I smiled. “You must like him a lot.”
Greenfeld contemplated that. “‘Loathe’ isn’t a bad word. ‘Despise’ is OK, too.” He dismissed his brother-in- law. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. I’ve had a shitty day. I wanted a good stiff drink and the pleasure of your company. I’m expecting you to emulate the bright chatter of the Algonquin round table, playing all six members, while I listen and get drunk.”
He looked curious. “Were there six members of the Algonquin round table?”
“Christ, Lane, I don’t know.”
His grin reappeared. “Why not?”
Our drinks arrived, brought by a waiter so quiet and efficient he blended into the bar. The bar itself was small and pleasantly dark, with small squares of silver glass on the wall, picking up fragments of light. A few patrons drifted in, looking for the first drink. I picked up my martini. I like the first martini of the evening. It tastes clean and new, especially if you get it before the bar crowds up and the air gets noisy and stale with smoke. I sipped. The martini almost felt like a fresh start.
Greenfeld put his drink down. “What’s happening with your Lasko case?”
“Nothing much. I met Lasko today, though. He and Catlow were over at the commission.”
His eyebrows raised. “Did you learn anything?”
I shook my head. “Nothing, except that I don’t like them worth a damn.”
“What did they do?”
“Mainly tried to walk all over me.”
He smiled. “That’s not unusual.” The smile faded. “You know, I saw that one of Lasko’s executives was killed by a car the other day. In Boston.”
I nodded. “I read the article.” I spoke as casually as possible. I couldn’t prove murder. And to suggest it to Greenfeld might wind up losing me the case. But my little game felt pretty bizarre, like denying that Lehman had ever existed.
I couldn’t tell whether Greenfeld was looking dubious, or just thoughtful. I sipped my drink, picking around for a change of subject. “What do you hear about Justice’s antitrust case against Lasko? Is it going ahead, is the White House dropping it, or what?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Does the White House know about your Lasko thing?”
I could give him that much. “I’m sure they do.”
His thin smile appeared fleetingly, then vanished in thought. “That puts your agency in a touchy position, doesn’t it?”
“So it would seem. Have you anything that can help me?”
He stared at me questioningly. “You sound like you need help.”
I grinned, trying to sound careless. “I always need help.”
He thought. “I’ve heard one thing, thirdhand, from my fabulous selection of sources. Lasko is supposed to be busy in the Caribbean, buying secretly into banks, dummy corporations, things like that. Someplace like the Netherlands Antilles, with no regulation, where your boys can’t get them.”
“Does your friend know what for?”
He shook his head. “Getting information out of the Lasko organization is not the easiest thing in the world. But hell, Chris, that’s your line of work. Have you ever heard of a Netherlands Antilles corporation that was straight?”
I smiled. “Maybe two or three.”
“So what does that suggest?”
“I don’t know. Lots of people have used them. Bernie Cornfeld and the boys from Investors Overseas Services, for instance. But I’d have to know more, like how that relates to stock manipulation, if at all.”
“So you think Lasko did this stock manipulation?”
“I don’t know that either. Honestly.”
He accepted that, and ordered another drink. I did the same. The subject of Lasko was dropped by tacit consent. “I’m taking a nice-looking girl to dinner,” he announced cheerfully. “Why don’t you get a date and join us? We’re going to Nathan’s. Then there’s an old flick on the box tonight. The Big Sleep. Bogart doing Philip Marlowe.”
Greenfeld was a film nut. “How many times have you seen that one, Lane?”
He stared at the ceiling. “At least five,” he concluded.
I grinned. “Thanks anyhow. I think I’m going to sack out.”
Greenfeld wagged his head in a burlesque of disappointment. “You’re missing a great film. Probably not a bad dinner, either.” His voice turned wry. “Are you between meaningful relationships?” The ironic phrase seemed somehow directed at himself. It reminded me of Lynette.
“I guess so. I seem to have backed into something that’s very strange and doesn’t know where it’s going.”
He smiled reflectively at his empty martini. “I know the kind.” I was curious about Lynette. But not curious enough to ask. We paid the bill and left.
“Have a good sleep, Chris,” he said when we reached the sidewalk. “I’ll probably know by nine which one of us is better off.” He roared off toward the evening in his Alfa-Romeo, silver-white. I dragged home in someone else’s Checker taxi, dirty yellow.
I locked the apartment door carefully, and stared at the messy bed and the borrowed shirt that Mary had flung on a bedpost. Two nights of half-sleep and three days with Lehman’s death caved in on me. I fell into bed and a black, bottomless sleep.
I woke up somewhere in the Netherlands Antilles, thinking about Lasko. The clock wrenched me into lucidity. 10:15. Robinson would already be in, looking at the Lasko documents. I took a quick shower, threw on blue jeans and a T-shirt, and looked out the window. It was sunny. I headed for the agency on foot.
East Capitol had stirred to life with young people, doing their Saturday things. Across the street a bearded type was carrying a bag of laundry. A short blonde girl came toward me, clutching a bottle of wine for tonight’s dinner. She nodded as she passed. Up ahead, rising between the trees, the Capitol dome gleamed in the sun. Tourists clambered over the Hill peeking and peering like archaeologists on a dig. I cut through the Supreme Court grounds, passed the Senate Office Building, and got to the office. I took the elevator and walked through the empty corridors, the slapping of my feet bouncing echoes off the wall.
Robinson was already there, sitting on the floor amidst brown cardboard boxes which had been ripped open- the financial data from Lasko, scattered all over. I apologized for being late and took my place among the boxes. “Find anything interesting?” I asked.
“Not really. Have any luck with Woods?”
“Wasn’t in.” I remembered Greenfeld’s informant. “Anything here on new foreign acquisitions?”
He pointed at a box. “There was something like that in there.”
“Think you can find it?”
He nodded and dug through the box. After a while he emerged with a clutch of papers. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “You know what electronic chips are?”
“Sure. They’re little chips which are electronic conductors. Lasko would use them in his computers, stuff like that.”
He fiddled with his glasses, looking like a myopic professor puzzling over his notes. “Lasko has been importing most of his chips from Japan. Gets them from an outfit known as Yokama Electric, according to what I read here. About a month ago, he buys a little company called Carib Imports.” He pointed to the stack of papers near his feet. “The sales agreement is in here somewhere. You can look at it. The business of Carib Imports is importing electronic chips. Its location is some little island in the Caribbean-St. Maarten. That’s Dutch, isn’t it?”
“Yup, I think it’s in the Virgins.” I took a handful of documents and thumbed through them, stopping to read over the contract. I finished the rest with rising curiosity.
“Say anything to you?” Robinson asked.
“The whole thing is interesting. I can’t figure what a company on some two-bit island is doing importing computer chips. I don’t see why Lasko would buy it. There’s no business reason. He can probably get the chips from Yokama for less. And the timing of it is strange too. He bought it about one week after Sam Green acquired all that
