Recoil (13 page)

“Maybe too much of a hurry?”

“I don't know. You were ambitious too, I imagine, when you were his age.”

“He's not a kid. He's older than he looks. He ever make a pass at you?”

“He wouldn't have the nerve.”

“He's pretty—brash.”

“No, Frank.”

“But he butters you up a lot. I've seen him turn on the charm.”

“He's only making points with the boss's wife, Frank. Are you jealous?”

“Sure I am.”

“Not of C. K. Gillespie.”

“Well I guess I'm jealous of anything in pants that looks at you twice. You mind?”

“No, I don't mind. I like that. You haven't been sitting here working up a rage about me and C.K., have you? Because it's absolutely——”

“No. It was something else. Forget I said that.”

“It's Ezio. He's been putting things in your ear.”

“He might have dropped a remark.”

“Ezio hates C.K. He'd say anything to put a wedge between you and C.K.”

“I know that. What I don't know is why. The kid ever do anything to him?”

“Not that I know of. But C.K.'s ambitious. He's young, he's very button-down, he doesn't want to spend his life as someone else's mouthpiece in Washington.”

“That's what Ezio said. Ezio thinks he wants to carve himself out a piece of the organization.”

“He probably does. Maybe he deserves it.”

“You taking his side now?”

“I'm taking your side. I think C.K.'s useful to you. He's done good work. He uses his imagination—he's bright.”

“He takes chances.”

“So do you.”

“I don't know. He bugs me.”

“He bugs everybody—that's the way he is. But if you don't trust him that's something else, of course.”

“You think I should trust him?”

“I don't know. But if you're suspicious of him I think it's just because of Ezio.”

“Ezio's one of my closest friends. Christ, he's a cousin of mine.”

“And how much do you trust him?”

“Well he got in the habit of running the company while I was inside. He didn't want to give that up, OK, he wouldn't be human otherwise. Ezio's a very old-fashioned guy. He was born in Palermo. He's an important man in the organization, with me or without me—I don't kid myself about that. You can see how he'd get nervous when he sees a sharp young dude trying to muscle in. Now you and Ezio, you never liked each other at all. I need to keep that in mind too, you know.”

“I've never tried to get between you and Ezio.”

“Damn right you haven't.”

“Frank, what's bothering you?”

“I guess it's that Janowicz woman. You know, the secretary in that office. The one C.K.'s been getting this information from.”

“What about her?”

“She's disappeared. He had a meeting set up with her yesterday she didn't come. He checked around. She's gone.”

“On vacation?”

“No. Just gone. Her husband's gone too. They closed up the house four days ago. Now maybe that means the feds got onto her. If they did they'd have her under cover somewhere and they'd be squeezing her like a lemon. And they'd pack up the husband and put him in a hotel someplace just to keep him out of our reach. Now the thing is, C.K. says she can't finger him. He says he always wore dark glasses, never met her on his own turf, never gave her his real name. He says there's no way they could trace him through her. Question is, can I trust him to know what he's talking about?”

“She's been missing four days. They haven't arrested C.K., have they?”

“Of course not.”

“Does he think he's being watched?”

“No. He said he was looking for that but there's nobody shadowing him.”

“Then he's telling the truth, isn't he? If they knew who he was, they'd have come after him by now.”

“Would they? Sometimes those people try stunts. But either way it doesn't change the other thing. The other thing is, they squeeze that woman and they find out what she peddled, and it won't matter who she says she peddled it to—they'll know it was bought for me. So we start getting federals on the backs of our necks and I really don't need that kind of horse shit right now.”

“We can live with that. We've lived with it before.”

“Maybe. Hell, Benson got shot, Merle's house got blown up—they had to know that was us. But they'll never prove any connection and they know it.” His hand dropped off the edge of the table. He scowled at the Scrabble board. “Eight years I had no privacy at all—that's enough shit for anybody.”

“You could retire. We could move to Switzerland.”

“Sure.” The shade of a smile crossed his face. “You know it makes a difference having you to talk to. A lot of guys—you see Ezio discussing anything with that dame? She hasn't got two brain cells to rub together. You're something else, you know, I can talk with you. You've got it up here. I got a good bargain.”

2

In the bedroom she watched him peel off the toupee. She laughed at him.

He was feigning ferocity: He stabbed a finger toward her. “I knew I was going to get ridiculed in my own bedroom, I wouldn't have let you con me into buying this thing.”

She only laughed again. Frank slammed into the bathroom and she heard the buzz of the shaver. She began to undress; she looked at herself in the mirror.

When he came out of the bathroom she was sitting on the bed setting the alarm: He had a morning conference in the city.

He stopped in his tracks and she looked up in alarm. He was staring at her.

“My God, Frank, what's the matter?”

“Sometimes I look at you, I just get choked up.” The startled look in his eyes gave way to silent laughter. “You're the damnedest beautiful thing I ever saw.”

It was slow and he was gentle this time; she said, “That was delicious.”

He didn't reply and for a while she thought he was asleep. Then he said, “You wanted to talk to me. You said you had something you wanted to talk about. So talk.”

“Turn on the light, then.”

“I don't need lights to hear you talk.”

“I want to see your face.”

“The hell for?” But he switched it on. He was up on one elbow and his face was somewhere between puzzlement and impatience. “What's this you want to see my face? You going to lay something tough on me?”

“Sure. I'm leaving you for another man.”

When he began to react she burst into laughter. “I'm running away with Ezio.”

He lay back and made a face. “Come off it. Sometimes you pull too many jokes.”

She brought her laughter under control. “I can't help it. The look on your face.”

“The whole thing, getting me to turn on the light and everything—just for a lousy joke?”

“The thing I wanted to talk to you about. What if we started a family of our own?”

He hiked himself up on his elbow. “You want to get pregnant?”

“I want to make a son for you.”

She couldn't make out his expression. “Christ sake I'm almost fifty years old.”

“Don't you want a son, Frank?”

She watched anxiously. He was scowling at the ceiling. “I got to think about that. I'm getting old, you know.”

“The hell you are.”

He turned the light off. In the dark she listened to his breathing.

And then finally he said, “Hell yes.”

He gathered her against him. She couldn't help it: She cried.

3

The kid bustled around the office like a termite inspector and Ezio stood out of his way by the window looking down into the traffic. He saw it when Cestone double-parked the limousine in front of the building entrance and went around the car to open the door for Frank Pastor. Frank was wearing a light-gray suit and a yellow shirt and looked boyish and foreshortened from this high angle. Ezio watched him disappear into the building.

You could tell a good deal about Frank's mood by his choice of clothes in the morning. He was wearing something light and colorful today. The meeting was going to be tricky enough; if Frank had been in a bad mood it might have gone awry.

The elevator must have been right there waiting because Frank arrived very quickly. Down in the street Cestone was still waiting for the light to change so he could pull the limousine out into the traffic. Ezio turned away from the window and Frank was in the doorway watching the kid work on a lamp.

“How's the electronic genius this morning?”

“Morning, Mr. Pastor. Doing just fine, thank you. Nothing to report, I'm happy to say. I'm just about finished up—just want to check out the door hinges before I go.”

“You take your time and do your job,” Frank told the kid. “We're paying for thoroughness, not speed.”

Frank settled into the leather couch. Ezio said, “That rain last night sure cleaned out the air. You can see clear to Jersey.”

“Beautiful day,” Frank agreed.

The kid picked up his little electronic gizmos and fitted them back into his kit; he closed the case and went toward the door. “See you next week, Mr. Martin. Nice to see you, Mr. Pastor.”

“So long, kid. Thanks.”

The door closed behind him. Frank said, “These kids today, they're born with printed circuits and transistors in place of skin and bones.”

“You look happy this morning.”

“Well it's a nice day, you know how it is. Hell, I'm a free man, I got a good business, I got a great wife. I should be unhappy?”

“Sure as hell not.”

Frank said, “What time the others getting here?”

“Ten-thirty. That gives us half an hour. I wanted to talk to you first.”

“What about?”

“Well you know we've got a whole octopus out there trying to pin down Merle and those others.” Ezio pulled the big glass ashtray toward him and leaned back in the swivel chair. “There's something curious that's come up.”

“You got the jammer running, Ezio?”

“Sure. The kid checked it out and turned it back on.”

“All right. Go ahead.”

Ezio said, “We're blowing a great deal of money and man-hours on finding those four guys.”

“You want to stop looking for them?” Frank's voice was soft and dangerous.

“No. I'm just stating a fact.”

“Ezio, we need to nail those four gentlemen. For a lot of very good reasons, as you know.”

“Sure. I'm just saying we've got a board of directors to answer to and some of them aren't—well they maybe don't understand some of these things. One or two of them may bring it up at the meeting. I've already heard a couple of beefs. I mean nobody's going to make a dime off this deal whether we nail those four guys or not.”

“If we don't nail them we could lose a lot of dimes in the future. People get the idea they can spit in our faces and get away with it, pretty soon we lose respect.”

“You don't have to argue it with me, Frank.”

“Who's been beefing?”

“A couple of the guys. Malone for one.”

“Stupid Mick. Who else?”

“Lorricone.”

“Mittens?
He's
beefing? All the shylock skips he's gone after and maimed?”

“Well he was making some remark about how you cut your losses after you reach a certain point. You figure you've driven him out of town, you've got him on the run, that's lesson enough.”

“These four gentlemen spit in my face, Ezio.”

“I know that. But I'd soft-pedal that argument with the board if I were you.”

“You're not me.”

“It's likely to come up in the meeting, that's all. I wanted you to be ready for it.”

“I appreciate that.” Frank crossed his legs. “Now you said there was something curious that came up.”

“It's about Merle.”

“Go ahead.”

Ezio snapped the gold lighter open and fiddled with it. He felt unnerved by the abrupt coldness of Frank's voice. “Well I'm not sure about this. It's all kind of vague. What happened, we sent photographs of Merle and the other three out to a lot of contacts, particularly out on the West Coast.”

“I know all that.”

“Sam Ordway out in Los Angeles, you remember him?”

“Sure.”

“Ordway started up a new racket out there a few years ago. It was while you were away. He's running a big executive-car operation. You know, they heist cars to order, they deliver them to South Americans and false-front movie producers and some of those fly-by-night livery and leasing outfits. The way it's set up, they mainly lift the cars from doctors, people like that, and they've got a whole chain of body and paint shops scattered around the Southwest and the Coast. They boost a car, it goes straight into the shop. It's a very smooth operation. Each item is a custom heist—they don't boost a car until they get an order for that particular kind of car—but it's pretty big business. All right, it's just a sideline to Ordway, he's got a lot of big irons in the fire, but I imagine this one clears something up in six figures every month.”

“What's this got to do with Merle?”

“Just background, Frank. Ordway runs this executive-car business, he's involved in interstate car laws, right? It's FBI jurisdiction. He's got one or two FBI agents in his pocket. Not big-timers but if orders ever come down to move against his operation he'll get the word from them in time to move out. These FBI agents also pass on information to him from time to time. They sell it to him for a little extra money.”

“So an FBI agent passed Ordway some information that's connected with Edward Merle. What was it?”

“Well it seems they're looking for him.”

“Who's looking for who?”

“According to Ordway the FBI put out an all-points on Edward Merle, or at least on a guy who looks like him. It looks like Merle but the name is Baxter. Paul Baxter. Now the last name he was running under was Jason Greene. He was using that name up there in Arizona when George Ramiro almost ran him down.”