zombies will be real estate agents. Stanley Rosencrantz might have his very own religious faction in his name by then.
The four of us-Stanley, Fiona, Sam and I-sat in a conference room together. Stanley had insisted on showing us his entire office, which seemed odd, until I realized he actually thought I just might be the kind of guy who wanted to come into an office every day, check on my criminal empire. Dixon Woods, I'm sure, never bothered to show up. Not if Eddie Champagne was smart.
Stanley made a great show of where Fiona and Sam could have their offices, too, though he had no idea who Fiona and Sam were and never bothered to ask, only referring to them as my associates. There were at least twenty-five people working in the office that morning-file clerks, secretaries, that sort of thing- who didn't look to have any idea what they were a part of. That Stanley, Burl and Danny did the collecting made sense, finally: keep the circle as closed as possible, only involving those who needed to be involved. Outsourcing muscle just to collect from Cricket would be expensive and unneeded-Eddie knew that. Best just to send his business partners.
We passed the offices for Burl and Danny as we walked-their names etched in glass on their doors- but Stanley didn't even mention them before finally opening up a conference room filled with bagels, coffee and juice, where we now sat.
'First thing,' I said. 'New rules.' Stanley visibly flinched, but didn't bolt. I felt like I owed him just a little reassurance. 'Don't worry. I'm not going to shoot you.'
I told Stanley that he was going to transfer five million dollars into Cricket O'Connor's account in the Dominican and gave him the account number Barry had texted me for the Banco Leon. 'But before you start, here's the new rule, Stanley,' I said. 'I don't want that money coming from any of our investors' accounts.'
'I'm sorry,' Stanley said. 'I'm not following you.'
'How much liquid do we have here, Stanley?' I liked using our and we as each time it made Stanley wince.
'Liquid. Well. That depends on several factors.'
'Just give the man a number,' Fiona said. The thing about Fiona, she's done this sort of thing before, and not in the Robin Hood sort of way.
'Eight million dollars,' Stanley said. 'Maybe nine. Things have been difficult lately.'
'Okay,' I said. 'And what about in your personal accounts. You, Burl, Danny, Dixon. How much do you four have?'
'Well, I don't have access…' Fiona reached into her purse and pulled out her gun, set it on the table. We hadn't really talked about this precisely, but that's what I loved about Fiona: She understood things as they were happening, adjusted on the fly, made things happen. 'Another ten. Maybe twelve. Dixon kept his money elsewhere.'
Of course he did. 'Good,' I said. 'You transfer the five million dollars from your personal accounts.'
'But that's money we've earned, Mr. Fitch,' Stanley said.
'Really?' I said. 'Is this a time to start arguing, Stan? Aren't I going to take care of your problems? Aren't I going to get rid of Dixon for you? That's not your investors' problem, now, is it?'
'The potential for a red flag to go up is…,' he started to say, but this time Sam, feeling emboldened by his conversation with Lenore no doubt put a hand up to stop him.
Sam put on his own sunglasses, which made his face look sort of round, put a stick of gum in his mouth and started snapping it with his tongue. Before it got to the level of performance art, Sam leaned across the table and extended a finger toward Stanley. 'You want to know what a red flag looks like? I'm a red flag.'
I had no idea what that meant, but Stanley seemed to know and that was enough. 'Fine,' he said. 'Fine.'
'And let's make it look right,' I said. 'I want you to set Cricket up as an investor in your company. What do you call them?'
'An equity partner,' Stanley said.
'Right, an equity partner.' When the Feds came sniffing, Cricket wouldn't be liable for anything. She'd have invested millions and taken at least a slight loss. Just like everyone else was about to. 'And one last thing,' I said. 'I'm interested in getting started quickly out here, so I'd like a capital infusion of my own.'
'How much?' Stanley said.
'Three,' I said. I handed him Hank Fitch's Dominican account information, too. 'And that you can cut from the investors, Stanley.'
Forty minutes, several calls to bankers, all of whom seemed to be more mail willing to do whatever Stanley asked, and which buttressed the claims Sam's IRS contact had, and two darkening rings of sweat under Stanley Rosencrantz' armpits later, it was done. Cricket O'Connor had five million dollars, legally. Hank Fitch had three million, illegally, but I didn't plan on keeping it. I just needed it for evidentiary purposes.
'Have you heard from Dixon?' Stanley asked casually after he printed out all of the appropriate documents.
'I haven't,' I said.
'He said he was going to deal with you,' Stanley said. He made a shooting motion with his hand. 'Said something about you being in the wrong on the California deal, but that he'd settle it once and for all and that I had nothing to worry about. That after he got back from Afghanistan again, he'd deal with everything.'
Afghanistan. Right. 'He's wrong,' I said. 'About everything.' Stanley nodded. He looked rather grave. He would look worse in a few months when he was doing federal time. 'You have an address for Dixon?' I asked.
Stanley said he didn't, and for some reason, perhaps because there was no reason for him to lie, I believed him. 'All I have is his cell,' Stanley said, which I took. 'You'll take care of him, right?'
'Didn't I say I would?' I said.
'Yes, Mr. Fitch. And in terms of Ms. O'Connor, I can presume she's still alive? That that issue has been cleared up to your satisfaction, and we can continue forward in our business dealings one to one with no fear of reprisal?'
'For now.' This satisfied Stanley, as much as Stanley Rosencrantz could feel satisfied about anything, knowing, as I'm sure he did, that he was in with people way beyond his real estate training. 'Do me a favor, Stanley,' I said. 'Send Burl and Danny fruit baskets in my name. Let them know there're no hard feelings, that I look forward to purchasing preforeclosure properties alongside them for many, many years. You can do that, right?'
Before Stanley could answer-and really, I don't know if he had a suitable answer, since he probably saw the course of his life and realized he'd need to cut and run as soon possible-we walked out of the conference room and left Stanley with what were probably his considerable thoughts.
'That went well,' Sam said.
'Eight million dollars,' Fiona said, 'and you only shot one of them?'
'It's all posture,' I said.
Ten minutes after we got back into the car, Nate called. 'Were you expecting guests over at Cricket's?' he asked.
'No,' I said. 'What does the guest look like?'
'I can't see his face,' Nate said. 'He's wearing camo pants and a white T-shirt.'
'Does he have a gun?'
'I can't tell if he's strapped or not.'
'Do you?'
'I'm always packing,' Nate said. I was afraid of that.
'Where are you?' I said.
'Upstairs. He just docked his boat. He's sort of pacing around, trying to act nonchalant. Taking a lot of time to tie it up. He just nodded at a woman walking her dog.'
'What are you doing upstairs?'
'Cricket said she left some earrings up here that she wanted, so I thought I'd look for them.'
I'd hold off on commenting on that until a later point. It would take us at least forty minutes to get out to Fisher Island, and that was if the ferry was just waiting for us to board. 'We'll be right there. If you can,' I said, 'don't let him in, but don't let him leave if he gets in.'
'On it,' Nate said.
'Wait,' I said. 'Don't hang up.' I told Fiona to call Eddie Champagne's phone, just to make sure that it wasn't the real Dixon Woods showing up to Cricket's, a situation that would be beyond Nate's limited scope.
