Senor Flynn.
'What I want out of this,' said Harker, 'is an inside report on Coe's operation, what he's pushing right now, how much money you figure he's stealing. Also, Coe has a good friend, a man named David Rathbone. I want to know if Rathbone has a piece of Coe's action, or what his connection with Coe might be. Got all that?'
'Don't worry,' Manny said, grinning. 'I can do it. Tell me something-do I get to keep the moaney I make?'
Tony was startled. 'I never thought about that,' he admitted. 'I'll have to check it out with the chief. Meanwhile you try to land a job at Coe's place. Here's the address.'
'Hokay,' Suarez said cheerfully.
He already had a place to stay: a room in the home of a nice Cuban lady, a friend of his aunt's, who was happy to have a cop in the house and someone to cook for. So he drove directly to Coe's boiler room on Oakland Park Boulevard.
It looked no different from the legit places on the wide boulevard. The sign over the door read: instant investments, inc. The sign was on a board, hung on a chain from a nail pounded into the stuccoed wall, and Manny wondered how often that sign had been changed.
'Good morn',' he said to the receptionist, flashing his big white teeth.
'Good morning, sir,' she said, returning his smile. 'May I help you?'
'Could I speak to the boss man, pliz. I am looking for a job.'
'Just a moment, sir. I'll see if he's in.'
She spoke softly in a phone, listened a moment. Then, to Manny: 'Please sit down, sir. He'll be with you in a few minutes.'
The investigator sat in an orange plastic chair and picked up a month-old copy of Business Week. He read a short article on inside trading, then tossed the magazine aside. He stared at the receptionist, who was typing away busily. She had short brown ringlets, and Manny thought her ears were exquisito. The lobes were flushed and plump. He could go loco nibbling on one of those lobes.
Finally a skinny, suntanned guy came out of a back door and beckoned. Suarez followed him into an inner office. It was a square chamber, sparsely furnished. The desk, chair, and file cabinet looked ready to collapse, and the tiled floor was stained and scarred with cigarette burns. The man didn't sit down and didn't ask Manny to sit.
'Looking for a job?' he asked. Cold voice.
'Tha's right.'
'How did you hear about this place?'
Suarez shrugged. 'You know how word gets around. Maybe some of your yaks are mouthy guys. That's why they're yaks-am I right?'
'Uh-huh. Well, I'm Sidney Coe. I own the joint. What's your name?'
'Manuel Suarez.'
'Cuban?'
'Mexican,' Manny said, figuring this Anglo would never know the difference in the accents.
'You live in south Florida?' Coe asked.
'Now I do.'
'Where you from?'
'San Diego.'
'How come you left?'
'I had a little trouble.'
'Yeah?' Coe said. 'How little?'
Manny hung his head and shuffled his feet. 'Eighteen months,' he said in a low voice.
Coe nodded. 'That's a little trouble, all right. What were the eighteen months for?'
'I was selling aluminum siding.'
Coe laughed. 'That scam will never die. You ever sell by telephone?'
'No, but I know I can do it. I can talk fast and hard.'
'I don't know,' Coe said doubtfully. 'You sound Spanish. I'm not sure the mooches will go for that.'
'Look, mister,' Manny said, 'you got Hispanic names on your sucker list-am I right? There are plenty of rich Cubans, Mexicans, Salvadorans, Nicaraguans in the country. Let me talk to the Hispanics in their own language. I ask how is their health, are their families well, how do they like the United Sta'. Hispanics like that: the personal touch. Right away they trust me. Then, when we're friends, companeros, I give them the hard sell.'
Coe stared at him a moment. 'Yeah,' he said finally, 'that might work. Let's try it. Come with me.'
'Wait, wait,' Suarez said hastily. 'How much you pay?'
'Strictly commish. Ten percent. The harder you work, the richer you get. Some of my yaks clear a grand a week. How does that sound?'
'Hokay,' Manny said.
15
Rathbone rose early and showered, shaved, dressed. He went downstairs where Blanche and Theodore were laughing in the kitchen. David had a small tomato juice and told them he'd be back soon to have breakfast on the terrace.
There was a heavy morning fog, but he knew that would burn off as the sun strengthened. He drove to a nearby mini-mall that included a drugstore selling out-of-town newspapers. He parked and noticed, on the other side of the mall, a newly installed line of newspaper-vending machines. One was the distinctive blue box of The New York Times' national edition.
Rathbone walked over, fishing two quarters from his pocket. He dropped them in the slot, pulled down the front lid. Glancing around to make certain no one was watching, he took two copies of the Times from the box and let the lid slam shut.
One newspaper he tossed onto the front seat of the Bentley. The other copy he carried into the drugstore.
'My wife bought this,' he said, smiling at the clerk. 'It's today's paper. But she didn't know I had already bought a copy. I wonder if I can get a refund.'
'Sure,' the young man said. 'No problem.'
He took the newspaper and handed David two quarters.
'Thank you very much,' Rathbone said.
He drove home, noting the fog was already thinning. It promised to be a warm, sunny day, but maybe a little humid. Rita was still sleeping, so he breakfasted alone on the terrace. Theodore served California strawberries, a toasted bagel with a schmear of cream cheese, and black coffee. Rathbone read the Business Day section of his newspaper as he ate-paying particular attention to activities in the Chicago commodity pits- and had a second cup of coffee.
He was just leaving when Rita came straggling out, wearing his terry robe.
'I guess I overslept,' she said.
'Not really,' he said, kissing her cheek. 'It's still early. But I'd better get to my office. Work, work, work.''
'Rather you than me,' she said, and yawned.
He sat before his computer screen and took a look at balances in his checking accounts. He maintained both personal and corporate accounts. But because the government provided deposit insurance of only $100,000, he used several banks with no account in excess of the cap.
He was working on a schedule of deposits and withdrawals when his phone rang.
'David Rathbone Investment Management,' he said. 'David Rathbone speaking.'
'This is Tommy.'
'How're you doing, Tommy?'
'Okay. Can we meet?'
