not full of shit, this explains where some of the money went-though not all of it.”
“Bobby said Declan had the rest. If he did, then it went up with his van.”
“Maybe. You buy that Bobby and Mike had only half the cash?”
“Why lie about that? He’s no more of a shithead for walking off with the whole take than he is for walking off with half of it.”
“Maybe,” she says again. “And what about tipping off Bertolli? You don’t think those two had anything to do with that?”
“I think Bobby was telling the truth about that.”
“And you’ve proven to be such a good judge.”
Carr bites back his first response and rubs his chin. “They sell Declan to Bertolli, they sell themselves in the bargain. They were all getting shot at together.”
“If you buy Bobby’s version of events.”
“What about your witness-Bertolli’s runaway gunman-did he have orders to shoot at only two out of four guys?”
Tina shakes her head. “Maybe Bobby and Mike were willing to roll the dice-warn Bertolli and take a chance that in the ensuing shit storm Declan would get iced and they could split with the cash.”
“That’s a hell of a chance, Tina. Takes large brass balls to make that bet, or a tiny little brain.”
Tina shrugs skeptically. “Mike and Bobby don’t fit that profile? Well, you’d know better than I.
“But what about Fernando-what the fuck is he doing with these guys? Last I heard he was slapping up condos in Cabo or something. Guess the real estate market’s driven him back to a life of crime.” She shakes her head. “And Valerie in on it too-who’d have guessed she couldn’t be trusted?” Tina looks at Carr and smiles thinly.
“I don’t know what she’s in on, or since when.”
“Ask her-I’m sure she’ll give you a straight answer.”
Carr looks at the garden again. The wind has picked up and the flowers are shaking their heads at the darkening sky. “You don’t think she would?”
Tina’s laugh is like a blade. “It’s what you think that matters. Do you trust her-do you trust any of them-to do their jobs? This late in the game, that’s what it comes down to: honor among thieves.”
“Fuck trust-I’ll have their money. They need me if they want to get paid.”
“Now that’s a working relationship,” Tina says, nodding. She shifts on the sofa, stretching out her legs. “And speaking of which-what about our little project down south?”
“What about it?”
“The unanswered questions-who tipped Bertolli, and what happened to the rest of the cash-you want to spend more money on them? Should I keep asking around?”
There’s a rumble of thunder outside, and fat drops of rain against the glass. The garden is dark, the flower beds a uniform gray.
“Keep asking,” Carr says.***
The wind is gone and the rain falls straight and heavy; the short sprint from parking lot to lobby leaves Carr soaked. He shivers as he steps into the elevator and presses the fourth-floor button. He’s alone in the car and the door is nearly shut when a hand slides in and bumps it open again. And then Valerie is there, wet from the rain. She presses the button for three, waits for the door to close, and presses her mouth against his.
33
Howard Bessemer is a vision in seersucker: clear-eyed, pink-cheeked, hair slicked and shining-an altogether healthier vision than his recent diet should allow. He sits erect and alert in the passenger seat, scanning the approaching coast, the whitecaps, the immaculate sky, as Carr bears left off Frank Sound Road onto North Side Road. Bessemer’s window is down and his face is turned into the salt breeze, and he reminds Carr of a dog out for a ride.
“Day like today, you see why people move here,” Carr says.
Bessemer smiles. “Wait till you see Curt’s place. It’s not quite San Simeon, but it’s a hell of a spread.”
Carr nods. “Prager live there all by himself?”
“Him and the staff. Every now and then he sets up a girl in the guesthouse.”
“Girl as in girlfriend?”
“As in hooker,” Bessemer says, smirking. Carr lifts an eyebrow. “Always pricey, though. Very high- class.”
“No doubt,” Carr says.
They ride on in silence, Bessemer watching the sea, and Carr, despite their destination and the mounting tension, failing to keep his mind from the night before. Lack of sleep casts a dreamlike scrim over his memories of the evening-burnishing the images and shuffling their order.
Even from across the room, Valerie’s voice was close in his ear. “You want this job done, and so do I. I did what I had to do.”
Her hands were cold under his shirt. Her hair was wet and smelled like lilac and an airplane cabin.
“All I know about what happened down there is what Bobby and Mike told us. The first Mike said anything to me about euros was the day before we went to Miami.”
Her mouth tasted of airline wine, and it seemed to be everywhere at once.
“Bobby and Mike talked about Nando sometimes, and so did Deke, but I never met him until that day in Miami.”
Her dress was wet, and it peeled away like a shedding skin. She left it in a pile beside the minibar.
“Amy’s gone for two days, up in New York. I’m booked on the first flight back to Boca tomorrow morning.”
Her legs were smooth and slick, and the hollows of her neck were full of rain.
“Mike was going to pull out of the job if I didn’t help him wash his money-and he was going to take Bobby with him.”
Her room was on the third floor, overlooking treetops and a loading dock. She kept the lights off and opened the drapes.
“Bobby told Mike that you knew, and Mike told me, and then I got on a plane down here. I didn’t want to talk to you about this on the phone.”
Her lips were searing.
“The e-mail from that coffee bar? That was to Nando. He said no cell phones-messaging only. He was superparanoid.”
In the dim light, her skin was like matte gold.
“That afternoon, with Mike, that was the only time. You want this job done, and so do I. I do what I have to, and I’m not going to apologize for it.”
The rain grew heavier, and it made a tearing sound as it fell through the leaves.
“Have you thought any more about afterward-where you want to go, what you want to do? ’Cause if you haven’t, I’ve got ideas.”
North Sound Road becomes Rum Point Drive, and Bessemer clears his throat. “We’re coming to it,” he says, and a surge of adrenaline drags Carr from his reverie.
Prager’s property announces itself to their right, with a wrought-iron fence and high, dense shrubs that obscure the ocean view. A while longer and they reach the gate.
It’s tall and steel and topped with cameras, and adjoined by a green pastel bungalow. There are two men inside and Carr recognizes one of them from the airport tail. The man comes out wearing a trained smile and a Glock on his hip. He’s carrying an iPad and Carr sees two pictures on the screen: his own and Bessemer’s. The guard glances at the photos and at them and rests a hand on the car roof.
“Mr. Frye, Mr. Bessemer, welcome. Mr. Prager will meet you at the main house. Just stay on this drive-you can’t miss it.” As he speaks, the gate opens and he steps aside and waves them in.
