The Quality of the Informant

It wasn't yet noon, which probably accounted for the fact that the motel bar was nearly empty. LaMonica faced Lockhart across a cocktail table hidden in a corner. Other than the whispers of the two men, the only sound in the place was the splashing of highball glasses as the bartender dunked them in and out of soapy water.

'I want to see your money,' LaMonica said. 'Surely you don't expect me to just hand over the package of checks and hope for the best. Like what's to stop you from taking the checks and just flat out walking away? You're smart enough to know my client can't stroll into the local police station and make a complaint about someone stealing her phony checks.' Staring at the fat man, he swished the ice in his drink and took a sip.

Lockhart finished his drink and looked into the glass. 'On the other hand,' he said, 'you see no danger in me showing you people fifty thousand dollars — real dollars, mind you, not some worthless printed paper shit like you are selling, but real honest-to-God greenbacks. ' He shook his head. 'You must think I'm a rube, Mr. Brown, an honest-to-Christ, shit-shoveling hillbilly.'

LaMonica's finger pointed at the other man's chest. 'On the contrary,' he said. 'You're like a lot of executive types. Always holding a few cards out of the deck. And as a matter of fact, you're holding one right this very minute.'

'And what might that be?' Lockhart said, leaning back in his chair.

'The goon you had with you at the Houston Airport. He's your man. He followed me. Do you want to sit there and deny that?' LaMonica smiled sardonically. The fat man's face reddened. He fidgeted.

'Don't embarrass yourself by saying no,' LaMonica said. 'Now, if you are so pure and honest, then why have a goon to follow me? Why the muscle? I'll tell you why…because you're planning to rip us off. It would probably mean a promotion for you. Maybe even a fucking double Christmas bonus! Recover the checks without spending a dime out of the good old company till. I know how you people think and so does my client.'

'You really are paranoid, aren't you?' the fat man said. There was a mist of perspiration on his brow.

'I don't like the way you do business,' LaMonica said.

The men stared at one another for a while.

'We're not going to get anywhere like this,' said the security man. 'I came here to discuss the final transfer. You keep changing the subject.'

'There's nothing more to discuss,' LaMonica said. 'You can show me your money or the whole deal is off.'

'Then the goddamn deal is off,' Lockhart said. He stood up abruptly. 'If you change your mind and choose to do it my way, I'll be in my room for the next thirty minutes. And don't try to contact me again once I leave.' He marched out of the bar.

LaMonica hurried upstairs to his room. He knocked. Sandy let him in. She was dressed only in bra and panties. He rushed past her to the dresser and poured a drink. He sipped. 'It's going perfectly,' he said. 'We're over the hump.'

'What if he walks over here right now and kicks in the door? How do we know he's not secretly working with the cops? He's got to figure that the checks are right here in the room.

LaMonica slugged down the drink. 'He'll have figured wrong, that's all. The checks aren't here. If he puts a gun to my head, I'll tell him that the checks are still in Mexico. He would never have the balls to drive us over the border to get them. He, and any cops, would have to walk away…leave us alone and walk away.' He glared at her. 'Why don't you put some clothes on?'

She ignored him. 'What about the car? The checks are sitting right there in the trunk.'

'We got here before he did,' LaMonica said to the mirror. 'We haven't been near the car. The parking lot is full.' He looked at his watch. 'Things are going perfectly.'

'I'm keyed up,' Sandy said. She fingered the elastic band on her panties. 'If you feel like it, so do I. I want to get my mind off this whole thing for a few minutes.'

LaMonica's mind was still on the details as he unzipped his trousers.

Lockhart sat at the tiny desk in his motel room, the phone to his ear. He wore a.38 in a shoulder holster. The rig caused his armpits to perspire more than usual. Next to the telephone was a box of doughnuts with three jelly-filleds left. He knew that such between-meal snacks were unhealthy, but at least he wasn't a heavy smoker or drinker. Someday he hoped he would be able to put his mind to the task of losing weight, but for the time being it was impossible. When he felt tense he liked to eat, and that was that.

The chairman came on the line.

'I've made my final demand, sir,' Lockhart said. 'I gave him an ultimatum. He is still adamant about wanting to see our money, but I don't think we should do this. It's just too dangerous under the circumstances. Is that your thinking as well, sir?'

There was a long silence. 'If the checks are there, I want them. I want you to do what you have to do to get them.'

'Well…uh…sir, do you think I should show him the money?' Lockhart said. 'Just let him see it?'

'That's not what I said, Omar. I said that if the checks are there, I want them.' The chairman enunciated each word.

'Certainly, sir,' Lockhart said. He cleared his throat. 'I'm on top of it. I'll make it work.' Be assertive, he remembered from a recent one-day seminar.

'I'll wait to hear from you,' the chairman said coolly. The phone clicked.

Lockhart wished there was someone with him, someone to talk the situation over with. His stomach growled. A doughnut was at his lips. He bit down and the jelly squirted pleasantly onto the corners of his mouth. He chewed. It was gone in three bites. Now there were only two left in the box. He wiped his mouth with a Kleenex. Standing up, he peeked out the curtain. 'I can take care of myself,' he said as if speaking to his mother.

The phone rang. Lockhart jumped backward. He took a deep breath and picked up the receiver.

'I'm willing to compromise,' Roger Brown said. 'We can both show at the same time. You bring yours and we bring ours and we deal. This way will be fair to both parties. '

Lockhart agreed. After putting down the phone, he finished off the last two doughnuts and washed his hands thoroughly.

The motel parking lot was fairly busy: a family loading luggage into a station wagon, people coming and going from the registration office. LaMonica got in the driver's side of the rented sedan and unlocked the passenger door for Sandy. He removed a snub-nosed revolver from the glove compartment and laid it on the seat between them.

He handed Sandy a key. 'Put it in your shoe,' he said. 'If something goes wrong and he gets the drop on us, tell him we never had the checks, that the whole thing was just a con game.

Sandy hid the key in one of her flats. 'I think I have to go to the bathroom,' she said.

'Nerves,' he said.

'There are too many people around here,' she said.

'All the safer,' LaMonica said. 'He'll be less likely to try anything in a public place.'

Lockhart came out of the motel office carrying a briefcase. He looked around nervously and started walking toward them. There was a bulge under his left arm.

'He's packing,' LaMonica said. Sandy bit her lip.

Cautiously the fat man shuffled up to the passenger window. He was out of breath. 'Are you ready?' he said.

'Yes,' Sandy said, 'just show us that you have it.'

'We agreed to do this at exactly the same time,' Lockhart said.

'I have the traveler's checks,' she said. 'Just flash your money and let's get this thing over with. Please.'

The fat man's eyes twitched. He looked around the lot again.

LaMonica's right hand gripped the butt of the revolver.

Lockhart balanced the briefcase on one hand in front of the passenger window. He flipped it open. It was filled with stacks of twenty-dollar bills. He slammed it shut again. His hand reached inside his coat. 'You've seen the money. Now let's see the checks, right now. You'd better not try anything. I've got a gun.' Lockhart's lips had turned white.

LaMonica tapped Sandy Hartzbecker's arm. She opened the passenger door and went to the trunk.