“Four years ago,” Adair said, “I told the payroll folks to start taking double state and Federal withholding out of my salary. I figured the additional withholding would make me come out about even with the tax people at the end of the year and take care of whatever tax I might owe on interest, dividends and other outside income.”
“Very prudent,” Vines said.
“The thing is,” Adair said, “I forgot to file my state and Federal returns that first year. When I finally remembered, I just kept putting it off. And when nothing happened, I just kept on putting it off.”
“For how long?”
“As I said, four years now.”
“They’ve got you, Jack.”
“I know.”
“You could’ve gone to H and R Block, for Christsake. You could’ve let Eunice handle it for you. You could’ve-aw, shit-it just doesn’t make sense.”
“Procrastination rarely does.”
There was nothing ominous or threatening about the new silence that developed. Rather it was the sad kind sometimes experienced at graveside services when no one can think of anything to say, good or bad, about the dead. Finally, Kelly Vines said, “Maybe I can make a fancy move or two and rig up some kind of a trust that’ll salvage something, if we’re lucky.”
“Can you keep me out of jail?”
“I can try.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I’m not in the miracle business, Jack.”
“Would it take a miracle to find out who stuck those shoeboxes in my closet?”
“No,” Vines said. “That won’t take a miracle.”
Chapter 21
After Parvis Mansur had listened to what Adair and Vines had to say about disbarment, Lompoc penitentiary life, the death of Blessing Nelson and murder in the Blue Eagle Bar, the Iranian took over the discussion and aimed it right at what obviously disturbed him most.
Making no effort to disguise his skepticism, he said, “In effect, Mr. Adair, you’re saying that nobody really wants to kill you-at least not yet. If they did, they could easily have done when they photographed you from the rear of that pink van. After all, an Uzi’s as simple to operate as a Minolta. Some say simpler.”
“Or they could’ve had me killed in prison.”
“But since they didn’t, you believe you’re still alive because of what you know, correct?”
“Because of what they
“Is there a possibility that your memory might improve at some propitious moment?”
“If there really is something to remember, it could come to me one of these days. Or nights.”
“What if someone were to put a gun to your head and say, ‘Reveal or die’?”
“That might jog the memory. Then again, it might not.”
After permitting himself a fleeting look of utter disbelief, Mansur turned to Vines. “I assume Mr. Adair’s enemies are also yours?”
“That’s a safe assumption.”
“Not exactly pussycats, are they?”
“Apparently not.”
Mansur grimaced and closed his eyes, as if at some sudden pain, which Vines thought was probably mental. When he opened them to look at Vines again, they still appeared as skeptical as ever. “If I understand my sister-in law correctly,” Mansur said, sounding almost bored or possibly resigned, “you want me to winkle these enemies of yours out of their concealment. And to do this I’m to spread the word that the pair of you can be purchased from your putative protectors, Mayor Huckins and Chief Fork, for one million dollars in cash. Correct so far?”
“So far,” Vines said.
“May I ask how you arrived at that nice round sum?”
Adair said, “I decided a million’s just small change to them. Respectable change, of course, but still small.”
“One other item,” Vines said. “We also want you to make it look like a setup-as if you’d tricked us into it.”
“Well, now,” Mansur said, sounding interested and pleased for the first time. “A touch of humbug. Marvelous. It could work nicely, providing…” The sentence died as he gave Huckins an amused look. “Well, B. D.?”
“Sid and I want a straight switch, Parvis,” she said. “You pass the word and Mr. Mysterious makes his approach. When the time and place are agreed to, you trade Adair and Vines for the million any way you can. After that, they’re on their own.”
Mansur cocked a questioning eyebrow at Adair. “Satisfactory?”
“Sounds fine.”
Mansur leaned back in his chair to study Adair. “For some reason, neither you nor Mr. Vines look like a couple of guys who’d willingly walk through death’s front door.”
“We’re not,” Adair said.
“So you have some…contingency plan.”
Adair only stared at him.
“Which is none of my affair, of course. My only task is to establish contact and make sure no one is cheated or harmed-at least until the money is safely in my hands.”
“That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it?” Vines asked.
“Arranging things?” Mansur said. “Yes. That’s what I’m very good at.” He looked around the table, wearing a bright smile, and said, “Any other questions, comments?”
“Only one,” Adair said. “I’m always curious why a man takes on a lousy job. Since we’re not paying you anything and, as far as I know, the mayor and the chief aren’t either, my question’s the usual crude one: What’s in it for you?”
Mansur turned to his wife with a fond smile and covered her hand with his. “Continued domestic bliss,” he said.
“Which we all know is beyond price,” said Adair.
“Precisely.”
Dixie Mansur withdrew her hand from her husband’s, looked at Kelly Vines and said, “You forgot something.”
“What?”
“You told the judge-or said you told him anyway-that you thought you could find out who put those two shoeboxes full of money in his closet. Well. Did you? Find out?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I asked the doorman at Jack’s condo building.”
“The one you went to high school with who didn’t remember you?”
“He remembered me,” Kelly Vines said.
The doorman looked down at the fifty-dollar bill in his right hand, then up at Vines. “What’s this for, Kelly, old times’ sake?”
“Some friends played a joke on Judge Adair and he’d like to find out how.”
“What kind of joke?” the doorman asked. “Sick? Funny? Practical? What?”
“Practical.”
“Tell me about it. I could use a giggle.”
“They put something in his apartment-or had somebody put it there.”
“What?”
