Slice

“You know, Mr. De Witt, if you'd cooperate with us it could make a big difference for you.” He sounded so warm and friendly. “This is the time to work something out, you know?'

“Commere.” De Witt gestured with his head. “Lean over here an’ I'll tell ya somethin'.” As the agent leaned over slightly De Witt hawked up a big goober of bloody phlegm and spat it into the man's face.

“OH FOR CHRIST'S—” The man watching all of this through the one-way got up, his wooden chair scraping on the floor, and walked into an adjoining office, where he picked up a phone, dialing.

“Howard Krug,” the SAC said, picking up his private line.

“No goodski. Sorry.'

“You didn't really believe that animal was going to fall apart behind some bad cop/good cop, did you?'

“Nope. So what now? What, uh, you want me to put Joe back in there for a while?'

“Huh uh. Just put ‘m back in lockup and pull James Lee in and see what you can do.'

“How long I get with Lee before Buckhead and IAD are in on it?'

“What do you need?'

“Can we keep him overnight?'

“Negative.'

“Well?'

“Pull him in and act like you got him nailed. The usual. Keep him till close of business. You know, five-thirty, six o'clock tops. Cut him loose and let him go home for supper to think about it.'

“You got it.'

“Remember—he won't know they got to John Monroe somehow, so make sure you don't tip it.'

“He's gonna know when he goes home tonight.'

“Maybe so. But just play it like he doesn't know. Maybe we'll get lucky. Depends what kind of poker player he is.'

“Okay. We'll see what happens.'

“Call me later at home.'

“Will do. I'll let you know.'

“Just a couple things. First make sure first thing you do is the bit about the special, hidden cam we got him on in the entranceway. Run that right at the beginning. Don't wait for him to crumple. He'll stonewall. You just gloss over it like you don't care if he denies. Then—'

“Right, he's gonna go, Hey, that's bullshit, or whatever, and I can just say, like, I shrug and say, Hey, you and your attorney will have a copy to study. I mean it's all there where he picks up the money, I mean where YOU pick up the money, and if he goes, BULLSHIT you couldn't have it because I didn't do it, I just shrug as if I expected him to say that and plow right into the next thing.'

“Remember, though, somewhere before you cut him loose you're gonna have to say something like, Hell, man I was just kidding. You want to leave it as light as you can. I was just puttin’ you on, Jimmie old boy. I mean, you never know how bent outta shape these guys are gonna get and—just remember you might have to get on the stand behind this.'

“Okay,” the agent said, thinking to himself, What a schmuck.

“Now, let's say he's a good actor. He stonewalls. He didn't do it. No way. Not only do we have this famous surveillance cam in the entranceway, all that shit, but then that's when you hit him with the business about the computer-enhanced crap. Simulation-of-sequence time study. All that crap. I mean, we got him there. He's righteous for it.'

“Right.'

“We've looked at the pictures and we've got you picking up on camera. And in the study you can see that mathematically you were the only one coulda got the money—'

“What about John Monroe, do we—'

“Oh, yeah! That's the other thing. Imperative you don't let Lee know that John Monroe's been killed.'

“Sure. Gotcha. I meant, we make sure he thinks, you know, there's no way the perps could have got the money out of the bank. The polys, all that.'

“Right. Just stonewall it,” he told him, breaking off the connection. What a schmuck, the agent thought. General Stonewall, he thought contemptuously, which is the nickname by which SAC Krug was known within the Bureau.

STOBAUGH

Chaingang was wailing away at the vetch, what there was left of it, and sensed eyes on him. Slowly he let the swings of the weed slinger turn him around and squinted through darkened lenses at the image of Michael Hora walking up to him. He stopped what he was doing and wiped sweat from his neck and forehead.

“Yo.'

“Hey.'

“We gotta talk.'

“Mmm?'

“See where they still haven't found them three dudes disappeared up around the New Cairo Drain. Man, that's really sompin'—people vanishing like that.'

“Yeah.” Chaingang just looked at him.

“Hey, my man.” Chaingang not moving. “Awful lot of people goin’ up in smoke lately, ya know?'

“Yeah?” He noticed Hora had a hand back in his hip pocket. Probably a piece in there. He was well out of reach of a thrown chain or a whipsickle.

“Yeah,” he said.

“So.” Chaingang moved slightly and Hora tensed.

“Too many folks turnin’ up missing. Gonna have to call it a day, ya know.'

“Whatdya mean.'

“I think you all better be moving on. No offense, my man, but I don't want any problems. I've already had heat around asking questions and shit.'

“I'm paid up for this month.'

“That was then. This is now. This is different. You got to git.'

Neither of them blinked. After a couple of heartbeats Chaingang said, “How much time you give me to get out?'

“Now. Pack up, my man. Got to do it. Sorry.” The hand still in the hip pocket. The eyes hard and cold.

“How much more to finish out the month?'

“Can't do it.'

“Five thousand cash?'

“Wheeeew,” he whistled. “I might could handle that. Up front with the money, of course.'

“Yeah.'

“When?'

“I go get it now if you want it.'

“Yeah. All right. But that's it, then. To the end of the month, but I make no guarantees if the cops come around again.'

“Okay.” This was the longest conversation they'd ever had. Hora backed away carefully and when he was out of range turned and walked quickly in the direction he bad come from.

Chaingang walked back to the sharecropper's shack and surprised Sissy, who was washing out some clothing in a tub, washing by hand, slowly, with an old-fashioned washboard, her belly swollen like she was carrying triplets.