Only Child

“Who are you talking to, Giovanni? Some Godfather fan? You stick a gun in a guy’s mouth, cock the trigger, maybe he spills, that’s right. And maybe he panics. Goes catatonic. Has a heart attack. Who knows? Thing is, you don’t. Nobody does.

“And you can’t ever trust what someone says, a situation like that. He’s going to say whatever he thinks you want him to say. A nine-millimeter’s not a lie detector.

“If all you want to do is take him off the count, you do it away from me. Far away. But you can’t even do that until you know he’s the right guy, because if you do the wrong guy this time you’ll never get another chance.”

Giovanni bowed his head, clasped his hands, as if asking for strength. When he opened his eyes, they were clear and calm. “You be the lie detector, Burke,” he said. “Soon as you know for sure, you just ring me. I’ll be right downstairs.”

“I’ve been with you on this?” I put it to him. “Right down the line?”

“You have,” he said, no hesitation.

“Then listen to me now,” I told him. “Because I’ve got a better idea.”

“Always it is the black man who is the chauffeur,” Clarence mock-complained. Trying to lighten the fear we all shared.

“So who should drive?” I asked him, playing along. “The Mole?”

“Schoolboy’s telling it true,” the Prof added. “I was still doing banks, I’d rather have Ray Charles for a wheelman.”

“Any of us could have been seen,” I said. “During all those ‘interviews’ we did. And maybe he’s got a pipeline—maybe more than a couple of those kids we spoke to were in one of his little movies. But I don’t think they were looking at anything besides the camera.”

“Without the patch, you look very different, honey,” Michelle assured me. “And once I add those streaks to your hair, and you put on a suit...”

“I’ve got a dynamite maid’s uniform,” Rejji said, grinning.

“I don’t want to overload it,” I said. “The way this suite’s laid out, we can keep him isolated. And if we do have to go to Plan B, the credit card we put it all on won’t tell them anything.”

They all nodded silently. Plan B was the Mole. In another room. On a higher floor. If he went into action, nobody was going to pay any attention to our two suites. Not with a fire raging through the hotel.

“Do I look all right?” Michelle asked. For maybe the tenth time in the last hour.

“You look gorgeous,” Rejji told her. “So in control. I love it.”

“You slut.” Michelle laughed.

I refused to look at my watch.

The phone rang.

Michelle started to fly across the room, stopped, smoothed her skirt over her hips, walked over, and picked it up just past the second ring.

“Yes, please?”

...

“Please tell the party that someone will be down to collect him directly. Thank you.”

She hung up.

“Oh God,” Rejji said.

“Keep it together, now, bitch,” Michelle said. “You’re up next.”

“Do you think it’s really going to be—?”

“No more,” I told Rejji, holding my finger to my lips.

A soft double rap at the door.

“Danielle!” I called out.

Rejji practically trotted over to the door. She stepped to the side as she held it open, one hand gently waving an invitation.

He was older than I thought he’d be, from the vague descriptions we’d gathered. Late twenties, early thirties. A bit taller than medium height, light-brown hair, cut into a neat sculpture. His face was narrow, with fleshy lips over the perfect teeth the NHB girl had remembered, large dark eyes the most prominent feature. Wearing a safari jacket, with a briefcase-sized red nylon bag on a strap over his shoulder.

Michelle stayed next to him, one hand on his arm, steering him over to me as I stood up to greet him.

“Mr. Chenowith...The Vision,” she made the introduction.

“Vision!” I said, extending my hand.

He took it, returning my moderate squeeze with a firm one of his own. His palm was as dry as statistics.

“Sit down, sit down,” I said, indicating the best chair in the room.

“Thanks, Mr.—”

“Stan, please. It’s me who’s honored to meet you, Vis...Can I call you ‘Vision’?”

“Yeah, sure. It’s my...it’s my name, for professional purposes.”

“It has real strength,” I congratulated him. “And, from what I’ve heard, it’s a perfect fit, too.”

“You’ve never seen my work, is that right, Mr....Stan?”

“Not a single frame of your reel,” I assured him. “But that’s...Ah, excuse me, I’m a little excited. Would you like something to drink?”

“Sure. Whatever you’re—”

“When you’re with us, Vision, it’s whatever you want. Danielle...”

Rejji sashayed over, bent forward just enough to show off a little, said, “What can I get you, sir?” to him.

“Uh...vodka rocks.”

“Yes, sir. Is Absolut all right?”

“Sure,” he said.

“I’ll have what The Vision is having,” I told her.

Michelle handed me a sheaf of papers, FedEx’ed over from Lloyd’s office, tapping one spot on the top page with a red talon.

“I don’t want to put any pressure on you,” I told him, “but I don’t want to insult you by not putting real cards on the table, either. As Alana just reminded me, we’re looking for a three-picture commitment.”

“A three-picture...?”

“With escalators, of course,” I assured him. “But you can understand why we don’t want to commit substantial development money to you if you’re free to just walk after the first one.”

“But you haven’t—”

“This isn’t about what you’ve done; it’s about what you’re going to do. Do you know what Hollywood runs on, Vision? Buzz! And you’ve got it going on. You’re all over it. The word’s out. Hot hot hot. Don’t get me wrong. We’ll want to see everything. But it’s not your reel that’s driving the car, it’s your concept, are you with me?”

“I didn’t realize word got out so—”

“This business is all about high-stakes gambling. Today becomes yesterday like that!” I said, snapping my fingers. “The winning bettors are the ones who can see tomorrow.”

Rejji put down coasters, handed us our drinks. I took out a red box of Dunhills, offered it to him. He took one, gratefully. Rejji reached in her apron, caught my slight shake of the head just in time. I wanted to see if he had his own lighter, and if a cigarette would calm him a little.

Yes. To both.

“So,” I said. “Tell me all about your concept.”

“Mr. Chenowith...” Michelle, pointing to the papers.