“It’s like a bad movie, Skip.”
Everything was quiet for a moment. I assumed Sarah was talking on the other end. Probably from her office.
“And the worst thing is, I don’t know any of the quotes.”
Conroy was rubbing his forehead, and I actually felt sorry for the guy. He was juggling his girlfriend, the former escort; his wife; his business; and dealing with the death of his vice president.
“I’ll tell your friend, Skip, to park his car at your place tonight. Just in case.” A pause. “One hour. You see me. In my office.”
He’d mentioned my name. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was.
James turned off the engine, and nodded toward the computer. “We should probably leave it on and see what else transpires.”
“Probably should.” I was hoping I wasn’t the topic of conversation again.
“So, why don’t you just turn that card over to Mrs. Conroy tomorrow, pardner? That would be the thing to do.”
“Well now, I can’t very well do that, can I?” She’d know my situation and cut me off. Damn. James knew it and I knew it. We were screwed.
“Amigo, we’re in a world of shit.”
I had to agree with him. Greed can get you into a whole lot of trouble.
“Skip, let’s talk to your girlfriend. As negative as she can be, she may have some very positive suggestions.”
All I could think about was how she’d roll her eyes, sigh, and let me know that she was tired of my immature attitude, tired of the situations I managed to get myself into, and tired of my best friend James. Oh well.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I called her when I walked in the door. The laptop continued to run on the kitchen table. Every once in a while I heard Sandy Conroy grunt, chuckle, laugh, or cough. I couldn’t wait to see what the conference between Sandy and Sarah was about.
“Skip?”
“Em. Can we meet at Ester’s?” Quick and formal.
“Ummm, yeah. You’re making this sound like a business meeting rather than a date.”
“Ummm. Yeah. It sort of is.”
“Doesn’t sound good.”
“No. No. No. It’s all good. I just need to run this idea by you.” I glanced at James and he nodded in affirmative.
“Okay. I’ll be there. What time?”
The movie probably had another twenty minutes to run. “Half an hour.”
“You’re not in more trouble, are you?”
“Me?”
She didn’t laugh.
I went back to our small kitchen table and stared at the computer screen. Nothing was happening, but Sandy Conroy’s clacking at his computer and occasional noisy outbursts kept the camera and microphone activated. The phone rang, and I looked around for a second. We don’t have a phone, just our cells.
“Yeah.”
Conroy waited a minute for the person on the other end.
“All right, you tell Jason Riley that we go into production in three weeks. Three weeks. And we need the codes by then. Hell, you tell him we need them before that. Some story about how we have to program in some stuff to the security system. We weren’t aware we needed them this soon, but since Tony Quatman isn’t around any more yada yada yada.”
More silence.
“Look, I don’t care what you tell him. You’re good at making things up. Just get the codes.” He shook his head back and forth and then slapped his desk with an open hand. The loud slap bounced off the cheap sound system in the computer. “I wish Ralph was handling it too, damn it. It worked a lot better that way. But he’s not with us anymore if you remember.” The person on the other end must have tried to abdicate some responsibility. I could almost see Conroy roll his eyes in disgust. “You’re in charge of it now. Do you understand? It’s in your hands.” The deliberation was taking entirely too much time and we didn’t have a lot of time.
Watching someone on the phone when they don’t know you’re watching, gives you a whole new understanding of how they react to situations. Conroy doodled on a pad, tapped his foot, kept looking around the room like he thought someone was hiding somewhere. The man was obviously very uncomfortable with the conversation. I checked my watch. Whoever was on the other end was taking a long time to make his case. Minutes went by and I checked my watch again. Finally Conroy spoke.
“Look, the thing with Ralph is taking care of itself. There’s nothing else they can prove. It’s going to be ruled a suicide.” He stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders. “No, I don’t care what his wife thinks. And we know that Tony, Julia, and her husband won’t be back anytime soon to discuss the matter with anyone. Understand this. It’s up to you. You’ve got to get it done. I told you. Everyone agrees that it’s in your hands.”
I’d heard the man with the scuffed shoes say that to Feng. It’s in your hands. What did it mean?
“I’ll take care of Carol.” Again with the doodling, the stretching, “It doesn’t matter what that means. I said I’ll take care of Carol, okay?”
This was taking far too long. Finally James and I watched Conroy hang up the phone, put his head back, and close his eyes. It was almost as if we were afraid to speak because he’d hear us and realize we were eavesdropping.
Quietly James said, “Did you get any of that?”
“Understand it? No.”
“Who was he talking to?” It could have been anyone.
“Where did Tony and Julia go? They won’t be back any time soon? What does that mean?”
“And, dude, all that stuff about the codes. Who is Jason Riley?”
Just then we heard the knock on the door. This time James was the one who cast a furtive glance at our apartment entrance before he realized the sound came from the video. Our original spy movie.
I checked my watch. We had ten minutes to get to Ester’s.
“James we can pick this up when we get back.”
“Amigo, no.”
“Sarah, is that you?” Conroy looked up from his computer.
“Dude, Em’s going to be pissed off enough as it is. No reason to start her off by being late. Okay?”
He gave me a mournful look. “Been waiting all day for this, pally. Would it hurt you to-”
“James, a couple more hours won’t kill you.”
“Hold on. It’s locked.” Conroy punched several keys and pushed himself back from the desk.
“Skip? Amigo-”
“Really, dude, we’ve got to take off.”
“Pick it up where we left off?”
“Promise.” Conroy was walking to the door and as he unlocked it I shut the computer down.
CHAPTER THIRTY
E ster’s has Southern cooking down pat. Grits and gravy to corn-bread and hash, these folks have it. But this wasn’t a grits and gravy meeting. Coffee and a clear head were all that we needed. And you fill your own coffee cup
