The Quality of the Informant

'I'll tell her that.' LaMonica headed down an escalator and made his way to the boarding gates. At the intersection of two busy corridors, he hid behind a ticket-counter partition. Moments later the man with the shaved head rushed past him like a hound after a rabbit. LaMonica checked his watch once again, then trotted to a boarding area at the opposite end of the airport. He approached a gate and gave a red-suited boarding agent his ticket.

'You just made it, Mr. Ross,' said the man. 'Please hurry. The flight is ready to depart.'

LaMonica rushed down the boarding ramp and onto the plane. He found his seat and fastened his seat belt.

The jumbo jet was only half full. In the seat next to him was a bespectacled young woman wearing designer jeans and a cashmere sweater. She was reading a thick book. Her gray-streaked hair was pulled back smartly. As the plane lifted off LaMonica leaned back and took a deep breath.

After a while, the woman put the book down and stretched. LaMonica smiled. She smiled back.

'Live in San Diego?' he said.

The woman shook her head. 'Business trip.'

'I love your sweater,' he said. 'In fact, I bought my wife one just like it. I was in New York at a medical convention and I missed her birthday. I feel lust awful about it.'

The woman smiled. 'She'll forgive you. I take it you're a doctor?'

'Yes, I'm a neurosurgeon. My name is Bill Adams.' They shook hands.

'Carol Williamson,' she said. 'I'm a buyer for a department store.'

'I just hate to travel,' he said. 'I guess I'm kind of a homebody.'

'I don't mind it so much,' she said.

LaMonica closed his eyes. Later, he slid back in his seat and allowed Carol Williamson to step into the aisle. She found her way to the front of the cabin and entered the lavatory.

LaMonica looked around carefully. With one hand, he opened her purse and dug out a wallet. His fingers flew to the money pouch. About fifty dollars. Not worth the risk. He pulled two of the ten or so credit cards out of the wallet and pocketed them, then shoved the wallet back into the purse and shut it. He leaned back and closed his eyes again. When Carol Williamson returned and stepped gingerly around him, he acted as if he were asleep. As her leg brushed his he imagined grabbing her crotch with both hands and squeezing until she cried. She wiggled back into her seat.

When she tried to initiate some small talk, he ignored her.

Over the intercom the pilot announced the weather forecast for San Diego. By midnight LaMonica would be back across the border and at the safe house. He visualized himself lying on the cot-naked, secure and comfortable. Women (he recognized none of them) stood by the bed clutching rattan baskets overflowing with money. They nodded to one another and emptied the baskets over his body. Some of the money fell off the sides of the cot and onto the floor. He was immersed in crisp, rich greenbacks, unable to move, unable to touch himself.

Chapter 15

The floor of the huge jai-alai auditorium was a carpet of discarded betting tickets and empty beer cups, the refuse of a seedy-looking crowd (at least half were Americans) that milled around the betting windows. The electronic tote boards at either end of the fronton flashed changing odds on the Perfecta, Quiniela, and Trifecta combinations, gambling jargon designed to avoid the use of the word lose.

The court itself was an enormous well-lit stage shielded by fine netting. On its left side half a dozen bored- looking Mexican men sat in a cagelike affair waiting to compete. They were dressed in white trousers and colorful shirts.

Paul LaMonica found Sandy sitting alone in the reserved section. He plopped down in a seat next to her. 'They want to meet you,' he said.

'Are they suspicious?' She turned the page of the program she was reading.

'A little. You can't blame them. There's a lot of money involved,' LaMonica said in a confident tone.

Sandy closed the program and stared at the court. 'I don't like showing my face. It scares the shit out of me to show my face,' she said.

'No U.S. soil, no U.S. crime,' LaMonica said.

'But they could put us together behind a conspiracy.'

'So what's another grain of sand on the beach?' LaMonica said.

The players marched to the middle of the court and bowed to scattered applause. Two of them strutted to the service line while the rest returned to the cage. The game began.

'They're no better than the greyhounds who chase the mechanical rabbit,' Sandy said, her eyes on the court, 'or racehorses. They just come out like slaves and perform. Sad, don't you think?'

'I'm sure they're not too sad in the locker room every night when they sit around and cut up the side bets,' LaMonica said. 'Racehorses with brains.'

'I hope they don't ask me too much about this Freddie Roth person,' Sandy said.

'If they do, you just play it by ear — keep everything vague.'

The pelota slammed against the front wall like a rifle shot. It bounced back full court. A player was waiting. He caught the ball and roundhoused it back.

'Mr. Cool keeps asking me about you,' she said. 'He's afraid you're going to rip me off.' Sandy gave him a funny smile.

'Your main man,' LaMonica said sarcastically.

'We're just using each other,' Sandy said. 'Just like you and I always have.'

'I don't like him.'

'You don't like anyone. Particularly black people. You've always been that way.'

They didn't speak again until the first game was over. The number-three player had beaten number seven with a kill shot to the corner.

'I want you to keep your Mr. Cool out of this,' LaMonica said. 'What you do with him on your own is your business. You and I had something once, but that's over now. I have no jealousy.'

'You never had any kind of feelings,' she said, her eyes on the fronton.

LaMonica ignored the remark. 'I have a good feeling about our thing. And I'm positive that we'll be able to get it done if we can just keep the program simple and avoid getting other people involved. These things have a tendency to draw outsiders. They smell the bucks at the end of the line. We must avoid letting anyone else in on our act. The risk is too great.'

'You always keep everything to yourself,' she said. 'For the whole year we were together I never had any idea where we were going or what we were going to do from one day to the next. I realized it after the cops grabbed me in Las Vegas. They asked me where we were planning to hit next. I actually had no idea.' She gave a little laugh. 'Hell, even if I'd wanted to do myself a favor and be a rat, I couldn't. You never let me in on the planning. We did live high for that year, though — I will say that. We lived real high.'

'I want us to be partners in this,' LaMonica said. 'Don't forget. If things get heavy it'll be you and me against the wall. We can't let other people in on any of the details. There's too much at stake. You should realize that. It's a chance for us to get out of this border act once and for all — to head for Europe, Australia, with a whole new identity. To me, being stuck down here with these bean bandits is as bad as being in the joint.'

'I hear you,' Sandy said.

It was payday. Ling's was crowded and noisy.

The platoon of federal cops glued to the bar barked for more drinks like kenneled dogs. Ling sat on the floor in the corner of the place probing a broken jukebox with a long screwdriver.

'Chickenshit service! Chickenshit service!' chanted the bar revelers. Ling stood up and pointed to the ancient