Part 22 (1/2)

Goodfellow sneered, at least until he remembered who else was in the room. ”Yeah? So?”

Saint Just smiled. ”Ah, you're listening. Good. But do lower your voice, we're having an intimate conversation here, remember? As to your question, I will say-so, my good man, in order not to disillusion my friend, rob him of his enjoyment of the generous, giving spirit of the season, I have decided two things. Would you like to know what those two things might be, Mr. Goodfellow? Or should I say Mr. Dill?”

”Yeah, yeah, I figured that one out. You know who I am. You're here to rob me, aren't you? You don't just want protection money-you want it all.”

”Protection money? I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with the term. I was just saying something on this head to my companions, as a matter of fact. You Americans certainly do put your own delightful spins on the King's English, don't you? None of which really matters, my good sir, as you were correct with your second a.s.sumption. Yes, Mr. Dill, I want all of your money. After some consideration, I've decided that felons of your ilk would disdain banks, wis.h.i.+ng to keep your ill-gotten gains close to you. I want you to go into your office now, gather it all up, every last bent penny you've acc.u.mulated in your nefarious and dishonorable scheme, and I want you to hand it all over to Mr. Balder and his four friends here, who will then donate it all to the charity of Mr. Balder's choice. I believe he holds a particular affection to something called Toys for Tots. And then, Mr. Dill, I want one more thing. I would appreciate it very much if both you and Santas for Silver were to disappear.”

”Or?” Dill asked, looking very much as if he might soon become quite sick to his stomach. ”Those are Campiano's guys standing over there, aren't they?”

”In point of fact, at the moment, sir, they are mine, on loan from their employer, you might say, so I suggest you give a valiant attempt to tear your pitifully terrified gaze away from them and lend me all of your attention.”

”I heard you. You want me to believe that you want the money for that nimrod over there.”

”Another word with which I am not familiar, but I do believe you've just insulted my good friend. You do this, I imagine, Mr. Dill, as you believe I possess no limits to my patience. I feel it only fair to inform you that you'd be incorrect in that a.s.sumption.”

”Okay, okay, I've got it. I know when I'm screwed. A ... a lot of it is still in coin ... everything comes here every night, and I've just been sorting it and keeping it all piled up back there. But there's a lot, and it's pretty heavy.”

”Really? Never fear, Mr. Dill, although your concern is gratifying. I have it on good authority that one of my a.s.sociates, Anthony by name, is quite capable of carrying bulky, ungainly weights.”

Donny Dill took one last peek over Saint Just's shoulder, then seemed to attempt to hide himself behind Saint Just. ”I was right. Tony Three Cases. Christ. Look, how about I cut you guys in. Fifty-fifty. No-sixty-forty. I'm not a greedy man. Come on, what do you say? Seventy-thirty?”

”I suggest you sit down, Mr. Dill. Use Miss McDermont's chair, why don't you. I don't believe that astute lady will be returning any time soon.”

”Sit ... sit down?”

Saint Just sighed. ”You are a rather tedious fellow, aren't you? Yes, sit down. Smile. And then inform Mr. Balder that you have been called to the national headquarters of Santas for Silver-shall we say in Seattle?-and therefore you sadly must of necessity immediately cease operations here in New York.”

”That's where you're sending me? Seattle?”

”No, Mr. Dill. Where you go when you leave here is of extreme unimportance to me. I simply desire you gone, although I do dare to suggest that a warmer climate may put some color back in your cheeks. Now, to continue if I might? As you must by necessity depart in an hour, you are turning all responsibility for the collected funds over to the eminently trustworthy Mr. Balder, with the impa.s.sioned hope that he deliver those funds to his favorite charity, as Santas for Silver may be disbanding. Are we clear, Mr. Dill?”

Dill, who was now sitting behind the desk-Saint Just could not help but smile as he heard the man's shaking knees making repeated contact with the wood-merely nodded before saying out of the corner of his mouth, ”You really won't kill me?”

”And ruin such a lovely day? Certainly not. It is, after all, the Christmas season. Now, are we agreed?”

Donny Dill, at last seeming to believe that he had made a lucky escape, nodded furiously.

”I had so hoped you'd understand. And I also hope you will take some time, Mr. Dill, to consider what has transpired here and perhaps mend your ways, redirect your feet onto the straight and narrow.”

”Uh-huh, yeah. Sure. Can we hurry this up? I ... I gotta go to the bathroom ...”

It was with a smile on his face and a spring to his step that Saint Just returned to the condo an hour later, lightly tipping his hat to Socks as he approached the door the man held open for him. ”Ah, Socks, what a splendid day. Maggie's upstairs?”

”Yup, and all by herself, too, now that the delivery guys left.”

”You're going to explain that statement, correct?”

”Sure. Ms. Simmons had a treadmill sent over, and one of those bottled-water dispensers. Maggie tried to tell the guys no, but the stuff's up there now. Money sure gets you service faster than no money does, huh? Maggie's not too happy, so I wouldn't go up there now, if I were you. Oh, and Ms. Simmons is still out, Ms. Toland-James has taken a cab to her offices because Ms. Simmons has the limo, and the d.a.m.n dog is right inside here, tied to my stool. Sterling told me not to take him back to Maggie until he'd done his business, which he did about ten minutes ago, on my shoe. You'll take him back upstairs for me?”

Saint Just considered this for the s.p.a.ce of two seconds. ”No.” He then handed Socks a twenty-dollar bill, promised him another if Brock was still in one piece when Miss Simmons returned to collect him, and headed upstairs to Maggie's condo ... to come face-to-face with an agitated Maggie.

”Look at this. Look at this. I've got a d.a.m.n hulking, ugly treadmill in my living room.”

Saint Just walked across the room to inspect the machine. ”Yes, I see that. Well, my dear, you were just speaking of this corner recently, as I recall it, saying you still had done nothing about finding something to fill it.”

”Oh yeah, right. And that's just the perfect thing, too. Much cla.s.sier than a lighted curio cabinet, or that painted chest we saw a couple of weeks ago. But it's missing something, don't you think? Maybe I should toss a sweaty, smelly towel over it. The perfect accessory.” Maggie flopped down on the couch. ”I still don't believe it. She says something not two hours ago, and bam, here come these guys with that ... that thing. Unpacked it, set it up, took everything away with them-I ended up tipping them fifty bucks, which shows you how stupid I am. Ten minutes later, here comes this guy with the bottled-water dispenser. It's in the kitchen, if you want to look at it. Actually, that was a pretty good idea. I signed a two-year contract. Not that I'll be here to drink the water-not once Faith comes back and I strangle her.”

”You didn't have to accept either delivery, you know,” Saint Just pointed out, pouring himself a gla.s.s of wine. For a man of his era, water had never been a viable option, most especially in London, but he would have to try this bottled water at some point. Just not right now.

”I know I didn't have to take the stuff, Alex,” Maggie said, leaning back against the couch cus.h.i.+ons, to run her hands down her belly. ”But Faith looks pretty good, you know, and I really probably should exercise, especially now that I'm not smoking anymore. I mean, can you see me at some gym? The only people you see at gyms are those people who don't need gyms, and I'm a good ten-eight pounds from going to a gym. So I guess I'll keep it-but not in here. Oh, and it folds up, so that's good. You and Sterling can help me move it to the guest bedroom once Faith is gone, okay?”

Saint Just nodded, then asked, ”Certainly, but why didn't you simply have the deliverymen a.s.semble it there?”

Maggie rolled her eyes. ”Are you kidding? Faith has five suitcases open in that room. Clothes everywhere. Stuff, everywhere. She was always like that. We'd go to conferences together and she'd sprawl out all over the room. Her shoes, her clothes, her toiletries. I had about enough s.p.a.ce for my toothbrush and a lipstick in the bathroom. Oh, and she used all the towels. And then there was the bath powder. Everywhere. Clouds of bath powder.”

”Correct me if I'm wrong, but it would seem that you should have been relieved when you two no longer shared your accommodations.”

”I know,” Maggie said, her head down. ”But we had fun, Alex, we really did. There's a lot to be said for being poor together, struggling together. Then she hit the lists and got all weird.” She looked up at him. ”I'm not all weird, am I? I love being on the lists, but I don't ever want to get all weird.”

Saint Just patted her head as he walked behind the couch, then sat down on the facing couch. ”Confident. I would be gratified if you could believe more in yourself and your talent, my dear. Other than that, I wouldn't change a hair on your head.”

Maggie smiled sheepishly. ”Thanks, Alex,” she said, sitting up straighter. ”So you like me, right?”

”Correct,” he said slowly.

”And you respect my opinion.”

”Certainly. In all things.” He took another sip of wine, wondering when she'd get to the point.

”So if I told you I did something, you'd be all right with that? Even if I didn't run it by you first?”

He thought of his earlier interlude with Mr. Donny Dill. ”You are under no obligation to consult with me on every small thing, my dear.”

”Right. But this isn't a small thing. I think Bruce McCrae killed Francis and Jonathan.”

Saint Just did his best to not react. ”Really. And may I ask how you came to hold this opinion?”

”Well, I don't really hold it. I'm thinking it. Except when I'm thinking I'm completely off-base. We need everything to fit, right, and not everything fits. I mean, some does, but some doesn't. Still ... I did something. Had Bernie do something. Not that I told Steve what I did, because you'd just end up in jail, and that can't be a good thing, right? So we have to find another way to prove what I think I know ... if I'm right.”

Perhaps he'd like more wine. Yes, probably so. Saint Just got to his feet and made his way across the room to the drinks table. ”Would you care to elaborate on what you've just said? Or, even better, start at the beginning and tell me exactly what you've thought ... and what you've done?”

”Okay, sure. Here's how it went down. Bernie was sitting at the computer, touching things the way she does, and she saw Jonathan's ma.n.u.script up on the screen. Only she thought it was Bruce's ma.n.u.script. Bruce's ma.n.u.script, Alex, not Jonathan's. Even though you found it hidden in Jonathan's apartment.”

”Yes, my dear, I believe I'm following you,” Saint Just said, retaking his seat. ”But while I'm still digesting this, do go on.”

Maggie stood up, sat down again with one leg tucked up under her, obviously near to bursting with what she had to tell him and unable to sit still. ”Here's where it gets really interesting. I didn't tell Bernie what I thought, of course-oh, or J.P., because she was here, too-I'll get to that part. And I forgot to tell you what Steve said when he called, didn't I? d.a.m.n, Alex. I've got so much going on. Dad-oh, he called, he's back safe and settling into his friend's apartment. And the phone finally stopped ringing, so that's good. Well, not all good, because I'm hoping Bruce calls-except I wanted you to be here when he did. So I was almost glad to have all those delivery guys coming in and out-so I wasn't alone, you know?-because you weren't around and I really, really needed to talk to you-”