Part 21 (1/2)
He punched the b.u.t.ton for the intercom.
”Sheila, get me Layton Barron's home number in Denver.”
No response.
”Sheila?”
”What do you think I am,” she screeched. ”Your f.u.c.king secretary?” ”Your f.u.c.king secretary?”
Barron's wife answered and McCann asked to speak to Layton. She covered the phone while she called to her husbandbut McCann could hear her through her fingers, which he imagined as bony but finely manicured.
Barron said, ”Yes?” He didn't sound pleased.
”You know who this is.”
”I can't believe you called me at home.” His tone was angry, astonished. ”I'm going to-”
”If you hang up on me, you're going to spend the rest of your life in prison,” McCann said flatly. ”Your bony-fingered wife will be alone with all of your treasure.”
Pause. Then: ”Honey, I need to take this in my office. Will you please hang it up in a second?”
There were no pleasantries once Barron picked up his privatephone. ”Look, I tried to call you back yesterday,” Barron said, sounding as if he were speaking through clenched teeth. ”I tried that number you gave me three times. First it was busy, then it rang and rang. And how do you know about my wife?”
”Forget that,” McCann said.
”Then why are you calling me? How did you get my home number?”
”Forget that too,” McCann said. ”I want you to shut up and listen for once.”
He could hear Barron take a breath. ”Go ahead.”
”We may have trouble up here. A couple of investigators”- McCann glanced at the business cards and read off the names- ”went to Sunburst today with Mark Cutler. They may be too stupid to put things together, but that's getting too close for me.”
”Jesus,” Barron said softly.
”I want to get out of here,” McCann said. ”I want you to live up to your end of the deal. I want my money, now! now!”
”Clay, it's not what you think. We're not trying to screw you, not at all. The SEC's been camped out in our building for three weeks. It has nothing to do with you at all, but I can't move any money right now. They're going over everything for the past four years. It's a f.u.c.king nightmare.”
”You're right,” McCann said, ”this has nothing to do with me. I could care less about the SEC, or your company. I want my money. I did my part, you need to do yours.”
”Look,” Barron said, an edge of panic entering his voice, ”I think they'll be gone by the end of the week. I really do. We're clean, I swear it. It's just that some of our accounting looks a little,well, optimistic optimistic. I'm sure we'll get it sorted out and when those a.s.sholes leave, I'll get that transfer to you within the hour.”
”Not good enough,” McCann said. ”I need it now. Tonight.”
”Tonight?”
”You have no idea what it's like for me,” McCann said. ”If Pickett and Demming start connecting the dots, I'm just sitting here.”
”Can't you be more reasonable?”
Yes, McCann thought, the panic in Barron's voice was real. He'd cracked him.
”Listen to me,” McCann said, pressing, deciding to show his hole card, ”if I don't get my money, I'll go to the FBI and sing in exchange for immunity. They'll give it to me, I promise you. I've worked with them and they'd rather nail somebody high-level-somebody like Layton Barron of EnerDyne-than put me back in jail.”
”My G.o.d, you can't be serious.”
McCann nodded. ”I'm serious.”
”But I told you, I can't move the money. The SEC-”
”Then send me some of your your money, you twit,” McCann said. ”Sit down at your computer and wire at least a ten-thousand-dollardown payment to my account tonight. I put my career and my life on the line for you. I expect some consideration.” money, you twit,” McCann said. ”Sit down at your computer and wire at least a ten-thousand-dollardown payment to my account tonight. I put my career and my life on the line for you. I expect some consideration.”
He could hear Barron swallow. ”But you wouldn't really go to the FBI, would you?”
”Absolutely.”
”Okay,” he said in a whisper, ”I can do that.”
”And you need to keep it coming,” McCann said. ”Ten thousandtonight, ten thousand tomorrow, ten thousand the next day until you can pay the balance from your company, whenever that is. It's not my problem, it's yours. I'll talk with my banker every morning. If you miss a single day, I sing. Got it?”
Silence.
”Got it?”
”Yes.”
McCann felt some of the burden lift from his shoulders. ”That's not all,” he said, liking the way the power had s.h.i.+fted to him.
”What else?”
”It's time for you to contact your man on the inside,” McCannsaid. ”Tell him what's going on and see if he can do something about it. He's the only guy close enough to the situationon the ground to steer it away from us. It's time he got his hands dirty.”
Barron moaned, as if McCann were torturing him. ”He's not going to like it.”
”I could give a s.h.i.+t,” McCann said, starting to feel, finally, that he was making things happen in his favor. ”He's had a free ride so far. Tell him to act or he'll be implicated as well. Tell him I'm serious.”
”I wish it didn't have to be this way,” Barron said, his tone strangely resigned, as if seeing McCann in an all new light as his enemy. Good, McCann thought. It's about time.
”All you had to do was your part,” McCann said. ”I did mine.”
He hung up the telephone, sat back in his chair, looked at his reflection in the gla.s.s doors of his bookcase, and fell righteouslyback in love with the man who grinned at him.
He'd let the locals get to him. He'd even let one old cow whack him on the head with a telephone receiver. The power he'd built up since his time in jail had been pouring out of him since he'd returned, puddling at his feet. Now it felt like the wounds had healed. He was recharging.
”Jeez,” he said, ”I missed missed you.” you.”