paneling and protected by a burglar alarm along with its own lock system. The bills were all hundreds, fifty in each banded stack, eighty stacks each containing five thousand dollars. He'd counted them out and tossed three and four stacks at a time into a woven plastic bushel basket Francine used for laundry.
She didn't have to do the laundry herself, for God's sake. She could hire all the help she needed, he'd told her that often enough. But she liked that, she was old-fashioned, she liked cooking and cleaning and keeping house.
He picked up the phone, held the receiver at arm's length, then dropped it in its cradle. Don't call anyone, the man had said. Who would I call? he'd demanded.
Who had done this to him? Set him up, stolen his wife away from him. Who would do something like that?
Well, maybe a lot of people would. Maybe anybody would, if they thought they could get away with it.
He picked up the phone again. It was clean, untapped. The whole house was free of bugs, as far as that went. He had two devices, both of them supposed to be state of the art, ought to be for what they cost him.
One was a telephone-tap alert, installed in the phone line. Any change in the voltage, resistance, or capacitance anywhere on the line and he'd know it. The other was a TrackLock, automatically scanning the radio spectrum for hidden microphones. Five, six grand he'd paid for the two units, something like that, and it was worth it if it kept his private conversations private.
Almost a shame there hadn't been cops listening the past couple of hours. Cops to trace the caller, come down on the kidnappers, bring Francey back to him—
No, last thing he needed. Cops would just fuck up the whole thing beyond recognition. He had the money. He'd pay it, and he'd either get her back or he wouldn't. Things you can control and things you can't—
he could control paying the money, control how that went to some degree, but he couldn't control what happened afterward.
Don't call anyone.
Who would I call?
He picked up the phone one more time and dialed a number he didn't have to look up. His brother answered on the third ring.
He said, 'Petey, I need you out here. Jump in a cab, I'll pay for it, but get out here right away, you hear me?'
A pause. Then, 'Babe, I'd do anything for you, you know that—'
'So jump in a cab, man!'
'— but I can't be in anything has to do with your business. I just can't, babe.'
'It's not business.'
'What is it?'
'It's Francine.'
'Jesus, what's the matter? Never mind, you'll tell me when I get out there. You're at home, right?'
'Yeah, I'm at home.'
'I'll get a cab. I'll be right out.'
WHILE Peter Khoury was looking for a cabdriver willing to take him to his brother's house inBrooklyn , I was watching a group of reporters on ESPN discussing the likelihood of a cap on players' salaries.
It didn't break my heart when the phone rang. It was Mick Ballou, calling from the town ofCastlebar inCountyMayo . The line was clear as a bell; he might have been calling from the back room at Grogan's.
'It's grand here,' he said. 'If you think the Irish are crazy inNew York you should meet them on their own home ground. Every other storefront's a pub, and no one's out the door before closing hour.'
'They close early, don't they?'
'Too bloody early by half. In your hotel, though, they have to serve drink at any hour to any registered guest that wants it. Now that's the mark of a civilized country, don't you think?'
'Absolutely.'
'They all smoke, though. They're forever lighting cigarettes and offering the pack around. The French are even worse that way. When I was over there visiting my father's people they were peeved with me for not smoking. I believe Americans are the only people in the world who've had the sense to give it up.'
'You'll still find a few smokers in this country, Mick.'
'Good luck to them, then, suffering through plane rides and films and all the rules against it in public places.' He told a long story about a man and a woman he'd met a few nights before. It was funny and we both laughed, and then he asked about me and I said I was all right. 'Are you, then,' he said.
'A little restless, maybe. I've had time on my hands lately. And the moon's full.'
'Is it,' he said. 'Here, too.'
'What a coincidence.'
'But then it's always full overIreland . Good job it's always raining so you don't have to look at it all the time. Matt, I've an idea. Get on a plane and come over here.'
'What?'
'I'll bet you've never been toIreland .'
