‘What about money? What about your ... your fee?’
‘One thousand dollars for this consultation, which you’ve already paid. The rest depends on what you need.’ Chin smiles for the first time, a thin smile that’s gone in an instant. ‘Which, I suppose, brings us back to square one. I can’t very well price our services without knowing what they’ll be.’
Louis Chin’s wearing tan slacks, an off-white linen jacket and a copper-colored golf shirt. To Bobby Ditto, the clothing looks expensive and sophisticated, which annoys him all the more. He’s thinking Chin (whose forebears in America reach back to the California gold rush) should be serving him wonton soup and egg rolls.
‘I need a minute to talk it over.’ Bobby stands up and motions for the Blade to follow as he walks out of the bunker and closes the door behind him. They’re now standing in the warehouse’s storage area, surrounded by rolls of substandard carpet that Bobby expects to unload on the New York Housing Authority. ‘Whatta ya think, Marco? Is the asshole legit?’
The Blade rubs his nose, an annoying habit that he simply can’t break, no matter how much it pisses off his boss. ‘What I’m thinkin’, Bobby, is that we gotta do somethin’. We can’t afford to have this Carter gunnin’ for us, not right now.’
The Blade’s referring to an upcoming deal, the biggest in the short history of Bobby Ditto’s crew, seven kilos of pure heroin at $71,000 per kilo. Bobby’s in the process of putting the $497,000 together and he’s still got time – the dope won’t reach the US for another week or so – but the last thing he needs is some crazed mercenary out to kill him. And for what? To protect a whore?
‘I feel like I stepped into a world where nothing makes sense,’ he tells the Blade. ‘Like I’m on fuckin’ Mars.’
‘Ditto that,’ the Blade responds. ‘But here’s somethin’ to dream about when you go to sleep tonight. You pay this slant-eyes a few grand, which is chump change, and he tells us where to find this Carter guy. Then we snatch Carter, along with his fuckin’ whore, and spend a week givin’ ’em exactly what they got comin’.’
‘A week?’
‘A week.’
Bobby Ditto smiles for the first time in days. ‘Ya know why I pay you the big bucks?’ he asks as he opens the door to the bunker. ‘Because you’re worth every penny.’
Chin nods when Bobby Ditto resumes his seat. He’s come to sell his services and he knows he’s succeeded before his client says a word. A good thing, too, because Xao Investigations’ entire workforce is limited to a single man with a good front and better connections, a man named Louis Chin who’s pretty much surviving day to day.
‘All right,’ Bobby Ditto says, ‘here’s what I know. The asshole’s an American named Carter. And don’t ask me if Carter’s a first or a last name, it could be either. What’s definite is that he was a mercenary – or still is – and that he hung out with a former British officer, also turned mercenary, by the name of Montgomery Thorpe.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Yeah, that’s it.’
‘Well, mercenary’s a big category. It covers everything from private contractors like Halliburton to rogue units buying opium from the Taliban.’ Chin clears his throat. ‘Still, from what you’ve told me about Carter’s skills, he has to be ex-military. That means he also has to be in a DOD database.’
‘What’s DOD?’
‘The Department of Defense.’
‘And you can get into their computers?’
‘Much more than that. The people I use can access parts of the CIA’s many databases, and the National Security Agency’s, and others besides.’
‘And these people, they don’t work for the government?’
‘They work for private companies under contract to the government. But the important thing, for you, is that if Carter left the military to become a merc, some agency most likely tracked him. That would also hold true for Montgomery Thorpe.’ Chin shuts down abruptly, the message plain. No more freebies. The ball’s in Bobby Ditto’s court.
‘OK,’ Bobby says, ‘how much?’
‘Fifteen thousand to do an investigation. No guarantee on the results.’
‘Fifteen grand’s a lot of money.’ Bobby’s voice carries a little edge, not quite threatening, but close enough to make a point which the chink apparently doesn’t get.
‘First thing, Mr Benedetti, I could go to jail for what I’m doing. Second thing, I have to spread the money around. I don’t have access to any of this data. I have to rely on other people. But why don’t we do this: Give me ten up front and the other five when I find something useful.’
‘And if you don’t?’
‘Then we’ll call it even.’
Bobby nods to the Blade who crosses the room to open a small metal box. He removes two packets of hundred dollar bills and passes them to his boss.
‘One more thing before I fork this over,’ Bobby says. ‘I can’t be waitin’ around for an answer. You gotta work fast.’
‘Monday morning fast enough?’
Bobby hands over the bundles. ‘Monday morning, same time, same place. And one more thing. Abe Abramov personally vouched for you, which means I’ll go right back to him if you jerk me off. And if I go to Abe, he’s gonna come to you.’
Point made, Bobby leads Chin to the foot of the stairs and watches him until he disappears into the showroom. Then he returns to the office and the Blade, who’s sitting in the chair formally occupied by Louis Chin.
Bobby drops into his own chair and says, ‘So, where do we stand?’
‘We’ve got the product eighty percent sold, that’s the good news. But we’re still negotiating a location for the buy.’
‘What about the money?’
The Blade flashes that little frown he displays whenever he has to pass on bad news. ‘We can’t make it on our own. We’re gonna have to take front money.’
The front money will come from buyers eager to trade payment in advance for a steep discount. Which, Bobby supposes, makes them investors.
‘So, where do we put the money this time?’ Bobby’s got money stashed in five locations scattered about the city, an elementary precaution, but now he has to concentrate his capital. He’s has to be ready.
‘We did Bensonhurst last time.’
‘And the time before?’
‘Little Neck.’
‘With the lawyer, right?’
‘Yeah, the one who got busted for bribing a juror.’
Bobby runs a finger through his thinning hair. They’d gotten the money out three hours before the cops showed up with a warrant.
‘OK, let’s do the Bronx this time. Move the money into the Kingsbridge apartment. Handle it yourself, Marco. I don’t want any slip-ups. If we’re not ready, the deal’s gonna walk away from us.’
THIRTEEN
Angel’s glad. Glad to be out by herself, glad to be wearing her own clothes, glad for the soft Saturday night. Carter’s off on some mission that doesn’t include her, this following an afternoon they spent at her apartment where she packed every suitcase she owns with her ‘achiever’ wardrobe. Not boutique (that will come later), or even all-designer, her outfits nevertheless mark her as upwardly mobile. Tonight she’s wearing skinny jeans, a red blouse that reveals a fashionable line of cleavage, a midnight-blue leather jacket, and Cynthia Vincent wedges that add two inches to the length of her already long legs. The True Religion jeans came from Saks, but the top was
