He shrugged with his eyebrows. “Actually—fifty. I’m still working on the other twenty.”
The wind nipped at my face. “I had no idea…they really got you over a barrel, don’t they?”
“They do. I hope we can arrange for proof that I’m not being hoaxed…. Nate, I’ve kept you in the dark about it, and for the time being I still have to, but Condon isn’t the only party who can make a convincing case for being in touch with the kidnappers.”
“What?”
“I can’t say anymore right now. I’m looking into these other claims. In the meantime, Condon seems perhaps the most reliable option.”
My eyes rolled like marbles. “If Condon is the most reliable option, God help you with the others.”
He said nothing. We paused while Wahgoosh pissed.
I turned my face away from the March wind. “I heard Schwarzkopf say something about keeping Condon’s house under surveillance, and shadowing him to any ransom drop point.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m glad. There’s hope for Schwarzkopf yet.”
“Perhaps, but I’ve forbidden it.”
“You’ve what?”
“Colonel Schwarzkopf withdrew his proposal to stake out Condon’s house, when I objected.”
“On what goddamn grounds did you object?”
“That it might endanger the safe return of my son.”
What could I say to that? Other than it was fucking nuts. I could only hope Frank Wilson had taken my advice and put Condon under government surveillance. We walked. The dog crapped.
“You have to call Wilson in, Slim.”
“Pardon me?”
“Agent Wilson of the IRS. And his boss Irey. Especially his boss Irey.”
“Why?”
“You’ve got to record all the serial numbers of the ransom money, before you pay it out. Irey can help you with that, and he’s the guy who can track the money, once it’s started getting into circulation.”
Lindbergh shook his head, no. “I made a statement to the press that I wouldn’t pay the kidnappers in marked bills. I won’t break my word.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” I said. I shook my head, said, “That tears it,” turned and headed for the house. The wind pushed at my back, encouraging me.
“Heller!” Lindbergh called. “Where are you going?”
“Chicago,” I said, over my shoulder. “We got a more normal brand of insanity back there.”
“Wait. Wait!”
I stopped and he walked up beside me, the dog frisking at his heels.
“I’ll talk to Irey,” he said. “But no promises.”
“Okay.”
“I’d like you to stick around a while longer.”
“Why?”
“There are gangsters in this, obviously. They may be Capone people.”
“You’ve got Irey and Wilson on the case; they know Capone better than I do.”
“They’re not from Chicago. And they’re not street cops. They don’t know the breed of crook Capone uses, like you do. Nate, we need your expertise.”
I was flattered. I couldn’t help it. Lindy was behaving stupidly in many respects, but he was still Lindy. Saying no to him was like saying no to Uncle Sam.
“No,” I said.
His cheek twitched; his eyes were desperate. “Will you at least stay till we play out the Condon hand? Just that long?”
I sighed. “Sure. Why not. It beats chasing pickpockets around LaSalle Street Station.”
He offered me a hand to shake and I shook it. Wahgoosh growled at me.
The bronze Tiffany clock chimed seven-thirty just thirty seconds before the doorbell rang.
“This is it,” Breckinridge said, standing. His eyes were hard and tight.
“Perhaps I should answer it,” Condon said, standing. His eyes were soft and loose,
“There’s an idea,” I said.
Condon moved quickly for his size and age, and I was on his heels, Breckinridge on mine. The nine millimeter
