Indigo Slam: An Elvis Cole Novel (17 page)

Dobcek stepped away from the door, and waved me inside. The house was warm and dark and close, and quiet the way empty houses are quiet. I called, “Charles?”

Dobcek smiled. “What? You think we’d tie him in the bathroom?” He dangled Winona’s key ring, the one Clark had brought her from Seattle, and the one she had given to Charles. The little troll was matted and ugly, and looked pleased with events.

“The boy better be all right, Dobcek.”

Dobcek smiled, telling me that I could be as tough as I liked, but he still had the boy. Sautin was in the living room, sitting in Clark’s chair, watching the Food Channel without sound. The Too Hot Tamales were goofing with each other, smiling and kidding around in total silence, and Sautin was smiling with them. His eye and the side of his face was swollen and purple where Joe had kicked him. Dobcek said, “Don’t you hate being found out a liar, you telling us you know nothing about these people?”

“Sure. I wake up sweating about it every night.”

The house had been turned inside out. Drawers had been emptied onto the floor and plates smashed and living room furniture upended and slit open. Even the dining room table was upside down, its legs pointing to heaven like some dead beast. I guess they’d been searching when Charles showed up. I wondered if he had tried to fight them. I wondered if they had hurt him, and, if they had, I thought that I might kill them. I said, “Where’s the boy?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“Where?”

Dobcek put his hand under my jacket to get the Dan Wesson, and when he did I caught his gun with my left hand and twisted it up and out at the same time that I drew the Wesson and pointed it at his nose. “The boy.”

Dobcek made the shark smile. “Dmitri, you should have seen what he did. That was pretty good.”

“Da.” Dmitri Sautin was still watching Susan and Mary Sue.

I thumbed back the hammer.

Dobcek made the shark smile harder. “And then what happens to the boy?”

I stared at him past the gun. Sautin said, “Da, the boy,” but still didn’t move.

Dobcek said, “What we have here is what you call a Mexican standoff.”

“I’ve got Clark, and you’ve got Clark’s boy.”

“Da. Put away the gun and let’s deal with this.”

I breathed deeply, and then I stepped back and lowered the gun. He held out his hand, and I gave back his gun. A nice new Sig P226. Nine millimeter. Easy to shoot. Since Pike and I had taken his other gun, I wondered where he’d gotten this one. “I reach into my pocket, okay?”

“Sure.”

He took out a hotel card from the Sheraton-Universal. “We’re staying here. The boy isn’t, but we are.” The boy was probably with Markov. “You ask Clark if he wants to see his boy again, then you give me a call and we talk about it.”

“The boy for Clark.”

“That’s right.” He said something in Russian to Sautin, and Sautin came around the chair. The swelling was nasty, and I hoped it hurt.

Dobeck winked at me, and then they left.

I stood in the house without moving for maybe five minutes, watching the Too Hot Tamales, and thinking. The Too Hot Tamales were making something with ancho chiles and tequila, and laughing a lot. They looked like they were having fun, and I wished I was with them and laughing, too, but I wasn’t. I was in a devastated house that had just been vacated by a couple of Russian hit men who were holding a little boy, and I was trying not to let panic overwhelm me. Panic kills. I felt like a juggler with too many balls in the air and more being added. Okay, Cole, take a breath. I said, “Good-bye, ladies,” and turned off the Tamales.

The house had been turned upside down because Dobcek and Sautin were looking for a clue to find Clark. Then Charles had walked in, and Charles was better than a clue. He was a don’t-pass-go E-ticket straight to the big money payoff.

I went into the hall and looked at the attic door and saw that it was undisturbed. I pulled down the door, and went up for the duffel. It was where I had left it, and I thought that maybe I could use it. I wasn’t sure how yet, but maybe. I dropped it out of the attic, closed the hatch, then locked the house and drove back to Studio City. I drove slowly, and thought about Markov, and what he wanted, and Clark, and what he wanted, and little by little the bits and pieces of a plan emerged.

When I let myself into the safe house, Joe and Clark and Teri were at the dining room table, and the Victs were still clumped together in the living room. Winona and Walter Junior were watching
Animaniacs
on television. Everyone in the room looked at me, and Teri and Clark spoke at the same time. “Did you find him?”

“Dobcek and Sautin were at the house. They have Charles.”

Clark drifted one step to the side, then caught himself on the back of a chair. Teri squinted. “Who are Dobcek and Sautin?”

Pike said, “They work for the man who wants your father.”

“What’s that?” She was staring at the duffel.

I didn’t answer. I looked at Clark instead. “Charles is okay, but we need to talk about this.” Clark was staring at the duffel, too.

Teri said, “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? That’s his counterfeit money.” Her voice getting strained.

Clark said, “Teri, please take Winona upstairs.”

Teri didn’t move.

“Teri, please.”

“Don’t treat me like a child!”
It was a sudden, abrupt shriek that caught Clark by surprise. “I’m the one who takes care of him. I’m more his mother than you’re his father! Why don’t
you
take Winona upstairs?” She was shouting, and Winona was crying, and Clark was looking like he must’ve looked the day he found out he had cancer, as if a truth that he’d believed in with all his heart had now been proved a lie.

Dak turned away. Embarrassed.

I said, “Teri.” Soft. “Teri, it’s not your fault.”

Teri came around the table and hugged me, mumbling something that I could not understand. I think she was saying, “I will not cry. I will not cry.”

I stroked her hair, and held her, and after a time she took Winona and went upstairs.

Clark stared at the floor.

“Clark.”

He looked up at me. “Yes?”

I told them what Dobcek had said. The father for the boy. While I was saying it, Clark ran one hand over the other in a kind of endless wringing motion, and when I was done, he said, “Well, I guess we have to call them.”

Pike said, “They want you dead.”

“They have Charles.” Clark’s face was tinged a kind of ochre green. “I can’t let them hurt Charles.”

Mon said something to Dak in Vietnamese. Probably seeing their revolutionary dream crumble.

I said, “We don’t want them to hurt Charles, but trading you isn’t the answer. They won’t let Charles go if they have you. They’ll kill you both because that’s the only way they can protect themselves.”

Clark shook his head. “What do you mean, protect themselves?”

“Think about it, Clark. They want to kill you. If they do that, and anyone is left alive, what’s to keep Charles or me or someone from going to the police?”

Clark pinched his lips together. “But what do we do?”

Mon mumbled something again, and Nguyen Dak said, “We make them want to keep you alive.”

I looked at Dak, and Dak seemed dark and enclosed and dangerous. I thought he must have looked this way many years ago. War is war.

Pike said, “Yes.”

Dak said, “The Russian wants vengeance, but he will trade his vengeance for greed. All criminals are this way.”

I watched him. “Are you willing to help?”

“I want the dong. If I have to help you in order to get the dong, then I will help.” There was something hard in his eyes, and maybe a bit of a smile at the edges of his mouth.

Mon said, “Russians.”

Pike’s mouth twitched, and I knew Pike was seeing it, too. Old wars merging with new wars. The Russians had supported the North against Nguyen Dak, and the Russians still supported the North’s Communist regime today. It would all be the same to these guys. A war they needed to win to go home.

I touched the duffel with my toe. “Is this Markov’s money?”

Clark nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Will Markov know it, and will he know it’s counterfeit?”

Clark dug a packet of the bills from the duffel and flipped through them. “He won’t know they’re his, but he can tell they’re counterfeit. He has people who know how to tell.”

Pike said, “What are you thinking?”

“Markov knows what Brownell knew. That means he knows that Clark is printing again, but he may not know what. He knows Clark is good, but what if he thinks Clark is even better now?”

Clark shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“What if we buy Charles back?”

“With what?”

“Funny money.”

Clark said, “But he’ll know it’s counterfeit. He can get counterfeit money anywhere.”

“Not just any counterfeit. What if it’s counterfeit that’s so good that it looks exactly like the real thing, so good that Markov couldn’t tell it was funny money, and neither could a bank inspector.”

Pike nodded. “Like the super notes from Iran.” Iran was rumored to be counterfeiting U.S. hundred-dollar bills that were so good they were undetectable.

“Exactly.” I looked at Clark. “Markov knows you’re good. What if we tell him that you’re as good as the Iranians?”

Clark was shaking his head. “But I can’t print anything like that. The Iranians use intaglio presses from Switzerland just like our Treasury. They use a paper just like ours.” He kept shaking his head. “I couldn’t duplicate that paper. I can’t get an intaglio press. They cost millions.”

Pike said, “Real money.”

Clark opened his mouth, then closed it.

I said, “We flash a few thousand bucks in real hundreds, only we tell them it’s counterfeit. We let Markov examine them, whatever he wants, and we offer to buy back the boy. All the funny money he wants for Charles.”

Clark said, “But when we give him the counterfeit dollars, he’ll know. He’ll be able to tell that they aren’t the same.”

“I know, Clark. That’s why we’ll need the police.”

Clark simply said, “Okay.”

Walter Tran, Jr., gasped, and Mon turned a dark, murky color. Dak said, “Why the police?”

“We need the police to get Markov off the board. Markov takes possession of the funny money, we get Charles, and the feds make the bust, taking down Markov both for the funny money and the kidnapping.” I turned back to Clark. “If we give Markov to the feds, they might be willing to let you print the dong.”

He stared at me.

“That way you still get your money from Dak.”

He nodded.

“For your kids.”

Clark looked past me at something far away. You could almost see an exit light come on a door at the far end of a hall in his mind.

Nguyen Dak crossed his arms, still looking dangerous, but now looking thoughtful, too. Maybe thinking about his own children. Or maybe just wondering how he could get out of this without losing everything he’d worked for.

I said, “I can call Dobcek and set a meet, but we still need the flash money. A few thousand in hundreds that we may not get back. Markov might want it. We might even have to destroy it to convince him that it’s fake.”

Clark rolled his eyes and made a deep sigh. “Oh, that’s great. Where can we get that?”

Nguyen Dak said, “Me.”

I was staring at him when he said it, and he was staring back. “All right,” I said. “All right.”

Mon looked happy, liking the idea of getting back at the Ruskies.

Dak made two phone calls to arrange for the money. After that, I called Dobcek and told him I thought we could work out a trade, but that we would have to talk about it. I didn’t mention the money, but I made it sound like Clark was willing to exchange himself for the boy. It was a classic bait and switch, promise them one thing, give them something else. Whether they like it or not. Dobcek said, “You will bring the father.”

“Right. And you’ll bring the kid.” Classic.

Somebody said something behind Dobcek. Background noise. Then he said, “We will not discuss the details now. Give me your phone number.”

“Why?”

“I will have to discuss this with our friend. I will call you tomorrow with the details.” Our friend. He meant Markov.

“Forget it, Dobcek. I’ll call you.”

Dobcek snickered. “You don’t trust us. You think we find you with the phone number?”

“I’ll call you.”

Someone spoke behind him again, then Dobcek’s voice hardened. “Call us exactly at nine tomorrow morning. Be ready to act immediately. Do you understand?”

“Dobcek, I am the master of understanding. Remember that.”

“Da.”

“I am also the master of vengeance. That boy better not be harmed.”

Dobcek gave a single raspy laugh, then hung up.

Clark, Joe, and the Viets were looking at me. “We’ll set the time and place tomorrow at nine. Will the money be here?”

Dak said, “Twenty thousand dollars in one-hundred-dollar bills will be here in a few hours.”

Pike nodded. “You’re okay, Dak.”

I was climbing the stairs to see Teri when the phone rang. Pike answered, then held it out. “Lucy.”

“What happened?” My heart began hammering. Worse than with the Russians. Worse than when Mon was holding the AK on me.

Pike held the phone.

I ran down, took it, and said, “Luce?”

“We won.” Two words that cut through the adrenaline like a sharp edge. “Elvis, it’s over. We won.”

“You got the job.”

“Yes.”

Pike was staring at me. I nodded at him, and he gripped my shoulder and squeezed. “We’ve got time. Go see her.”

I looked at Clark. I frowned toward the stairs.

Pike said, “Jesus Christ. Go.”

Tracy Mannos lived in a small contemporary home on a lovely street off Roscomare Drive at the top of Bel Air. It was almost ten when I got there, but Lucy and Tracy were bright and excited and celebrating their victory with a bottle of Mumm’s Cordon Rouge Brut. Tracy opened the door, but Lucy almost knocked her down getting to me. We hugged hard, the two of us beaming, and Tracy laughed. “If you two start taking off your clothes, I’m calling the police.”

Lucy and I started laughing, too, as if someone or something had pulled a plug and an ocean of tension was draining away. Lucy said, “How long can you stay?”

I stepped back, and the laughter faded a bit. “Not long.” I told her about the money. I told her what we were going to try to do. “I don’t know how long this is going to take. I might be busy the next couple of days.”

She had one of my hands in both of hers again, squeezing hard. “I know. I’ll have to get back to Ben tomorrow.” Two ships passing. The price of adulthood.

“Yes, but you’ll be back.”

Her smile widened again. “You bet your buns I will, Studly.”

“Tell me about it, Luce. Tell me everything that happened today.”

They did, some of which they now knew as fact, and some of which was supposition. It was neither complicated nor elaborate, because such things never are. It was merely ugly. Stuart Greenberg wasn’t the evil, old-boy-crony that we’d suspected. When Richard had learned it was KROK that offered Lucy the job, he used his position at BM&D as an entrée to KROK’s parent firm, then suggested to them that Lucy was erratic in the workplace. When the parent firm, concerned that KROK was in the process of hiring an uncertain(not to mention, untested) on-air personality, passed along their concerns to Stuart Greenberg, Greenberg questioned this information, and was told to contact the source, namely one Richard Chenier, a highly respected partner at the Baton Rouge office of Benton, Meyers & Dane. Greenberg had only been reacting to what Richard reported. Tracy said, “When Stuart realized what had happened, he spent the rest of the meeting apologizing.”

Sometimes you just have to shake your head. “And that was it? You’ve got the job?”

Lucy smiled. “We agreed to agree. Stuart promised to phone David Shapiro and wrap up the negotiation as quickly as possible.”

Tracy leaned toward me. “She has the goddamned job.”

I said, “What about Richard?”

Lucy’s game face reappeared. “I’ve phoned his office. I’ve also phoned his boss.”

Tracy said, “I think she should sue the sonofabitch.”

Lucy’s mouth formed a hard knot. Thinking of Ben, maybe. Thinking how far do you take a war like this when some of the fallout might rain on your child. She said, “Yes. Well. We’ll see.” Then she seemed to force the thoughts away, and took my hand again. “I want to thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Of course you did. You supported my need to fight this without you.” She smiled and jiggled my hand. “I know you. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”

I shrugged. “No big deal. You said I could shoot him later.”

“Well, yes. I guess I did.”

Lucy glanced at Tracy, and Tracy smiled. Voiceless female communication. Tracy kissed my cheek, and handed me the bottle of Brut. There wasn’t much left. “You take care of yourself, doll.” And then she walked away.

I said, “Did you just send her away?”

“I did.”

“Good.”

Lucy and I sat in Tracy’s living room, holding hands. It was late, and getting later, but I did not want to leave. Lucy said, “I do wish I could stay, Elvis.”

“I know.”

She looked at me carefully, and then she touched my face. The bruise from Seattle had faded. “I’ll be out soon to find a place to live. As soon as Ben finishes school, we’ll move.”

I nodded.

“You damn well better still be here.”

I nodded again.

“Please be careful tomorrow.”

“Careful is my middle name.”

“No, it isn’t. But it should be.”

“I’ll be here when you move out, Lucille. You have my word.”

She kissed my hand, and we sat like that, and not very long after, I drove back to Studio City.