Dead and Gone

“My name doesn’t matter,” I told him. “I’m the one who sent you that present … the one wrapped in green paper with a red ribbon.”

“Ah!” he grunted. “What is it that you want?”

“You got the present. The ten grand was in exchange for a piece of information.”

“What information?” he asked, suspicion dominating. “Nothing about you. Or your crew. Dmitri dealt with some people a few months ago. I know he kept records. I know you have those records. All I want is their name and address.”

“How would I know which—?”

“They were a married couple. Russians. Not in the business. She was a doctor, he was a scientist. Their child had been kidnapped.”

“How much is this information worth to you?”

“Ten thousand dollars, Anton. And I already paid you.”

“I think it is maybe worth more.”

So he already knew. “Maybe it is worth twice that,” I came back, surprising him.

He paused, then responded, “Agreed.”

“Okay. You already have half in front from me. A good-faith payment. To show my respect. I will get the other half to you when you give me the information.”

“How could I be sure of this?”

“Remember the rest of the present I sent you?”

“The piece of chalk?”

“Yes.”

“What is the purpose of that?”

“For your people to draw the outline around your body. You know, like the cops did around Dmitri. When he was on the floor, dead. I gave him the same choice I’m giving you. He picked wrong. So now I deal with you. If you pick wrong, I deal with whoever follows you, understand?”

“You threaten me?”

“Threaten? I am making you the same offer I made Dmitri, that’s all.”

“Dmitri was a fool. He thought that the most important thing was to be some … soldier,” he said, spitting on the last word.

“You and me, we’re alike,” I told him. “We’re not soldiers, we’re businessmen. A soldier’s mistake is different from a businessman’s mistake. Greed, that is a businessman’s mistake. Not one you want to make. Twenty thousand dollars for the information, that’s enough.”

“Call back here in twenty-four hours,” he said. And hung up.

I pushed the “off” button on the cell phone. Then I used a hammer and a blowtorch to turn it into a puddle of untraceable plastic.

“A soldier is nothing but an armed bureaucrat,” he said the next night. “And Dmitri proves it. Everything, he wrote down. Everything. An idiot.”

“Government is government,” I agreed.

He grunted in self-satisfaction. Then he slowly gave me a name, address, and phone number as if he was reading the info off an index card.

“Chicago?”

“Everything that is here, I just tell you.”

“All right. I believe you.”

“The rest of the money …?”

“Is yours as soon as I check out the information.”

“You said that you—”

“I said I believed you. Dmitri, that remains to be seen.”

“What are you saying?”

“I offered you two choices. If the information is true, then you have earned the money.”

“If it is not? If Dmitri …?”

“Then that’s it,” I lied. “You keep what you have, and we’ll be square.”

I hung up on whatever he was in the middle of saying.

“Chi-Town?” the Prof asked me, puzzled.

“That part is legit,” I told him. “Dmitri said the snatch took place in Chicago. What happened was, it made the Chicago papers, but they lived in Winnetka—it’s like a suburb. A rich suburb. Anyway, that’s where they lived then. And I figured they’d moved here after it happened. But maybe not …”

“Never change phone,” Mama said.

I looked across the table at her. The first time I’d been in the restaurant since before … since before it happened. Mama hadn’t reacted to my new face, just snapped her fingers for the tureen of hot-and-sour soup as if