and Cynthia and Sid Coe. They all waved a greeting.
'Where's Rita?' Trudy asked. 'You haven't ditched her already, have you?'
'Not yet,' Rathbone said, smiling. 'She had some things to do. Said she'd meet me here at exactly eleven.' He glanced at his watch. 'In seven minutes. She's very prompt.'
Sid Coe rose to the bait.
'A prompt woman?' he said. 'That's like a fast turtle. Ain't no such animal.' 'Rita is prompt,' David insisted. 'If she said she'll be here at eleven, she will be.'
'Ho ho ho,' Coe said. 'She'll be late; you can count on it.'
'A little wager?' Rathbone said. 'I'll bet you twenty Rita will show up here at eleven, within a minute either way.'
'You're on,' Coe said. 'Easiest twenty I ever made. I know women.'
They sat comfortably, smiling pleasantly at each other, occasionally glancing at their watches. At precisely eleven o'clock Rita came sailing through the side door of the Lounge.
'Hi, everyone,' she said.
Rathbone held out his hand to Coe. 'Twenty,' he said. 'Clean bills, please.'
'Tell me something, dimwit,' Cynthia said to her husband, 'have you ever won a bet with David?'
'And no one else has either,' Trudy Bartlett said. 'Our David has the luck of the devil.'
'You make your own luck in this world,' Rathbone said.
'Ernie's waving at you, David,' Rita said.
He turned to look. Ernie gestured toward the end of the bar where Termite Tommy was standing.
'Please excuse me,' Rathbone said, rising. 'Keep the party going. I'll be back in a few minutes.'
He took Tommy out to the parking lot. They sat in the back of the Bentley and lighted cigarettes.
'You're right,' David said. 'It's got possibilities- but it needs managing.'
'That's why I came to you.' -
'How much does that German printer want for the paper?'
'He wants a piece of the action. But I figure we can always cook the books. Besides, he's usually half in the bag.'
'Uh-huh. That check you gave me dissolved in about four days. Is that the usual time?'
'Three days to a week. It's not exact.'
'That's even better,' Rathbone said. 'I've been talking to Jimmy Bartlett. You know him?'
'No.'
'He's in the game. He knows everything about banks. He should; he owned one up in Wisconsin until the examiners moved in. He did a year and nine, and he was lucky. Anyway, he knows how banks move checks. I asked a lot of questions-without mentioning the self-destruct paper, of course-and Jimmy gave me some good skinny on how to hang paper with minimum risk.'
'How do we do that?' Termite Tommy asked.
Rathbone turned to look at him in the gloom. 'I figure the best is to print up government checks.'
'Holy Christ!' Tommy cried. 'That's a federal rap.'
'So is mail and wire fraud. No matter how you slice it-queer civilian checks or government checks-the bottom line is Leavenworth. But I think it can be fiddled. The risk-benefit ratio looks good to me. The big plus in using fake checks from Uncle Sam is that, according to what Jimmy told me, you can draw against them in one day. Sometimes immediately if the bank knows you.'
'I don't get it.'
'Look, if you write a forged check against someone who lives, say, in California, that crazy paper would be sawdust before the check clears. That means the California bank will never debit it to the mooch's account because all they've got is a handful of confetti. But if a local bank will credit a U.S. Treasury check within a day, then you can draw on it and waltz away whistling. By the time the blues catch up with the scam, that fake check is little bitty pieces of nothing, and they've got no evidence. No fraud. No counterfeiting. No forgery. Nothing.'
'Yeah,' Tommy said slowly, 'I can see that.'
'What I figure is this: We'll make a trial run. Have the Kraut make up a fake U.S. Treasury check, complete with computer code. Make it look like an IRS refund or something. Then we'll get the pusher to set up a checking account in a local bank. After the account is established, the fake government check is deposited. The next day the pusher takes out the money and disappears.'
Tommy lighted another cigarette. 'The way you explain it makes sense. Let's try it and see how it works. But don't expect me to do the pushing. I've done all the time I want to do.'
'No,' Rathbone said, 'not you and not me. I think I've got the right player for the part. As soon as you have the check ready, let me know.''
'How much you want to make it for?'
'Some odd number. Like $27,696.37. Not over fifty grand. We'll start small and see how it goes.'
Termite Tommy nodded and got out of the car. Then he leaned back in. 'You'll have to give me the name of the pusher. It's got to be printed on the check.'
'I'll let you know,' Rathbone said, and took a business card from his Mark Cross wallet. 'Here's my front; it's legit. David Rathbone Investment Management, Inc. Call me there when you're set.'
'Will do,' Tommy said, and walked away.
Rathbone went back into the Grand Palace Lounge. All the gang had assembled, and everyone was laughing up a storm. David took his chair at the head of the table and winked at Rita. She rose and came behind him, leaned down and nuzzled his cheek.
'Where have you been?' she asked.
'Business,' he said.
'Monkey business?'
'Something like that. How would you like a job?'
'I've got a job: keeping you happy.'
'And you succeed wonderfully. This is just a little errand with a super payoff.'
'Lead me to it,' she said.
9
Knowing the ways of officialdom, Harker asked Crockett for ten more warm bodies. He got four, which was one less than he had hoped for. They were reportedly all experienced investigators from agencies lending personnel to Crockett's operation.
Tony started with a local from the Broward County Sheriff's Office. He was a tall black named Roger For- tescue.
'That's an unusual moniker,' Harker said. 'English, isn't it?'
'Beats me,' Roger said. 'Could be. My folks come from tidewater Virginia. I got a grandpappy still alive. When he talks, I catch about every third word he says. What kind of an outfit is this?'
'Mostly white-collar crime.'
'Nobody in south Florida wears white collars. We got red, green, yellow, all-colored golf shirts. Call it purple- collar crime and you'll be closer to the mark.'
'I guess,' Harker said. He passed Frank Little's business card across the desk. 'This is your subject.'
Fortescue held the card a moment without reading it. 'What's his problem?'
'Unsavory associates.'
'Sheet,' the investigator said, 'they could rack me
up on that charge. I guess you want the inside poop on this guy.'
'You've got it. He may turn out to be clean, but I want him checked out.'
'No strain, no pain. I report to you?'
'That's right. Here's my night number. If I'm not in, you can leave a message.'
'This Frank Little-is he a heavy?'
