for breakfast. It's a restaurant that serves cereal. They also have supersweet parfaits and coffee, but mostly, it's just cereal. Lucky Charms. Cookie Crisp. Trix. And since it's across the street from The U, every college student not on the meal plan is there drying out from the night previous.
When I got to the restaurant, Barry already had two empty bowls in front of him and was looking back over the menu again with a rather studious expression.
'What's your poison?' I asked, sitting down.
'Been mixing it up,' Barry said. 'First bowl was Kix. Second bowl was something from the Count Chocula family. I'm thinking I might try some of this Kashi stuff.'
'I'm a Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch man myself,' I said.
'You're out of luck,' Barry said. 'They don't carry the Peanut Butter Cap'n here. Some union thing.'
'It's okay,' I said. 'I don't actually eat cereal.'
Barry pulled down his sunglasses and regarded me. Barry was the kind of guy who wore sunglasses inside. Barry was also the kind of guy who did creative things with his beard, so that it cut across his face in sharp angles. Barry was also the kind of guy who knew things about things you didn't know about, namely of the criminal variety. If Barry had a business card, it would say money launderer on it, but he had a lot of special skills. He was a confidence man in the truest sense: He kept things confidential. 'You work out?' Barry said.
'A little,' I said.
'I gotta start doing that, get off the cereal, get on the treadmill. What do you think of that Chuck Nor-ris exercise device?'
'Bow-flex?'
'Yeah.'
'Couldn't hurt,' I said
'Three in the morning, that infomercial comes on?' Barry said. 'It takes every fiber of my being not to get on the phone and order one. Chuck Norris is very persuasive.'
'Nothing good happens after two a.m.,' I said.
'True, true,' Barry said. A waiter came up then. Barry ordered something called the Dirt Bowl. I just asked for a glass of juice. 'What do you normally eat for breakfast?'
'Al-Quaeda,' I said. 'Or yogurt.'
'Good to know,' Barry said.
I could talk diet all day with Barry, but figured I'd get down to it. 'If you had a couple million in cash, where would you put it right now?'
'Under the mattress,' Barry said. 'This recession is killing me.'
'Say you weren't that smart.'
'Diamonds and art are out,' he said. 'All that blood-diamond business is making people turn their backs on the bling. And with art, every two weeks someone is getting held up at gunpoint for a Gauguin. Getting shot in the face for water and ink on paper, that's not my idea of wise investing. Gold is a nonstarter. Rare coins have been ruined by eBay. Same with vintage stamps. If you can get your hands on laser-guided missile technology, we could do business. My opinion? Get yourself someone legit as a front and you buy yourself a gas station.'
The waiter came back then and dropped off Barry's order, which was completely made up of chocolate cereals, and my orange juice.
'This isn't for me,' I said. 'You ever hear of a guy named Dixon Woods?'
'Yeah,' Barry said. He was trying to figure which milk to pour on his bowl. I pushed the skim milk in his direction, not that it would make a damn bit of difference. 'Good example. He was around a lot last year. He fronted cash on a couple retail projects, probably made a killing. Haven't heard his name since.'
'You ever see him?'
Barry shook his head no. 'Everyone said he lived in a compound out there on the Fish. That he was some bad ass. People threw his name around like a threat. Figured you probably knew him.'
'Where'd his money come from?'
'Big-game drugs. What I heard? He had his own opium field in Afghanistan.'
'Where'd you hear that?'
'Around,' Barry said.
'He move any locally?'
'Naw,' Barry said. 'He just chilled on the Fish. You ever see Apocalypse Now? I heard he lived like Brando did in that.'
'People call Fisher Island the Fish?'
'No,' Barry said. 'But I do. Ten years ago, no one called diamonds bling.' I took a sip of my orange juice while Barry shoveled down some of his cereal. The milk had already turned brown from the chocolate. It literally was like watching someone eating dirt. 'You want a taste?' Barry asked.
'I'll pass.'
'Anyway, point is, Woods was putting straight cash into projects that weren't likely to get looked at too closely. You know the Fish is privately owned, for instance.'
'I didn't,' I said.
'You got real estate money you don't want anyone to look at,' he said, 'you invest in three places: Indian land, private islands or the tourist trade. Bars. Strip clubs. T-shirt shops. I mean, you got a plane, a couple tough guys to fire guns at people, make your way to Africa or Haiti, but you gotta stay Stateside, that's your haven. Plus, a place like the Fish, it's all billionaires out there. You don't get a billion dollars by working straight. So if you've got two, three million to put down in real land to start up an espresso place, you think Bill Gates and Oprah are going to ask questions?'
'They live out there?'
'Metaphorically speaking,' Barry said.
I pulled out the photo Fiona cobbled together using the shots from Palm Life. Sam had yet to get the paperwork from his contact at the FBI, so this was all I had. 'You know this guy?'
'Don't know if I do,' Barry said.
'Would you tell me?'
'Probably not.' Barry swallowed up the last bits of his cereal. The bowl was still filled with chocolate milk. 'What's the protocol here? Think I can tip it and drink it?'
'What would Chuck Norris do?' I said. That was enough for Barry. He picked up the bowl and slurped its contents down. The waiter came by and asked us if we'd like anything else. 'Another bowl of dirt for my friend,' I said.
'Easy on the Cocoa Krispies,' Barry told the waiter.
'Say you did know this guy,' I said.
'Say I did.'
'Any idea where I might be able to find him?'
'Wherever there are rich old ladies,' Barry said.
'Do you have a name?'
'Ronnie. Bobby. Ricky. Lonnie. Like that.' There was a real look of disgust on Barry's face and palpable spite in his voice.
'Did he screw you on something?'
Barry took off his sunglasses, dabbed his napkin into a glass of water and took a few moments to wash off the lenses. The waiter came by and dropped off another bowl of cereal. 'Strictly my opinion? You steal from old ladies, I don't care if they are rich, you bring disgrace on the whole criminal profession.'
Made sense and I told Barry that. My cell phone rang. It was Sam. I excused myself and stepped outside. A line had formed to get into the Cereal Bowl. I tried to see if I recognized anyone from the line that usually gathered outside my place. Everyone looked familiar. In the future, people would wait in line to wait in line.
'What do you have, Sam?'
'A name,' Sam said. 'Eddie Champagne.'
'That has to be an alias,' I said.
'No,' Sam said. 'It checks. He filed the report on Woods two years ago after Woods kicked down his apartment door and smacked him around a little bit, but then dropped the charges.'
