house, a couple pallets of daisies, considered some perennials, something to amp up curb appeal.
'I have a lot of money I want to spend on farm machinery,' I said, 'and I understand you are in the farming business overseas. Just looking to make a deal.'
'Your sense is wrong,' Dixon said, but there wasn't much conviction in his voice. The version of Dixon Woods that Eddie Champagne had floated out was too specific not to be based in some kind of truth, too believable to people who can actually do some checking if they have the resources.
'I've got three million dollars I'd like to spend,' I said. 'I will either spend it with you, or I will spend it with someone else. It's little matter to me. But I figured a person like you, Dixon, with your background, would be able to handle this discreetly. As a token, I will take care of Eddie Champagne permanently for you. You might know that he's been putting your name out there, too. And not always in a flattering fashion. Nevertheless, he told me what I needed to know about you and, drama aside, I was compelled.'
Instead of the normal ten-second delay, there was a pause of a full minute, during which time I pulled my cart back inside, took a look at some decorative stone work Lowe's had on display, moved toward the window- treatment aisle.
'I appreciate that,' Dixon finally said.
'I'm meeting this week with an old friend from way back east who is spending some time in Miami this month. I'd love for you two to meet, see if we can't find a mutually advantageous business arrangement. Stop worrying about inferior products from Colombia and the like,' I said, just to see if Dixon would bite, to see if those little tacks on the map of South Beach meant what I thought they meant.
'I can be on a plane in the morning,' Dixon said. 'In Miami by tomorrow night.'
I picked up a box of solar-powered Malibu lights and tossed them in my cart. A nice touch.
'Call me when you get in,' I said.
'Don't worry,' Dixon said. 'You'll know when I'm in Miami.' And then, this time, he hung up.
9
Best-case scenario: You have a plan of attack and everything happens just as it is supposed to. Let's say, for instance, you're waiting for men to arrive with whatever it is you need.
A hostage.
Guns.
Money.
Or maybe it's just a message: The definitive new set of rules that dictate that no one shall make bombs defused by using either a red or blue wire but instead everyone will use the much more easily found black wire and that popular myths of bomb defusion shall reflect said change.
That would be a good message. Helpful to the world. Kids would grow up safer. The terrorists and bad guys and evildoers would lose.
The problem is, most messages, if they're delivered to you personally, end up being bad news. So you learn to prepare for the bad news first. You plan and you counterplan. You devise. You configure. You craft.
You alter.
You mine.
Your best-case scenario ends up being that you've prepared the perfect trap and you end up not needing to use it at all. James Bond, he never had a plan. He had gadgets some research-and-development team would have needed decades to perfect. Jason Bourne? A robot in human skin. Every spy you've ever seen on TV or in a movie has the benefit of special effects-when it gets down to business, all you really have is your plan and your ability to throw it out the window and react to circumstance, deal with consequence, keep fighting.
Or, as I first learned: You either follow tradecraft or you create it.
I didn't fully understand that credo then, but now, when all I can depend on is what I can find myself, it's never made more sense.
Which is why Fiona was in Cricket's garage making tear gas.
Which is why Sam was planting solar-paneled Malibu lights under the windows of Cricket's window… and then running fuses from them to tiny explosive squibs under the dirt. Tomorrow, if things went according to plan, those Malibu lights would deliver Fiona's tear gas.
Which is why Cricket O'Connor was standing on her circular staircase watching as Nate and I dragged in new furniture.
Appearances are important, so I asked Nate if it would be possible for him to find some nice furniture we could borrow for a few hours. When he demurred, I mentioned the truck full of men's suits. And now there was a living room filled with furniture.
'Do I want to know where you got this stuff?' I asked. We'd just dragged in a love seat, and Nate was hanging a circular mirror above the fireplace.
'Probably not,' Nate said.
I lifted up the cushion on the love seat. I found just under a dollar in change, a takeout menu for a Thai restaurant and a High School Musical DVD. 'Tell me this wasn't in a kids' room.'
'It wasn't in a kids' room.'
'A lot of adults watching High School Musical these days, Nate?'
'Yes, for your information.'
I pulled the DVD out and handed it to Nate. 'You're responsible for getting this back to its rightful owner. Can I trust you on that?'
'Sure, bro, sure.'
I caught my breath and looked at what Nate and I had assembled. A love seat, another sofa, some pillows, enough to make the place look lived in again.
'Any problem if someone bleeds on the rest of this stuff?' I asked.
'Not from my point of view.'
'What about the point of view of the owners?'
'Lot of empty houses around these days,' Nate said. 'Subprime loans that went upside down. Snowbirds. Easy pickings.'
'How do you know about subprime loans?'
'I've got a TV. I read the newspaper,' Nate said. 'You know, while you were off not stopping terrorism from entering our shores, I did learn how to read.'
'Comics don't count. Or your horoscope.'
'The word is astrology,' Nate said.
'Whatever,' I said. 'I'll try not to get any blood on anything.'
'I do you a favor, you could say thank you.'
He was right. It's hard for me to say thank you. I'm learning, still. 'I appreciate it, Nate,' I said. 'I really do. With a gold star on top for best behavior. How's that?'
'Just what I wanted to hear,' Nate said. 'If you'd like something you see, I could probably arrange to get you a few pieces for your place after all of this is up.'
'I'm more of a minimalist,' I said. I pointed at the mirror. 'It's crooked.'
Nate looked at it one way. Looked at it another. 'Don't see it,' he said.
'Trust me,' I said. 'It's about a half an inch off on the right.'
'It's not permanent.'
I went over and readjusted the mirror.
'Now it is crooked,' Nate said and he went over and pushed it the other direction.
This went on for a couple minutes, until Cricket said from above, 'It's fine, Mr. Westen.'
'See?' Nate said.
'She was talking to me,' I said.
'Why, because she said Mr.? You do that all the time, thinking people don't respect me. I'm here doing a job just like you are,' Nate said. 'A guy could learn to resent his brother really quick.'
