Cold Shot to the Heart (4 page)

“Eddie, I'm not…” He gave up. “Listen. You're out, you need your money. I recognize that. But it isn't forty K, not anymore.”

“How much is it?”

“I'd have to look at the portfolio. But the way the market's been … It's maybe half that by now.”

“Half.”

“Like I said, I have all the paperwork,” Casco said. “Every dime of it, accounted for. Tino had money with me, too. Ask him. He'll tell you what it's been like.”

“This has nothing to do with Tino.”

“What I'm saying is, everybody took a hit. It's just the way things went.”

“Why didn't you tell Terry that? When he came here for the money?”

“Terry? Who the hell's Terry?” He turned in his chair. “Is that you, kid?”

He looked back at Eddie. “Listen, put yourself in my place. Some guy I've never seen before comes in off the street, tells me he's with you. I'm supposed to hand him ten grand of your money?”

“I needed it. For a lawyer.”

“Then you should have called, told me that. Jesus, Eddie, kid comes in here, sores on his arms, nose running, scratching the whole time. He was so methed out, I wasn't going to give him shit.”

Terry put his half-filled glass on the desk. “I'll wait outside.”

“Hey, kid, no offense,” Casco said.

“No,” Eddie said. “Stay.”

Terry turned, hovered in the doorway.

“He used my name,” Eddie said. “That should have been enough.”

“I think you're being unreasonable,” Casco said.

“Am I?”

“This isn't some street-corner bullshit. This is business.”

Eddie scratched his chin. He'd shaved this morning, but the stubble was back.

“You're right,” he said after a moment. “It's business. I apologize. What's in the safe?”

“What?”

“The safe right there. What's in it? How much?”

“Petty cash. Four hundred maybe. Yours if you want it, but it's hardly worth opening the thing up. Give me a day or two, and I'll shake loose as much of your money as I can. Get it all back in cash, if that's what you want.”

Eddie looked at Terry. “What do you think?”

Terry shrugged.

“Listen, kid, I'm sorry,” Casco said. “Like I was saying, I didn't know you from Adam. I meant no disrespect, and I'm sorry if I gave you a hard time.” He looked at Eddie. “Better?”

“The safe.”

“Eddie, stop acting like this. Let's get Tino on the phone right now. The three of us can talk it over.”

“Open it.”

“Why are you doing this? I've always shown you respect. Why can't you do the same?”

Eddie put his empty glass on the desk.

“Christ,” Casco said. “If it'll make you feel better.”

He rolled the chair to the safe, took a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket, put them on. He bent over the dial, started to work it.

Eddie came around the desk behind him. Casco got the combination wrong the first time, had to wipe his palm on his pants leg, start over.

“You're making me nervous standing back there,” he said.

Eddie put his hands on Casco's shoulders, kneaded the muscles there.

“Easy,” he said. “Relax.”

Casco hunched to break the grip. “I'm fine.”

Eddie took his hands away, stepped back. Casco worked the dial a final time, started to pull up on the handle.

“Hold on,” Eddie said. “Anything else in there I should know about before you open it?”

“No. Enough with the drama, all right?” He pulled on the door.

“Back away,” Eddie said.

Casco rolled his chair to the side. Eddie knelt. Ledger books inside, a thick manila accordion folder. He rifled through papers.

Casco looked at Terry. “What, you don't talk?”

Eddie undid the elastic tie on the folder, opened it, saw banded money inside. He dumped it out on the floor. Stacks of bills, fifties and twenties.

“It's not as much as it looks, Eddie. A few grand maybe…”

Where the folder had been was a dark automatic and a box of shells. He drew the gun out. It was a Star 9, small but solid, with ridged grips. He ejected the magazine, saw it was loaded.

“I didn't even know that was in there,” Casco said. “I swear. It belongs to one of my guys. He carries it when he works late.”

Eddie set the gun and box atop the safe, then stood, knees popping. He was feeling the cold in his joints. He pressed his palms against his lower back, stretched.

“Come on, Eddie. Enough of this. You're out of line and you know it.”

Eddie toed the banded bills.

“How much is that?”

“Shit, I don't know. I put it in there as I need to. I don't count it every time. It can't be much.”

“Looks like ten, maybe fifteen K.”

“If you say so.”

“Which makes you a liar.”

“If you want it, take it. A down payment on what I owe you.”

Eddie picked up the gun, stood away from the safe. “Count that,” he said to Terry. “I can't bend over anymore.”

Terry gathered the money. They watched as he counted, lips moving, thumbing through the bills, lining the stacks up on the desk. He went through them a second time and said, “Twenty-five thousand.”

Eddie looked at Casco. “Petty cash?”

“Like I said, I don't keep track of what's in there.”

Eddie picked up the gun. “This is nice.”

“Eddie, this is bullshit. How long have we known each other? Twenty years? Don't you think we're a little old for this shit?” His face was sallow in the fluorescent light.

Eddie shoved the folder toward Terry with his foot. “Put it back in there.”

“I really think we should call Tino,” Casco said.

“Tell me again. What you're going to do Monday.”

Casco exhaled, the tension draining from him. “First thing in the morning, I go to my broker, get a printout on everything, so you can see where it all went, to the penny. I'll move the money around, get you a cashier's check on my personal account.”

“I want cash.”

“Yeah, I guessed. I'll cash the check myself. The transfers won't go through for a couple days, but I'll give you the money out of my own account. You won't have to wait.”

“Good. Anything else in that safe I missed?”

“Nothing. Just papers, bookkeeping.”

“Let me have a look at one of those ledger books.”

“They wouldn't mean anything to you.”

“I'm curious anyway.”

Casco sighed, rolled his chair back to the safe.

“Tino's not going to like this,” he said.

“That a threat?”

“No. I just don't know why we're doing this.”

“Humor me.”

Casco leaned forward, brought out a red ledger book bound lengthwise with a rubber band. He looked at Eddie, put it atop the safe.

“What's that in the back?” Eddie said.

“Where?”

“In the back, on that shelf.”

“I don't see anything.”

“Get down there and take a look.”

“Eddie, I got a bum knee.”

“You're younger than me. You'll be fine.”

“I swear, Eddie…” He knelt, winced. “I don't see anything.”

“All the way in the back there.”

When Casco leaned forward, his face in the safe, Eddie put a foot between his shoulder blades to hold him there, shot him twice in the back of the head.

Terry jumped. The sound of the shots echoed off the paneling. Brass clinked on the floor.

Eddie took his foot away. Casco's body slumped forward, then rolled slowly to the side, face up. Terry looked away.

Eddie tucked the still-warm gun into his belt, put the box of shells in his jacket pocket. Then he leaned over, tugged out Casco's wallet, tossed it on the desk.

“See what's in there, too.”

When he got no response, he looked over, saw Terry frozen, white-faced.

“What?” Eddie said.

Terry shook his head, said nothing.

Eddie pointed at the folder. “Take that. Half of it is yours.”

When Terry didn't move, Eddie went over to him, cupped the back of his neck, squeezed.

“Look at me,” he said. “I need you to get your shit together.”

Terry nodded, still looking at Casco's body. Eddie let go.

“Get one thing straight,” he said. “This wasn't about money. It was about principle.”

FOUR

“It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas,” Walt Rathka said.

Crissa set the FAO Schwarz bag beside his desk, unwound her scarf. Sleet rattled the big office window, the clamor of horns drifting up from Fifth Avenue, twelve stories below.

“Have a seat,” he said. “Get dry. Hang those things up. Sorry Monique's not here to take them.”

He went back to his chair. He was in his late fifties, wore a suit and tie, red suspenders. She could smell his cologne, knew it went for about eighty dollars an ounce.

“When did you get back?” he said.

“Yesterday.”

She settled into the red leather chair in front of his desk. She had a wine headache from the night before, had finished most of the bottle. It had relaxed her, but not enough to sleep, so she'd taken half a Lunesta. She was feeling the aftereffects now, a tightness around her eyes, a drowsiness two cups of herbal tea at the West Way hadn't cured.

“Successful shopping trip?” he said.

“Not very. I was able to get something for the twins, though.”

“Generous of you. My daughter thinks I'm spoiling them.”

“That's what kids are for.”

“What my wife says. Any complications?”

“None I know of.”

“Good. I worry about you sometimes, Crissa.”

“Don't. Go ahead, have a look.”

He drew the bag closer, took out the stuffed animals, a blue dog and pink rabbit. Beneath was a layer of tissue paper. He pulled it back to expose the banded stacks of money, tilted the bag for a better look.

“It's not much,” she said. “I'd hoped to do better.”

He replaced the paper and the stuffed animals. “I'm sure the twins will enjoy them.”

“How's our project going?”

“The Alabama one? As planned. Construction should begin early next year. Or the next. Hard to tell. Companies are doing well, though, stable as can be. In fact…”

He opened a drawer, slid a legal-sized envelope across the blotter. Inside was a pale blue check for twenty thousand dollars, from a land development company in Anniston. It was made out to Christine Steiner. She kept a Bank of America account in that name.

“Your quarterly consulting fee,” he said. “Legal and accounted for. You can do whatever you like with it.”

“Thanks.” She closed the envelope, nodded at the bag. “You should put that someplace.”

“I will. You look tired, Crissa.”

“Long drive. Bad weather.”

“You staying in the city for a while?”

“For the immediate future. Unless something comes up.”

“Good. I heard from the Realtor in Connecticut. She says the Hammersteins are about ready to make a decision on the house. I'm told your offer is near the top of the list. You're still interested, right?”

“If the terms are right. If they keep screwing around, I'll walk away. There are other houses.”

“That's what I told her. She said they wanted to know more about your background. I said, if you're willing to put sixty percent down, especially in this economy, what do they care about your background? They'll come around, I think.”

“What about the Texas situation?”

He sat back.

“Well, that…” he said.

“I'm going down there to see him soon. I want something to tell him.”

He crossed his arms. “I'm afraid it doesn't look good at the moment.”

“Define that.”

Sleet slashed the window.

“He's had some issues since he's been in custody there, as you know,” he said. “There was a fight with another inmate.”

“That was self-defense.”

“I'm sure it was. Even so, it'll hurt him at the parole hearing in March. My colleague down there says he has an in at the statehouse that could help us, but he wants more money up front to get his man properly motivated, grease the necessary wheels.”

“You mean palms.”

“That, too.”

“This lawyer, you trust him?”

“As far as it goes. Whether his man has as much clout with the Texas Department of Criminal Justice as he'd like us to believe, I don't know. I guess we won't find out until the hearing.”

“How much this time?” she said.

“For his man at the statehouse? Two fifty, he says. I'm guessing that means two for his man and fifty for him.”

“With all we've given him already…”

“I know. It adds up. And if I were licensed to practice in Texas, I'd be down there right now myself, shaking trees and working the angles. So to a certain extent we have no choice. We have to trust him.”

“Two hundred and fifty grand's a lot. I don't know if I could put that much together right away. Not in cash.”

“It's your call, as always.”

She looked out the window at the rain.

“Wayne turns fifty-one in April,” she said.

“I know.”

“That place is killing him.”

“I can try to get him down to two hundred, but I don't know if he'll go for it.”

Goddamn Texas, she thought. It would never let her loose.

“He's got seven years left on his bid,” she said. “If he doesn't make parole, he's going to die in there. I'm not going to let that happen. Whatever we have to do, whatever it costs, that's what we'll do.”

“Understood.”

“Tell your man he'll get the two fifty. But push him for some reassurances, some names.”