What?
I don’t have any idea where he is.
Oh ye of little faith, she said.
She fished into her purse. Pulled out a pack of matches. Handed it to me. Inside, a telephone number.
Cell phone?
Little faith, but quick off the mark.
She strode out of Starbucks. She looked good from the rear. Hell, she looked good from every angle.
75.
I looked at the phone number. What the hell was I going to say to this guy to get him to meet me? What was I going to say to him if he did?
For lack of something more creative, I decided to try the truth.
I dialed the number.
A voice answered. A smooth voice. Smooth, but not friendly.
Raul here, it said.
Raul?
Here.
Ah. Raul, we’ve never met. But I was hoping you might have a few minutes to chat.
Chat?
He said it as if it were a word he hadn’t heard before.
Talk for a few minutes. Place of your choosing. I’m buying.
Who are you? I’d forgotten that bit.
I’m Rick Redman. I’m a lawyer. I’m representing your brother.
My brother doesn’t have a lawyer.
He hung up.
Well, I thought. What was that all about?
I sipped my coffee.
Oh. Maybe he’d misunderstood.
I called back.
Raul here.
Your other brother, I said quickly. Your adoptive brother.
Long silence.
Raul?
Yes?
Jules. I represent Jules. Your father hired me. We spoke briefly the other day. About the bail.
And?
And I’d like just a few minutes of your time. Like I said, wherever you like. Whenever’s convenient.
Long pause.
Okay, he said.
All right. Thank you. I really appreciate it. I won’t take much of your time. Where would you like to meet?
Here.
Happy to do that. If you would be so kind as to tell me where ‘here’ is.
My place.
Could I have the address?
He gave it to me. Park Avenue. The bachelor pad. I was looking forward to seeing it.
I’ll be there in half an hour, I said.
I grabbed a cab. The driver smelled of shawarma and aluminum foil. On the way I called up Laura. Made an appointment. To have some living part of myself purloined.
She was pleased.
I wasn’t.
The twins’ place was a standard Upper East Side fortress. Massive block construction. Elegant multipaned windows. In every one a very fancy set of drapes. Uniformed doorman. Red jacket. Epaulets. Obsequious air.
Rick Redman for Raul FitzGibbon, I said.
He’s expecting you, he replied.
My. The personal touch.
Mr. Epaulet led me to the end of a narrow marble corridor. There was a single elevator there. In the elevator there was one unmarked button.
Nice to have your own.
I pressed the button.
The elevator rose.
It was silent, smooth. A sleek ride.
The elevator opened silently, right into a large, opulent living room. The walls were upholstered in burgundy silk. The furniture was lavish. Old. Polished to a moneyed glow. The drapes were heavy gold brocade, and closed. The room was lit by innumerable small lamps. Every surface seemed to have one.
A faint sweet odor permeated the place.
A pretty woman wearing a maid’s costume straight from central wardrobe urged me to sit on a massive dark green couch. I sank into it at least a foot.
When the time comes, I thought, it’s going to be hard to get out of this thing.
Please, sir, can I get you something? asked the maid.
I had expected some kind of foreign accent. I got Texas. Well, you can’t be right all the time.
She had a nice bit of cleavage going though.
I’ll have a Scotch, I said. On the rocks.
Live dangerously, I thought. Hell, you already are.
Miss Texas brought me a Scotch in a giant snifter. I stuck my nose in it. Smoke. Peat. Laphroaig. Had to be. The guy had good taste in single malts.
Raul entered.
He was an elegant sonofabitch, too. I had to give him that. He was dressed in black. Italian suit. Highly polished black shoes. Black silk shirt. One of those deep, deep tans that don’t seem real. His hair looked like it cost more than my car. If I had a car.
I saw the family resemblance, but it wasn’t striking. Non-identical, I concluded. One theory out the door.
I struggled to stand up. The couch enveloped me. He smiled a charming smile.
No, no, he said, don’t get up.
His English was cultivated, flawless. No Spanish accent. I didn’t know why I’d expected one. They’d come here young, I reminded myself. Been here at least a decade.
He walked over, extended a hand. His grip was firm and dry.
He seemed less like his brother every moment.
He sat in the matching armchair across the room. He looked absurdly far away. Like I’d have to shout for him to hear me.
There was some idle chatter. I complimented the decor. Asked about the paintings on the walls.
I understand you had something to do with the White Swallow, I said.
Raul smiled.
Yes. We helped out a bit.
We?
Ramon and I.
