Part 10 (1/2)
”But...”
”Please. Your motives are pure. Your monetary knowledge is infantile. Don't spoil my hash browns. If you want to be serious about it, I will loan you some texts.”
”I just stopped being serious.”
”Good. Now let's get back to what you were talking about before. You have a target. The young Marino. Or his father. Or both. They are public people. I read about them from time to time, mostly about the young ones. Four children?”
”Two boys and two girls. Ruffi is the eldest.”
”So you can reach them, approach them, what ever. Luckily, before anybody reaches you again. But is that what Browder would have done? If we are going to make moral judgments, take what we conceive to be moral actions, then we should set in motion what Browder hoped to set in motion.”
”I don't know how he was going to do it.”
”You mean you don't know what particular pipeline he was going to use. But is it important to know that? I would think that your Mr. Jornalero would get the information to the right people. If Browder's guess was right, you can then lay back until the fireworks are over, and if young Marino survives it, you have your target. But after the fireworks, if indeed they happen, no one will be coming after you anymore. So you could quit right there.”
”If I should happen to want to.”
”But you won't?”
”No. If I read about that boat in the paper, maybe I could quit. But I was there. I saw them. I didn't know them, but I think I owe them. If they were garbage, they were young garbage. Whoever did it, it ought to be hung around his neck like a sign. Unclean. He ought to have to carry a little bell to warn people he's coming.”
”The white knight rides again.”
”With rusty armor, bent lance and swaybacked steed. Why not? Billy was a friend. I had good luck and the two little thieves had bad luck. So I'll follow your suggestion. I thank you for it. Browder thanks you. I'll buy the breakfast.”
”I think you should. Anyone who can carry that much money into Mexico and bring it all back out can always buy my breakfast.”
”When I counted it, I was down two thousand. Browder took out expenses, I think.”
”Strange man. He didn't sound persuasive. He didn't look persuasive. But he was.”
In the afternoon I tried to get in touch with Jornalero. There was no listing for a home phone. I phoned Millis. Her voice was subdued and listless.
”How are you making it?” I asked her.
”It isn't easy. And the cold in the night killed my whole garden. Everything is black and sagging and ugly. Like some kind of message. All of a sudden this place seems huge. I want to get out of it and yet I don't.”
”How do you mean?”
”Frank keeps asking me to come in and sign things but I make excuses and he has to bring the papers here, and bring a notary and witnesses along. It's a terrible nuisance for him.”
”He'll bill you for it.”
”Of course. McGee, I kind of thought I'd hear from you sooner than this.”
”I was out of town.”
”Oh?”
”I was out of the country.”
”Really? All I wanted, I wanted a chance to tell you that I tried to feel guilty and ashamed of us, but I couldn't manage that either. And then I've been worried about somebody trying to hurt you again.”
”I had to do some scrambling about four days or so after I last saw you. But they didn't try hard enough.”
”I hate to even think about it. Can you come see me today?”
”I called you to ask if you have any phone number for Jornalero. For his home?”
”Let me go look. I doubt it.”
She took so long I got tired of waiting and switched the speaker phone on. I was pouring myself a cup of coffee I didn't need when she came back on the line. She told me I sounded as if I was in the bottom of a well. I told her that was because I have a cheap speaker phone. She said she found Jornalero's home address, but no phone number. He lived at 22 Sailfish Lagoon, Miami. As, I remembered, did the elder Marino. ”Are you going to stop by, Travis?”
”Let me have a rain check, Millis. I've got some people coming over.”
”Sure you have. Okay. Forget I asked.”
”Maybe after they leave. I'll phone first.”
No one was coming over. Sometimes I lie well, with hearty conviction. I probably hadn't lied well to Millis because I didn't want to get involved with her, but I couldn't help wondering if just a little bit of involvement would hurt anything.
So of course, to punish bad lying, some people came over. Two people, two men in their thirties, conservative tweed jackets, neckties, a look of desks and offices. Wisner and Torbell. Employed by the DEA. Polite, impa.s.sive, with the cop air of habitual disbelief. Nothing the world had told them had been totally true, and would never be true, here or in the hereafter.
”Browder gave us a pre-operational report by phone. We'd like to check it out with you, Mr. McGee,” Wisner said.
Fourteen.
IN THE lounge I got Wisner into the big chair and Torbell onto the curved yellow couch. I brought the desk chair closer and sat in it, thus making myself a foot taller than they were. If you suspect someone wishes to give you a hard time, never arrange yourself so that he or she can look down at you.
They refused a drink. Torbell cleared his throat and took out a small notebook. He leafed back and forth through the pages, wearing a frown of self-importance which made a little knot between his brows.
I let them have their silence. Bo they gave up finally and Torbell said, ”May we a.s.sume that you phoned in the report of his death?”
”You may so a.s.sume.”
”You took fifty thousand dollars down there with you?”
”I did.”
”And brought it back?”
”I brought forty-eight back. Browder took out expenses, I think.”
”Where did you get the money?”
”That's irrelevant.”