departing guests ebbs, Bessemer steps up.
His shirt is dotted with sweat, his jacket is a limp balloon, and his tie has surrendered. He pushes a hand through his thin hair and puts it on Prager’s arm. His head bends close. Carr can’t hear what he says, though he and Bessemer have been over it enough that Carr knows it by heart. But he has no trouble hearing Prager’s reply.
Prager shakes Bessemer’s hand off, and his face is an aggravated red. “For chrissakes, Bess-this can’t wait until business hours? What the hell do you think I am, a fucking teller?”
Rink, the guards, the parking attendants, and the few guests who remain turn their heads. Prager doesn’t seem to care, and neither does Bessemer. He’s a determined petitioner, and his hand goes to Prager’s shoulder. This time Carr catches some fragments of his speech -serious guy and wants it yesterday and not kidding.
Prager shakes his head, but his expression slowly cools from anger to a resigned acceptance of what seems to be his fate today. “All right, already,” Carr hears him say wearily.
When he gets into the passenger seat, Bessemer’s hands are shaking. Carr looks at him, and Bessemer answers before the question is asked. “He said he’d do it soon. He said he’d call when it was done.”
Carr pats his knee and drives through the gate.
They rendezvous off Rum Point Drive, beside a snack shack damaged by some long-ago storm and never repaired. The parking lot is weedy and cracked. The nearby cove is empty but for the open fishing boat, rocking at anchor. Bobby and Latin Mike stand on the narrow, shingle beach. They’re in blue shorts, polo shirts, and ball caps, watching the clouds and drinking beer.
Bobby turns when the car pulls in. “Man of the hour,” he says, smiling. He lifts his beer bottle in a toast. “From the motherfucking jaws of defeat.”
Mike smiles too. His teeth are very white. “You like the show, jefe? You like the time we gave you?”
Carr sheds his jacket and shoes and socks. Something loosens in his shoulders. “I liked it fine, Mike,” he says, smiling back. “You guys were fucking amazing.” He’s surprised by how much he means it.
“And Howie?” Bobby asks. “How’d he do?”
Bessemer laughs nervously. “I was fucking amazing too.”
“Fuckin’ a,” Bobby says, and there’s laughter all around. Bobby passes out more beers and they toast. Mike takes a long pull and wipes his mouth. “What’s soon to Prager?”
Carr shrugs. “Howie told him it had to be today, and he’s flying to London tomorrow morning, so…”
“Phone charged up, Howie?” Bobby asks.
“A hundred percent,” Bessemer says, and Bobby nods approvingly.
They watch a boat go by, east to west, a mile or so out. Carr can see flags, many antennae, and a big radar array. He turns to Bobby. “The WaveRunners?” he asks.
“Wiped clean, in pieces, on the bottom,” Bobby says.
Carr nods, and the boat passes from view. He takes a long swallow and exhales and all the air seems to leave him. He can already feel the beer. He closes his eyes and listens to the wind in the ironwood trees, the waves against the shingle, and Bobby, Mike, and Bessemer laughing at something. The water washes over his feet, and he’s not sure if he can move again.
Carr stands this way for he doesn’t know how long, and when Bessemer asks for another beer, he opens his eyes. Bobby hands the beer over and Bessemer’s phone rings.
Bessemer freezes, and Carr takes the bottle from his hand. “You should see who that is,” he says quietly.
Bessemer reaches into his pocket. He stares into the phone’s display. “It’s him.”
Bobby shakes his head. “Soon was soon,” he says.
Carr nods. “Nice and easy now, Howie.”
Bessemer swallows hard and thumbs a button. “ ’Lo, Curt,” he says. His voice is brittle and high. Head bowed, he listens intently. Carr sees his fingers whiten around the phone. Finally, Bessemer nods. “I can’t thank you enough, Curt-you’re a lifesaver. Have a great trip, and I’ll call when-”
Bessemer takes the phone from his ear and looks at it. “The bastard hung up on me.”
“Fuck that,” Mike says. “Did he do it?”
Bessemer nods. “Thirty-seven thousand transferred from Isla Privada to my Palm Beach bank.”
Bobby and Mike exchange high fives just as Carr’s phone burrs. He steps away and answers. Dennis’s voice is a shaking whisper. “We got it,” he says. “Prager’s password. We got all the parts now.”
“Nice work,” Carr says quietly. “You finish cleaning up; those two will be back to give you a hand.” He closes the phone and turns around. Bobby, Mike, and Bessemer stare at him-eager and frightened. Carr nods and smiles.
They don’t sigh in unison, but there is something in their collective silence that feels that way-relief, release, deflation. They look at one another and smile and shake their heads in disbelief. And then they are in motion. Mike wades out to the boat. Bessemer heads back to the Toyota, and Carr takes Bobby’s elbow.
“Nice and clean at the house, Bobby, and nice and easy at the airport.”
Bobby laughs. “I know-we’re not done yet.”
“Almost, but not quite. So let’s not-”
Bobby laughs harder. “I know, for chrissakes -yer not home till yer home. ”
Carr smiles at him. “So let’s get there in one piece.”
Mike starts the engine and calls to Bobby. “Come on, cabron, this weather’s not holding, and I want to make the earlier flight.”
Bobby looks at Carr, and behind him, at Bessemer. “What about your housekeeping?”
Carr’s stomach knots and a prickle of sweat breaks on his forehead. “It’s covered, Bobby.”
“We could take care of it here and now.”
“I said it’s covered.”
Bobby shrugs. Mike brings the boat in close, and Bobby climbs in, and they roar off toward Rum Point. Carr stares at the clouds stacking in the east.
Bessemer is behind the wheel on the way back to the hotel, driving carefully, and Carr is in the passenger seat making calls. His first one is to Tina.
The tension is plain in her voice, and so is the relief when Carr tells her. “Christ,” she says chuckling, “you couldn’t have called sooner?”
“I waited until I knew for sure.”
“The way you were at Logan, I figured hearing from you today was at best a sixty-forty thing.”
“Happy I could disappoint you.”
“Your guys are buttoning up?”
“And flying out, assuming this storm doesn’t shut things down.”
“They should be okay.”
“Watching the Weather Channel, are you?”
“What else am I supposed to do while I’m waiting for you to call?”
Tina asks about flight times and arrivals and when he expects to be in Boca, at Amy Chun’s place. Carr answers, but his mind is already on his next call.
Valerie’s voice is a taut whisper. “You fucking asshole. You know how long you left me hanging? What the fuck happened?”
“It’s done.”
There’s silence on the other end, and then a long breath. “Don’t bullshit me.”
“I’m not. We’ve got it.”
Another silence, longer this time. “So that’s it then,” she says finally.
Carr glances at Bessemer, whose gaze is fixed on the roadway. “Almost. I’ll call you when I get in. How are things there?”
“I’m at her place now. She should be home in a couple of hours.”
“We’ll see you there tomorrow.”
“And then what?”
“What do you mean? And then we’re done.”
“I’m talking about afterward. You made any decisions about that? ’Cause I know where I’m going; I just want to know if I’m going there alone.”
