But his back felt-felt like nothing, better even than with the Chinese tea. 'I can't feel anything,' he said.
'Your spinal nerve is drugged,' said Morris. 'You shouldn't feel anything much, assuming the dosage is correct.'
'What are you looking for, anyway?' asked Tony.
'I want to see how they did this. Was it a cage or plates, where they put them.'
'For God's sake,' cried Charlie, sweating now. 'Stop! Let me get the money.'
'You'll be able to do that while I work,' Morris said. 'If you work fast, we'll take you to the hospital with the drip still in.'
The phone trilled again. He lay on his stomach panting, feeling like a dog forced to the ground. They handed him the phone.
'Charlie?'
It was Christina. 'Yeah,' he breathed. 'Is there any way you can help me?'
'If I could.'
'I've got cash in a brokerage account here, but they don't disburse it. They'll do all kinds of other things. I can't buy stocks and bonds. What the fuck am I going to do here, Christina?'
'Can you buy something with it and give it to Tony?'
Morris lifted a small scalpel from the box and tore off the sterile wrapper.
'Like what?' he said anxiously, watching Morris.
'Gold, diamonds, I don't know.'
He squeezed his eyes, head pounding. Morris was pressing something into his back. 'Gold is well under three hundred an ounce these days.'
'So five million is at least… sixteen thousand ounces, which is exactly a thousand pounds. That's not so heavy,' she noted. 'You could put that in ten suitcases.'
'Gold?' Charlie hollered at Tony. 'Gold?'
'Gold is a commodity,' he answered. 'I want cash.'
'I can't get cash!'
Tony shrugged. 'That's your problem.'
'He won't take gold,' Charlie said to Christina.
'Why don't you buy some cigarettes?' she suggested.
He wanted to see what Morris was doing to him. 'I don't understand.'
'They come into the docks in Newark in containers. Middlemen sell them. It's a spot market,' she said. 'You buy them before they even hit the shore, and you get a bill of lading and present it at the dock, and they bring it out and stick the container on the truck. It's a very liquid situation. Five million is probably a huge quantity of cartons. But you can sell that easily. It's cigarettes.'
'I don't know how the hell to do that.' He turned his head.
'Don't move!' Morris screamed. 'I'm close!'
'Call your broker or whoever and see if he'll issue a letter of credit,' came Christina's voice. 'I'm going to call around.'
'Don't leave me!'
'I'm not, I'm not.'
He called back Timothy at the brokerage. 'You guys issue a letter of credit?'
'No.'
He called Ted Fullman, feeling tingling against his spine. He wiggled his foot, wasn't sure if it moved or not. 'Ted, will you issue a letter of credit for me?'
'Sure.'
'How long does that take?'
'Hell, twenty minutes.'
'Can you messenger it?'
'Yes. Or fax it.' Ted listened for a moment. 'Are you in trouble, Charlie?'
'No, no, I'm just helping a friend.' He tried to even out his breathing. Tommy, he noticed, was interested in whatever Morris was doing.
'I looked into the cash question,' Ted Fullman went on. 'We could provide it as soon as the day after tomorrow if we get the signatures. If that would be soon enough-'
'Please prepare a letter of credit for five million.'
'I can't.'
'You just said you could!' Charlie cried in despair.
'You don't have five million in the account anymore,' replied Ted smoothly. 'You bought the house and had me send the other eight million to your accountant's escrow account, remember?'
'Jesus.' He looked at the wooden floor, noticed old paint or blood. 'I'll have the brokerage send the money back.'
He called Timothy at the brokerage. His line was busy.
'How're we doing?' asked Tony. 'Tommy, call Peck, tell him to get over here.'
The phone rang in Charlie's hand. It was Christina. 'I got the name of a wholesale distributor of cigarettes. He explained a lot of this.'
'Let me have his number,' said Charlie, writing it down.
'This guy sells cigarettes by the containerload.'
'Where are you?'
'I'm way downtown. I went back to the restaurant where I used to work.'
He felt a cool scraping sensation in his back. 'You'll stay there?'
'Yes.'
I can't feel my feet, Charlie realized. Like they're gone. He called back Timothy at the brokerage. 'Wire the money back into my bank account.'
'I don't understand.'
Now a trickle of pain came up his back. 'Wire it all, right away.'
'Well, the authorization-'
'Just send it back, what's the fucking problem?'
'Sir, Mr. Ravich, the authorization for a sum that large has to come-'
'Listen, you little fuck,' Charlie croaked. 'I'm in a hell of a jam, all right? That's my money! I've had a business relationship with your brokerage for twenty'-Morris was pulling something-'years, you understand? Send that money now or I'm all over you. All the numbers are there, just send it right back to my account care of Ted Fullman at Citibank.'
'Yes, sir.'
Tony stood up from his chair, walked four feet away, bent slightly at the waist, farted loudly, straightened up, and sat down again. He pointed at Morris. 'You're like a kid with a toy train set.'
'I'm feeling something,' said Charlie.
'I'm feeling something, too,' added Tony. 'I'm feeling an emptiness. In my pocket.'
'I'm gonna get this,' Morris muttered to himself.
The money is going back to Citibank, thought Charlie. I've made exactly no progress. He called the cigarette wholesaler. 'You guys sell large lots of cigarettes?'
'Yes,' came a voice.
'How can I buy five million worth?'
'First, sir, you need to talk to our salesmen and see what they have available. Then-'
'No, no. I mean now, right now.'
'He's buying cigarettes?' asked Tony. 'I've seen everything.'
'We don't do that,' came the voice. 'Goodbye.'
'You have a plate.' Morris looked up. 'It's good work.'
He got Christina's number from Tony and called her.
'Yes? Charlie?'
'No on the cigarettes.'
