of a feeding tube. Respectfully.' Fiona wasn't much for shows.
'By all means, have a seat then,' Natalya said.
'Yes, I have opium to buy and sell to little kids,' I said, as we sat down. 'Wish I had more time to chat. But I'm sure you understand.'
Natalya frowned. Visibly frowned. 'I thought once we were done here, the three of us could be sociable. All in the game, isn't it? It's not me you're mad at, Michael. In the same situation, you would have done the same thing.'
'There wouldn't be a same situation,' I said. 'I would have killed you. Money means nothing to me.'
Natalya picked up a glass of water from the table and took a sip. There were two other glasses and a pitcher, but I'd already told Fiona that Natalya liked her poisons.
'Apparently,' Natalya said.
'And this isn't a game,' I said. 'You threatened my life. Fiona's. My family's. So you'll excuse the lack of my desire on our part to let bygones be bygones. Save 'Auld Lang Syne' for New Year's and all that. Plus, I count six guys ready to shoot me.'
'Perceptive,' Natalya said.
'Realistic,' I said.
Fiona reached into her purse to pull out her Black-Berry, and all six men moved forward, which caused Fiona to stop midreach. 'Care to tell your pit bulls to sit and stay?' Fiona said.
Natalya gave both groups of men a nod, and they shrank back to more relaxed positions. It took her a few moments, but Fiona eventually accessed Hank Fitch's Dominican account. 'Where to?' she asked.
'If you don't mind?' Natalya said, indicating the BlackBerry. 'I just want to make sure what you say is happening is happening.'
'Be my guest,' Fiona said and handed her the BlackBerry. Natalya looked over the information, which was mostly just several zeros and a three. It was all legitimately in the account-of course, Hank Fitch didn't really exist, his account consisting of falsified documents on every turn-and the money certainly existed. It had been transferred from the accounts of White Rose Partners-in a legal, traceable transfer, though one that was certainly being monitored now by all sorts of agencies-into Hank Fitch's account, and it would now be transferred, legally, into an account held by Natalya. Of course, she'd be smart enough to have a shell set up somewhere, but that wouldn't matter.
'You've done nice work, Michael,' Fiona said.
'I get good rates in the Dominican,' I said. 'You should consider keeping your money there.'
'I've always preferred Nicaragua,' she said and handed Fiona a slip of paper with her account information.
'Wait,' I said to Fiona. 'Tell me one thing, Natalya. Out of courtesy for the game. Who is your source?'
Natalya leaned back in her chair and exhaled. 'You know I can't tell you that, Michael. He'd stop being my source.'
'Three million dollars doesn't buy you what it used to,' I said.
'The American dollar is weak,' she said, but there was something eating at her. 'I can tell you this. You're doing yourself no favors in this drug business. Get yourself a job. Get away from whatever answers you need to be searching out. Because my source has been in your government for a long time, Michael. Longer than both of us. And he says you're as culpable in that weak American dollar as anyone.'
'I haven't done what my dossier says,' I said. 'So you tell Yuri that the Cold War is over. Tell him to cash his checks and come back to the Motherland. Tell him…' A flashing light caught the corner of my eye.
Sam telling me it was now, which meant Dixon Woods was in the building. A little early. Not surprising.
'Just tell him,' I said.
'I'll do that,' Natalya said, but I saw her looking over my shoulder. She must have caught the light, too, though she didn't seem alarmed. Must have thought it was just a light, nothing more.
'Are we done rattling sabers, Michael?' Fiona asked.
'Go ahead,' I said.
In just a few keystrokes, three million dollars passed from the account of Hank Fitch into the account of Natalya Choplyn. We waited silently for the confirmation from both banks, and when it came, I heard Natalya give out a thick sigh. She turned and waved away the men behind her from Longstreet, who shrugged and went inside their room. Three guns down.
She then looked at the three men at the bar and nodded once. There was a grave look on her face, one I hadn't seen before, and I realized that those men weren't guarding her-they were watching her, making sure that she did what she was supposed to do, that the scales were evened. Natalya Choplyn's life was saved, though not for long.
'They have your kids?' I asked.
'No,' Natalya said. 'No. Of course not. It's not like that anymore, Michael.'
'It isn't?' I said.
Natalya didn't answer.
'You don't even have children, do you?' Fiona said.
'We should celebrate,' Natalya said.
'That's the laugh, Michael,' Fiona said. 'I think she fooled you. I can tell she's married, certainly, that round of fat around her chin. It's disgusting, really, letting yourself go like that, Natalya. But she's not stupid enough to actually procreate.'
'You know nothing,' Natalya said.
Sam hit the lights again.
'Your lookout is trying to get your attention,' Natalya said. 'You'd better give him the okay sign. I'd hate for someone to get shot now that the deal is done.'
Shit.
I turned and waved at Sam, though I couldn't see him. I looked at my watch. We had about five minutes to get out of this situation, which was good since I saw Dixon Woods striding through the crowd.
He was a big man-over six three-and he looked the part he was born to play: He fairly screamed Special Forces with his square head and closely cropped hair, a jaw line that was dashed with hints of stubble, arms that grew larger on the outside of his short-sleeved shirt. When I saw him in real life, the comedy of Eddie Champagne was clear. Where Dixon Woods was all coiled muscle, Eddie was doughy and simple. The sharpness of his cons certainly didn't translate to his body, but then a woman like Cricket would probably never know the difference, and men like Stanley Rosencrantz and his partners only cared about the stories he could tell and the myth that exists in secrecy.
Even from our table, I could tell Dixon Woods was the real deal.
'You're right,' I said to Natalya. 'We should celebrate. It's just a game, isn't it? And here we are, three survivors. Let me get the first round.'
I got up before Natalya could say a word and walked directly toward Dixon, my eyes steady on his. There was a look of recognition on his face.
'Woods,' I said when I was near him. I'd make this quick.
'Westen?' he replied.
Shit again.
'Yes,' I said. I tossed my head from side to side. 'You have to pardon me. I am drunk!'
'Belgrade, right?'
'I wasn't there,' I said.
'Neither was I,' he said.
I pointed at him. He pointed at me. It was like we were in a very bad boy band and about to do a dance number. I grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a big man hug. He had a gun on his back, probably a nine. I nudged his leg with mine and felt something solid on his ankle, probably a knife.
'What are you doing here?' I said far too loudly, all joy and conviviality.
'Business.' He looked around. Not nervously. Just checking the scene. 'Let me ask you: You ever hear of a guy named Hank Fitch? I'm supposed to meet him here.'
'That kind of business,' I said. I shook my head. 'I try to keep my nose straight, know what I'm saying?'
