Rathbone stared at him. 'I've got a way,' he said. 'Tommy needs a fast 10K. Says there's a payment due on the copying machine. You'll have the legit cash by tomorrow?'
'Noon at the latest. The courier from Miami is coming tonight. Almost two hundred thousand. I sign for it. He leaves. I take out thirty grand in legit bills and replace them with this 30K of queer. Tomorrow morning I drive up to Boca and deliver the package to Mike Mulligan. He gives me a signed deposit slip. That's it.'
'All right,' David said. 'I'll call Tommy and tell him I've raised the ten thousand he needs. He comes down to Lauderdale, meets me at the Palace, and I hand over the ten grand. That's when the Corcorans pick him up and do their job. Their fee will be in Tommy's pocket. How does it play?'
'Like Hamlet,' Bartlett said. 'I'm glad you're on my side. But what happens when Tommy doesn't return to Lakeland? The German will wonder what happened to him and worry about losing the machine.'
'I'll drive up there and snow him,' David said. 'I'll tell him Tommy got drunk, messed up, and is in the clink. He'll buy it. I'll give him ten grand for the machine and promise more to come. And I'll get him started on a new batch of the queer. Okay?'
'Sounds good to me. Order fifty thousand in fifties and hundreds. I have a feeling this deal is going to work out just fine.'
'Can't miss.'
'Then why do you look so down?'
'I guess it's because I've got to finger Tommy for the Corcorans.'
'It has to be done.'
'Sure,' Rathbone said. 'When are we going to Miami to make a buy for the Fund?'
'I'm working on it. The dealer I want to use is in Peru right now, but he's due back in a week or so.'
'How much do you think we'll have to pay?'
'I'm hoping to get it for 13K per kilo. That would give the Fund a profit of ninety-seven thousand, five hundred on our first deal.' 'Beautiful,' David said. 'Will your guy take a check?'
'I don't see why not; we're not asking immediate delivery. We have enough in the Fund's account to cover it, don't we?'
'More than enough. Will he sign a contract?'
'I think he will. We don't have the muscle to enforce it, but he doesn't know that. But contract or not, he'll make delivery. He's an honorable man.'
'We're all honorable men,' Rathbone said, and they both laughed and poured more lemonade.
44
Henry Ullman was sticking close to Mike Mulligan in Boca. Four evenings a week he met the banker for drinks at the Navigator Bar amp; Grill. And on Saturday nights, Ullman took a bottle or two to Mulligan's pad, and they hoisted a few while waiting for the guests to arrive.
Ullman figured the mousy banker had about a dozen women on the string. Some showed up alone, there were a few duos, and one trio: all reasonably clean and attractive, not too old, and marvelously complaisant after dipping into the toilet tank in Mulligan's bathroom.
Henry wondered if, in the line of duty, he should be banging women zonked out of their gourds on high-quality coke. It was an ethical dilemma, and it bothered him for at least thirty seconds.
He didn't have drinks at the Navigator with Mulligan on Friday evenings because on Fridays the Crescent was open till seven p.m. to cash paychecks and take deposits. Mike worked late, and Ullman spent the evening writing out his weekly report for Tony Harker. It was usually a brief, uneventful account, although Henry included the names of Mulligan's female guests and their addresses if he could discover them.
Then, one Saturday night, just two days before Christmas, he showed up at Mulligan's apartment with two bottles of Korbel brut, and the weekly orgies came to a screeching halt.
When the banker opened the door, he looked like death warmed over. His poplin suit had obviously been slept in, there were food stains on his vest and gray stubble on his chin. Even worse, the man was crying; fat tears were dripping down his cheeks onto his wrinkled lapels.
'Mike,' Ullman said, closing the door quickly behind him, 'what in God's name is wrong?'
Mulligan shook his head, said nothing, but collapsed onto the couch. He leaned forward, face in his hands, shuddering with sobs. Ullman took his champagne into the kitchen. The place was a mess: unwashed dishes, encrusted pans, a broken glass. The agent found a bottle of bourbon in the freezer. He poured a healthy jolt into a clean tumbler and brought it to the banker.
'Come on, Mike,' he said gently, 'take a sip and tell me what's wrong.'
Mulligan took the drink with trembling hands and gulped it down. Then coughed and coughed. Ullman waited for the paroxysm to subside, then asked again, 'What's wrong?'
The other man wouldn't look at him; he just stared dully at the carpet. 'I'm thirty thousand short at the bank,' he said in a low voice.
'And that's what knocked you for a loop? It's just a bookkeeping error, Mike; you'll find it.'
Mulligan shook his head. 'It was a cash deposit. I signed for it without counting it. Then, last night, I discovered it was thirty thousand short.'
'I don't understand,' Ullman said, but beginning to. 'How much was the total deposit?'
'Almost two hundred thousand.'
Ullman whistled, then put an arm across the man's
thin shoulders. 'Tell me all about it,' he said softly. 'I may be able to help.'
'I was just doing a favor for a close friend. I swear that's all it was.'
'So you accepted cash deposits over ten thousand and didn't report them?'
'So much paperwork,' Mulligan said. 'Besides, we only held the funds for a short time and then they would go out in drafts.'
'But Crescent profited while the money was in the bank-right? Short-term paper? Overnight loans?'
'Yes.'
'Who authorized the drafts? The depositor-your close friend?'
'No. The president of the corporate account authorized the drafts.'
'Who was that?'
'Mitchell Korne. It was just a name to me. I never met the man.'
'Who were the drafts paid to?'
'Another bank.'
'Where?'
'Panama.'
'How long has this been going on, Mike?'
'Two years. At least.'
'You knew it was drug money?'
Mulligan stared at him with the wide-eyed, innocent look of a guilty man. 'I suspected but I had no proof. It could have been the cash proceeds from a real estate sale.''
'Oh sure,' Ullman said. 'Or a yacht. Let's get back to your shortage. When was the deposit made?'
'Yesterday morning.'
'In the lobby of the bank? Over the counter?'
'No. Back door.' 'So the tellers didn't know about it?'
'No.'
'Someone else in the bank must have known. Vice president? President?'
'They knew, but they let me handle it.'
'I can imagine. All right, the two hundred grand was deposited at the back door of the bank yesterday morning and you signed for it without counting it.'
'It would have taken a long time. It was Friday and I was busy. Besides, previous deposits had always been accurate to the dollar.'
