Once a Crooked Man (21 page)

“It's good to be back,” said Rocco getting up and putting their dishes in the sink. “Give me a call when you need me.”

Max washed, shaved and put on clean clothes. Out in the street he walked three blocks to a small shop that sold newspapers and magazines. He pulled out thirty dollars from his wallet. The turbaned Sikh behind the counter punched the machine and out flipped six Lotto quick picks. Max handed over the money and left. As he paused on the sidewalk to put the tickets in his wallet an accented voice behind him drawled, “I'm surprised, Mr. Bruschetti.”

Max turned. In front of him was a gentleman in a light gray suit, cream shirt and dark green tie secured with an emerald pin. In one hand he carried a Panama hat, in the other a silver-tipped cane, which he used to point at the Lotto tickets. “Or perhaps you purchased those for someone else?”

“Señor Hernandez!” said Max, trying to conceal his surprise at such a direct contact. “I buy them for myself twice a week. I get a kick out of checking the numbers.”

“What a coincidence,” said the Colombian.

“Our meeting like this, or do you play too?” replied Max.

“Neither,” said the other with a slight shake of his head. “I refer to you flying down to South America to make me an offer while I was in North America to do the same to you. Quite serendipitous.”

Max took a breath and concentrated fast. Unless Rodrigo had read the English papers he couldn't possibly know what had happened in London. The Colombian began to walk. Max fell in step beside him.

“At precisely the time you have decided to make changes in your organization,” Hernandez continued, “we have been forced by events to do the same. But in our situation, we are not contemplating retirement but rather reorganization.”

“I don't understand,” said Max.

“The factors involved are many. In spite of many changes in our country over the past few years, it is still a wild, chaotic place. Too many factions struggling for power and control. Every one of them has its own paramilitary force. It is too easy to be caught in the cross fire.” He gave an expressive shrug of his shoulders. “I am afraid the days we knew when we started doing business together are long gone. In Colombia honor among thieves is nothing but a distant memory.”

“So what do you intend to do?”

“As I believe my colleague told you, we have gone into the gold business. It is more manageable. But life is strange sometimes; these days mercury is a greater problem for us than the bullet. We also must diversify. We must think like the farmers in the hills who now plant many small fields beneath the canopy of the trees that go undetected from the air and thus avoid the spray of government chemicals. We must set up invisible organizations that go unnoticed by all who would, at best, control us or, at worst, destroy us. Most significantly, we must change our routes into the United States.

“Which brings me to my reason for meeting with you. Up to now our operations here have been focused on New York, Washington, Chicago, Miami and Los Angeles. As the federal agencies became increasingly sophisticated in the methods they use to enforce the law, our little group made the decision to decrease our involvement in these cities and concentrate our efforts in the less populous centers where I am happy to say there is a well-established customer base. Do you follow me so far?”

“Absolutely,” said Max, following the logic but at the same time wondering how it could involve him.

“My business partners and I discussed the issue in depth,” said Hernandez. “Your name was at the top of the list as most qualified to take charge of the East Coast—in a purely administrative capacity of course. We all felt that the Bruschetti family has the experience to set up such a network. Specifically to pick the personnel needed to infiltrate existing suppliers, set up the means of distribution, et cetera, et cetera. As to remuneration? A deal will be agreed upon that I can assure you will be acceptable to us both. Naturally we will give you a day or two to think it over.

“As to your brother's concerns, as soon as you have achieved our primary objectives we can discuss the matter of retirement.”

A Cadillac Escalade drew up at the curb and the rear door was pushed open from inside.

“As soon as you have thought my proposition over, contact me in the usual manner.”

With a nod and a smile the South American ducked into the car and it drove off leaving Max clutching his Lotto tickets.

“
Ma, porca puttana!
” he cursed.

This was the last thing he needed. Just when he felt he was getting free and clear. He sighed audibly. Why the hell hadn't he told Hernandez right there and then that he didn't want to have anything to do with his damned scheme? It was a no-brainer. But at the very least he owed it to his brothers to let them know about the offer.

Then he would turn it down flat.

 

36

Lizzie arrived to pick up Harry at the hotel in faded blue jeans and an old denim shirt, with a shaggy sweater tied around her shoulders. “Have to look the part,” she announced. “This is what they call ‘plain' clothes!” And she did a pirouette and sank to her knees by the cases.

“Is all of it in there?” she asked.

Harry nodded. “I wrapped them in layers of plastic. You suppose a sniffer dog could still find them?”

“Not unless they had been in the same room as pot or coke. Then he'd be on to them in a heartbeat.” A broad grin crept across her face. “You are a clever bugger, aren't you?” She rose to her feet. “Come on, let's get 'em loaded.”

“What about Villiers's suitcase?” asked Harry. “Should we leave it or bring it with us?”

“Bring it. You never know, we might need it.”

Outside Ivan was waiting with an SUV. Once everything was packed in, he drove quickly to the Motorway. At the airport Lizzie called over a skycap. Using a trolley, he wheeled everything up to the check-in counter. But before they could be tagged a customs agent was summoned.

“Are these all yours?” he asked, pointing at the cases and looking at Harry.

“Yes, they are.”

“And what do they contain, sir?”

“A camera … a sound recorder … and some other stuff,” he said casually.

“Right. Well, I just need you to turn everything on. I have to see them working.”

Harry tried his best to make it look as if he were familiar with the equipment. To his great relief, it all ran smoothly. Within minutes the cases disappeared along the moving belt with the rest of their luggage.

In the departure lounge Lizzie spent a small fortune on glossy magazines and bought four cartons of cigarettes in Duty Free. Harry was still unable to relax, as he knew that everything would be run through an X-ray machine before it was taken to the plane. But nothing unusual happened. Boarding was on time and uneventful. Apparently his plan had succeeded.

As the wheels of the big jet were tucked up into the fuselage, Harry pressed the button on his seat and reclined. Stretching out his legs, he sipped his champagne and gave a chuckle.

“What's so funny?” asked Lizzie, sorting through her recently acquired reading material.

“I was just thinking. I could get used to all this.”

“All of what?” she asked.

“You know,” he said, popping a cashew into his mouth. “Flying the Atlantic, sitting next to a beautiful girl, sipping champagne. You'll never guess what happened the last time I flew over.”

“Tell me,” said Lizzie with a slight smile.

“First, the flight was overbooked so I was bumped up into Business Class. Then they sat me next to this gorgeous creature. Just my type. Had the most amazing eyes. I thought about asking her if she wanted a lift into town, but by the time I got through immigration and customs she was long gone.”

“I can give you her address if you like.”

Harry stopped chewing. Lizzie put down her magazine.

“We knew all about you soon after you made the call from New York to the Mews house. That was the first real connection we'd made in weeks. Right away my boss made a call to a friend of his in the US and arranged to have your phone bugged.

“When you contacted the airline, Ivan dispatched Marisa Vargas to New York to sit beside you. It was her idea to have you both travel Business Class. She likes her comforts. And she may be your type, but she is also Ivan's. They've been together for over a year. He met her on a case in Spain when they were both undercover.”

Harry looked at Lizzie in disbelief, feeling cheated and foolish.

“You didn't think I was going to let you run around all by yourself?” she said with a little laugh.

Her flippancy made him angry. He'd agreed to cooperate with this bizarre female but he hadn't bargained with every single move being monitored. Lizzie and her pal Ivan were manipulating him like a puppet. No doubt they would do it until they achieved their objective. Whenever that might be. What an idiot Marisa must have thought him with all his crazy made-up tales. Mercifully, he would never see her again. Once he made the call, Lizzie and her cohorts would all become an amusing memory.

Conversation between them ceased. Lizzie went back to turning pages and Harry stared at the television screen. For a while they both slept. Lizzie awoke first and went to the toilet. When she returned she reached over and shook Harry by the shoulder.

“I don't think I've treated you very nice,” she said simply and honestly. “And I'm sorry. I don't want to arrive in New York feeling there's a problem between us. Will you accept an apology?”

“Sure.” He nodded, half-awake. “And I'm sorry if I behaved like a jerk.”

“Not at all,” she replied brightly. “Now. Where are you going to take me when this is over? Tell me all about New York.”

Harry sat up. “Ah. Yes. Well, once we've unpacked we're going to walk through Central Park over to Columbus Circle. We'll take a subway to the far end of the island and watch the sunset shining on the Statue of Liberty. We shall then take a cab to Brio, my favorite restaurant. And while you're in New York we must be sure to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. You'll love it there.”

“Wow!” said Lizzie.

Harry became serious. “First we have to get through Customs and Immigration. What will they do to us if they find the cash in the linings?”

“It would be sodding awkward,” she replied. “I've never tried to do anything quite like this.” She gave a smirk. “Let's hope they don't.”

“You didn't expect me to actually smuggle it, did you?”

“No, Harry, it came as a bit of a surprise. I told you to work out how you were going to do it, that's all.”

“What would you have done if I hadn't?”

“Ivan already made arrangements to pop it on an RAF flight.”

“Why didn't we just do that?”

“Simple. Your story is so much more believable this way. If anyone asks, you can actually tell them how you did it!”

The plane's nose dipped as they began their final approach. Once they were on the ground the big jet lumbered over to the gate. Harry became progressively more nervous. Immigration was fully automated and went smoothly. In the baggage hall at Carousel 4 their personal bags arrived, but the cases were nowhere to be seen. Harry stopped a passing agent and inquired where they might be. The woman took Harry and Lizzie to the oversize section, where all were present and correct. With her help they loaded up two hand trolleys and pushed them up to the counter. An agent looked at their forms and then inquiringly at the metal cases.

“It's camera equipment,” said Harry. “I do documentaries.”

“What's in that one?” the agent asked.

“Batteries. You always need extras,” Harry replied.

The customs agent looked at him with a frown. “Haven't I seen you someplace before?” he asked. “Aren't you an actor?”

“Yes. In this business you make a buck wherever you can.”

The agent pointed his finger at Harry like a gun. “I have it. It was that movie about the Marines with Tom Cruise! The one in the snow?”

“Oh, that!” replied Harry, relieved. “I'm flattered you remembered me.”

“It was the way you died. Was that you or did you use a stuntman?”

“That was me,” said Harry, and then added modestly, “It wasn't quite as dangerous as it looked.”

“I see a lot of movies,” said the agent, writing on the form. “It's kind of like a hobby.” He handed it over. “Nice to meet you. Welcome back.”

“Thanks,” replied Harry, and added somewhat foolishly, “You too.”

Following the signs they headed out of the customs area. Harry called Carmel to request a minivan. They were told to wait at the pickup point.

As they walked over, Lizzie said, “I'm impressed.”

“At my brilliance as a smuggler?”

“No. That you worked with Tom Cruise. What he's like?”

“I have no idea, other than his crazy involvement with Scientology,” Harry replied. “He wasn't in any of my scenes.”

They crossed the Queensboro Bridge onto Manhattan and soon pulled up at the hydrant outside Harry's building.

Harry paid the driver, and making two trips, he and Lizzie carried all the cases up the stairs to his apartment. Taking out his keys he unlocked the two dead bolts, pushed open the door and said, “Make yourself to home.”

Lizzie looked around as he brought everything in.

“Are you going to give me the tour?” she asked.

He laughed and pointed in three directions. “Bedroom, kitchen, bathroom.”

Lizzie indicated a door next to the kitchen. “What's in there?”

“Junk room.”

Lizzie poked her head inside. The closet was piled high with an assortment of cases, boxes and plastic bags.

“It's old props and all the stuff I keep for character parts,” he explained. “I always mean to go through it all and sort it out, but somehow I never get around to it.”