for a response. And he gets one, after a fashion: Prager looks at him for a long while and raises an eyebrow before he stands and strolls away. Carr follows, and Kathy Rink follows him. They pass a greenhouse and a low cinder-block building painted the same pink as the guesthouse. It’s the size of a two-car garage, and it has a tin roof and roll-down metal door. The door is open, and two young black men are inside, talking, laughing, and doing something with the gardening equipment ranged around the walls. They fall silent as Prager passes. The path curves toward the beach again, and when they hit the sand, Carr continues.

“Stones are a lot easier to move than bulk cash,” Carr continues, “and a whole lot harder to trace. They’re easier to store and secure, and easy to convert to cash when you need to-especially with a network like mine at your disposal. How much simpler does your operation become if you don’t have to worry about moving cash-if you can move diamonds instead? Or better yet-if somebody is moving the diamonds for you? How much does that improve your margins? And how much more can you charge your clients for access to this kind of network?”

Carr finishes as they climb the stairs that lead from the beach to a vast blue swimming pool. They cross flagstones, headed toward more glass doors. Carr sees Bessemer, still at the table under the awning. Bessemer raises a hand in salute, and Carr waves back and looks for cameras, remembering where they’re mounted, figuring the blind spots. The three remain silent as they go into the house, down a paneled hallway, past what looks like a wine cellar, and up a flight of stairs.

At the top of the stairs, past a study, a game room, a music room, through an atrium, and down another paneled corridor, is Prager’s office. It’s white and glass, minimally furnished in an aggressively modern style-a monk’s cell with Barcelona chairs, a pair of Rothkos on the wall, and a view of palm trees and a Caribbean garden. Prager takes a seat behind a brushed aluminum desk that looks like a knife blade and that is bare but for a laptop, a large, wafer-thin monitor, and a phone. Rink takes one of the guest chairs. Carr takes the other and tries not to look at the laptop or at the thumbprint scanner plugged into it. Prager clasps his hands behind his head, leans back in his chair, and sighs.

“You’re a guy off the street, Greg. Yes, you know Bess, and you have a little story to tell, but basically you’re a guy off the street.” Prager says it quietly, with a faint smile that is almost regretful. Carr says nothing.

“You could be a big deal, or a big waste of time,” Kathy Rink says. “Or you could be something worse than a waste of time. How’re we supposed to know?”

Carr shakes his head. “I’m confused. Are you saying no, or that you want to know more?”

It’s Rink who answers. “Maybe he’s saying you haven’t sold him yet.”

Carr shrugs and looks at Prager. “I’m not a salesman. It seems to me you’re either interested or you’re not.”

“I don’t know if I’m interested,” Prager says. “I don’t know if you’re anything besides talk.”

Carr lets a silence descend, and then he nods his head. “How about I get something from the car?”

Prager nods to Kathy Rink, who picks up a phone. In a moment a crew cut appears. “Take Mr. Frye to his car, and then bring him back,” Rink says. “Anything he brings with him gets scanned.”

The crew cut leads Carr out. When they return, Carr is carrying a slim metal attache case.

“You checked it?” Rink asks, and the crew cut nods and leaves. Carr places the case on the desk and turns it so that the latches face Prager.

“I take it I’m supposed to open this,” Prager says, and Carr nods. Kathy Rink comes around the desk to stand beside her boss. Prager looks at her and she lifts the lid.

Prager is silent for a moment, and then smiles thinly. “Very dramatic, Greg. They for real?”

“You expect me to say they’re not? But I’m going to leave them with you, so you can check them out yourself.”

“How much is here?”

“In carats or in dollars?”

“Dollars.”

“Loose like that-three bucks, plus or minus. A lot more when you turn them into earrings and bracelets. But I figure you’ll check that too.”

“This a big lot for you?”

“Nope.”

Prager leans back and sighs again. “So you’re a guy off the street with a story and props-albeit, expensive props.”

“Which makes me more worried, not less,” Rink says. “Not many folks can afford this kind of window dressing. Assuming they’re even for real.”

Carr reaches across the desk and closes the attache case. “I guess this is where I say thanks for lunch.”

Prager puts a hand on the lid. “If you were in my shoes, would you do it differently?”

“It would depend on how much I wanted your business,” Carr says.

“The dollar amounts you’re talking about are rounding error,” Prager says, shaking his head. “Not even that.”

“Then I guess it would depend on how interested I was in access to this network-what kind of problems it could solve for me, what kind of new revenue streams it could bring.”

“And if you were interested?”

“I’d ask you to open your kimono-at least a little.”

Kathy Rink clears her throat and frowns. Prager ignores her and nods slowly. “And if I ask?”

Carr rubs his chin and looks at Prager. “Open the briefcase. Look in the lid pocket.”

Prager lifts the lid and lowers it again. He holds a black flash drive between thumb and forefinger. “What’s this supposed to be?”

“My kimono,” Carr says.