Dark City (Repairman Jack - Early Years 02) (18 page)

“All right,” he said, hiding his relief as he turned in his seat. “We’re here. We made it.”

“Just barely. Who a-you think you are—Parnelli Jones?”

Parnelli Jones? Who the fuck was Parnelli Jones? Anyone else, he might have asked, but this broad? He let it ride.

“As we discussed, all you have to do is go in, identify yourself, and let them pack the money in the valise.”

“I’m a-tell you it’s a briefcase, not a valise,” she said, pulling it onto her lap. “And I’m a-still don’t see why we have to do this on a Saturday.”

“Because,” he said, trying not to scream that he’d
explained this a dozen times al-fucking-ready
, “our crook only does this on Saturdays when the bank’s computer centers are understaffed.”

“And they’ll have the money for me? I’m a-no have to wait while they count it out?”

“That was why we made the call on Wednesday, remember? So they’d have it all ready to go when you arrived.”

Before she could say anything else, he hopped out and hurried around to her door. He helped her out and started her toward the bank.

She stopped and turned to him. “Any teller?”

“Yes.” How many times had he told her that? “The crook isn’t a teller. It’s someone in the back.”

The withdrawal had been arranged in advance. Unless somebody inside had screwed up, the money should be waiting.

“And remember,” he reminded her for what was also at least the dozenth time as she turned away, “it’s nobody’s business why you’re making the withdrawal. Somebody asks, you say nothing.”

“So you a-tell me,” she said with an annoyed look. “Many times. I’m a-no
boccalone
, you know.”

Neil smiled through gritted teeth and returned to the driver’s seat where he sat there with the motor running, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

*   *   *

Jack watched the old lady disappear inside the bank. What a difference it made to be able to listen in on what was being said. When he and Julio had followed Zalesky, they could do little more than guess at what was going down in the car.

Now he understood the reason for Zalesky’s return trip to the Filardo home on Wednesday. Pretty slick having her call up the bank and give them a heads-up that she was coming in. The guy was either pretty smart or he’d learned the hard way.

Jack had to hand it to him, though: He had a great talent for patter. Still, he had his hands full with that tough old lady. Dealing with her was no walk in the park—well, maybe Central Park at two
A.M.

*   *   *

Neil sat and waited, and sweated a little. Just a little. This hustle had two points where it could go south. Here was the first: getting the money out of the bank and into the car. The second was getting the mark out of the car and back into her home without tipping the scam.

He watched the dashboard clock second hand do its tick-tick-tick thing. Though it seemed much longer, it took her only twelve minutes to make the round trip. As he saw her step through the bank entrance, he hopped out and opened the passenger door for her.

“No problems, I assume?”

“Well,” she said as she eased herself onto the backseat, “the manager or whoever she was, she ask a-me many questions but I tell her to a-mind her business.”

Neil hid a grin. You may be a bitch, but you’re
my
bitch.

Once he was back behind the wheel, he swerved into traffic and got rolling.

“Madrone!”
she called from the backseat. “You try to a-kill me?”

Don’t tempt me …

“Sorry. I just wanted to get away from the bank as fast as possible, just in case the wrong person saw me and recognized me as an investigator.”

He drove a couple of blocks and parked in a lot adjoining Coffey Park. They could idle and wait here. He turned in the seat to face her.

“Now, as we discussed, I want you to make sure all the money’s there.”

She’d placed the briefcase on the seat beside her. Her arthritic fingers popped the latches and she pushed up the lid. Neil craned his neck and saw two banded stacks of hundred-dollar bills.

She ran her hands over the stacks. “All here.”

“Twenty thousand. You’re sure?”

“I’m a-sure. I can count.”

“Okay,” he said, digging the key out of his jacket pocket. “As we discussed, I want you to close it and lock it and hold on to the key.”

She took the key and did just that. Then he placed a typed sheet of legal-size paper on the briefcase and handed her a pen.

“Now, sign this, stating you’ve checked the money and personally locked the briefcase.”

“Why you put me to all this a-trouble?”

“It’s not my doing, believe me. I know it’s a pain, and I’m sorry. But as I told you, this all comes from the legal department. We have to establish a chain of custody to build a case against this perpetrator.”

Lawyers were always a good excuse for muddied waters and useless paperwork. Give the mark a legal-looking document to sign and suddenly everything was legit. The chain-of-custody was more legal bullshit that allowed a sweet opportunity to make the switch.

After she signed, he folded the sheet, then grabbed a roll of yellow tape from where it sat on the front seat. He tore off two pieces and stuck one over each lock on the case.

“What for is that?”

“Just another precaution. Those damn lawyers. Oops.” He gave her a contrite look. “Sorry about the bad language.”

“I’m a-hear worse in my day, lemme tell you.”

He took the opportunity to lift the briefcase from the seat. She grabbed for it but he was too quick for her.

“Ay, where you think you go with my money?”

“We’ve been over this before, Mrs. Filardo. As part of the chain of custody, the money’s got to be locked up and out of reach of both of us.”

“All well and good for you,” she said, “but ’at’s a-
my
money.”

“It’s not going far. Just the trunk.”

He got out, popped the lid, and placed the briefcase within. Below the floorboard, hidden in the empty spare tire well, sat an identical case, tape and all, waiting for the switch.

When he slipped behind the steering wheel again, he said, “Now the hard part: waiting.” He held up his car phone. “After three I’ll call in and we’ll see if our plan worked.”

“I’m a-no see how those phones work without a wire,” she said.

“Think of it as a type of walkie-talkie.”

She leaned forward. “And another thing I’m a-no see is how me taking my money out helps this thief a-steal from a-the bank.”

Time to repeat his computer bullshit. Computers were like magic to most people. They could do things the average person couldn’t begin to understand—Neil counted himself among those—but he at least knew they had their limits. People from this old broad’s generation, however, thought they were capable of anything.

“It’s all done with computers, Mrs. Filardo. I had to take a course in computer science to understand it myself. But his scam only works with large withdrawals, and he only targets long-established accounts. We started new accounts to lure him in but he didn’t bite. That’s why we needed the help of a good citizen like you.”

“But I’m a-still don’t see…”

Would she never ever shut up? Trapped in the car with a complaining motor mouth. He’d make that call ASAP.

*   *   *

… we needed the help of a good citizen like you …

Jack shook his head. Talk about laying it on with a trowel … but it seemed to be working.

Twenty large … nice score.

He’d found a spot on Franklin Street in front of a row of stores where he had a view of Zalesky’s Dodge. He turned off the car and removed the earpiece as Mrs. Filardo prattled on. Man, that lady could talk. She never shut up.

Jack had watched Zalesky put the briefcase—taped locks and all—in the trunk, same as last fall. But he knew a lot more now than he had then. That night in November when he’d put Zalesky in the hospital, he’d used the opportunity to raid the guy’s apartment. In a closet he’d found another briefcase with what looked like banded stacks of twenties. But instead of a hundred twenties, each stack contained only two—one on top and one on the bottom. The rest were singles. What should have been two thousand dollars was actually only $138.

So, Zalesky had to have a duplicate of that briefcase hidden in the trunk, with phonied-up stacks of cash—hundreds instead of twenties top and bottom this time. All he had to do was make the switch. Simple.

And yet …

Jack had been listening to Mrs. Filardo and she didn’t strike him as a dummy. Was she really going to fall for this? He didn’t see how.

He reinserted the earplug and her voice came through loud and clear. If Zalesky followed the same schedule as last time, he’d only have to wait until a little after three. That was going to seem like forever.

“Patience, patience,” he muttered. “It’s gonna be worth it.”

The big question was, when to make his move? That would depend on what happened next.

*   *   *

The old broad was still yakking about computers and how she didn’t understand this and didn’t understand that when 3:05 finally—
finally!
—rolled around. Her constant chatter had him debating whether to end it here. She was so damn suspicious, he figured he might well have to walk away empty-handed. But he couldn’t do that. He had no other prospects ready. He had to make this work.

He held up a hand to shush her.

“Time to call in.”

He punched in his own number and began talking to his answering machine.

Hopeful expression: “It’s me—Nate. Did he make his move?” Change to the puzzled face: “What? Why not?” Now to disappointment. “Really. That’s too bad. Well, we tried. Yeah, I’ll tell her.”

He ended the call and heaved a deep sigh.

“No go,” he said. “He didn’t make his move.”

“Why not?” the old lady said.

“They don’t think it was enough money. Twenty thousand … I’m sure you think that’s a lot, and I know
I
sure think that’s a lot, but apparently our crook feels more comfortable with a larger amount.”

She clucked. “Oh, ’at’s a-too bad. And I’m a-wasted all this time.”

It’s all about you, ain’t it, lady.

“The team at the fraud division asked me to thank you for your cooperation.”

“Well, ’at’s all a-fine and good, but where’s a-my money?”

Oh, you bitch …

“The money?” He hesitated, staring at her, watching the distrust grow in her eyes … just the way it was supposed to. “Oh, right. Sure. I’ll get it for you right now.”

He got out, opened the trunk, and retrieved the original case. No switcheroo. At least not this time. And who knew if there’d be a next time? Especially with this bitch. But he was pretty sure he could make it happen.

He opened the rear door and placed the case on the rear seat.

“Here we go, ma’am.”

He stripped off the tape, then pushed it toward her. She looked at him, confusion warring with suspicion across her features.

He pointed to the case. “Want me open it for you?”

She shook her head. “No-no. I can do.”

She still held the key. Her hands shook a little as she keyed the latches and popped them open. Quickly she lifted the lid and stared at the two stacks for a few heartbeats. Then she picked up one, then the other, and fanned through them.

All there, lady—all two hundred C-notes.

She looked up at him, naked relief in her eyes.

“What?” he said, looking offended. “You don’t trust me?”

“Well, I’m admit I was a-having second thoughts about this. I was a-having the feeling you thought you were dealing with a
donnicciola
.”

“Pardon?”

“A silly old woman. You know what they a-say about no fool like an old fool.”

As he got back behind the wheel, he figured the time had come for a little stroking.

“You’re no fool, Mrs. Filardo. Someone as brave and public-spirited as you is a long, long way from a fool.”

He put the car in gear and headed back to her place. Along the way he loosed some deep, sad sighs.

“Ay, what’s a-wrong?” she finally said.

“Nothing. Just that … well, nabbing this guy would have meant a promotion. And with a baby on the way, the raise would have come in handy.”

“Aw … a
bambino
.”

“Yeah, our first.”

As he pulled to a stop before her place, he turned and said, “Do you think…?” and then let it taper off. “Never mind.”

“What?”

“Well, do you think you might be willing to try this again … with a bigger amount?”

She cocked her head. “How much a-bigger?”

He took a breath. “Fifty thousand.”

Her eyes widened until he thought they’d pop out of her head. “Fifty—!” She blurted something that ended with “—
ricco sfondato
?”

“Sorry?”

“How much a-money you think I have?”

“The department knows exactly how much you have.”

Well into six figures.

She relaxed a little. “Yes, I’m a-suppose they do.”

“You redeposit that twenty thousand there on Monday, and then next Saturday we do exactly the same procedure—but with
fifty
thousand. The big difference will be that I don’t think he’ll be able to resist a withdrawal of that size. He’ll make his move, and we’ll catch him in the act, and that will be that. He goes to jail, your money goes back into your account, and I get a promotion. The good folks win, the bad guy loses, and all’s right with the world. What do you say?”

“I’m a-have to think about it.”

“Of course you do. It’s a big decision. I’ll call you Monday. Just remember: tell no one about this. You’d be surprised how word gets around.”

After walking her to her door, he returned to the car and sat for a moment behind the wheel. Usually he could tell about a mark, but this old battle-ax … he didn’t know which way she’d go.

He crossed his fingers. He needed that cash.

*   *   *

Jack popped out the earpiece and stared after the Dodge as it drove away. Had to hand it to the guy: He was a major creep, but a creep with major
cojones
. He’d had the old lady’s money in his trunk but had passed on it, opting instead for a chance to more than double his take.