Middle Man (11 page)

T
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e big gate at the King's house opened and I drove the Honda up to the house. Two goons were waiting for me. As soon as I closed the car door, they stepped beside me and held my arms.

“Guys. Not necessary,” I said. I was tired of goons. They did not let go. I stopped walking. “Please. I don't want to be manhandled. I don't want to fight. I don't want to hear a long list of lies. I just want to go inside and find out what the hell happened to my million dollars. Is that unreasonable?”

They were silent for a moment, unsure how to respond. Then the goon on my left said, “Yeah. That's not gonna happen.” And they started to pull me.

Gill appeared at the door. He almost shook his head. They let go.

Zoran waited in the living room, still simmering. The vein in his forehead wiggled like a worm struggling to escape. All he could come up with was “How dare you come back here?”

“Calm it down,” I said. “You might evaporate. I'd like to see the King. Now.”

Zoran's camel eyes lowered as if locking in the memory of this moment for later retribution. Instead of spitting at me, he turned abruptly and walked out of the room. I was left alone with Gill, and the furniture and the lighting fixtures and the walls. Gill surprised me by speaking before the walls got around to it.

“Turn around.”

I was prepared for a fight.

Gill said, “You left me holding the bag in the park. I didn't like that.”

“Next time I do it, don't let the other side run away with the money.”

I put my hands on the back of a chair, ready to make that the first weapon. It was a good solid chair, which was going to shatter like balsa when it came in contact with Gill. But I didn't need the chair.

Gill said, “Next time?” And his mouth curled slightly, lips closed. His eyes seemed to sharpen as he did it: He looked slightly mad. Roid rage came to mind. But the smile was too heavy for him. He let go and the eyes reverted to their flat challenging intensity.

Zoran reentered. “This way,” he sniffed. He led me through the garden, past the gazebo, pool house, and pool. Behind the green screen at the tennis court, a short figure all in white stood in one spot. In spite of the inaction, the sound of tennis balls bouncing and being hit came in a slow, regular beat. Zoran followed me inside.

The King stood across the court, in tennis whites, playing against a ball machine. He did not stop, so I stepped over to the machine and turned it off. The King held up his racket to stop Zoran from turning it back on. A servant, whom I had not noticed, waited in the far corner with a towel that he delivered to the King. At last, the King came around the net.

“Robert, I'm relieved to see that you are okay.”

“Why? Didn't you get your share of the money? Looking for more?”

“Please, let me explain. Come . . .”

It was back to the gazebo for tea and pastries. I waited for the King to have a few bites. Zoran stood at his side.

“You were most generous yesterday, Robert, in offering to ransom Maya,” the King said as he finished licking his lips of the sugar. “I believe I owe you an explanation, and perhaps it will answer some of the questions you must have. Maya's kidnapping was genuine. But the kidnapper was not unknown to me. Nevertheless, my concern for her safety was genuine.”

He stopped. He sipped his tea. He had shown one card in his hand and thought I was going to fold.

“What about now? Are you still concerned? He still has her.”

“I have spoken with her.”

I knew I could frighten it out of him, but Gill was around for moments like those. The smugness that came from withholding information, the keeping of royal secrets, was probably a big portion of the kingly feeling. Insults would not crack that barricade. But, if the secrets were known, a weak man like the King might want to commiserate.

“King, I know this is the guy who is backing you. Backing your bid to take over. He's got a basket full of American officers and maybe a few Brits, too, on his payroll. You believe he can make it happen, so you don't want to piss him off.”

The King looked to Zoran, who was shaking his head to show he had not revealed any of this to me.

“I was there last night, King. It isn't hard to figure it out. You feel like a prisoner a bit, too, I bet.”

“Very much, Robert. Very much.” He was excited. He wanted to share the story of his bondage with someone who would not judge it shameful. Gill came into the gazebo. I feared his presence might inhibit the King, but I forgot that it hardly mattered what servants heard.

“He is Maya's ex-husband. At first, as with many partnerships, our goals were congruent. More recently it has become clear to me that I am to be a figurehead. Maya has been encouraging me to break from him. But he has the finances. I trusted this man with the money advanced me by the oil companies. In turn, he has placed me here in Houston and made me into his salesman, soliciting more contributions from the oil companies, all of which has gone to him. I have very little of my own. It was a bargain I made believing he would be able to install me on the throne of my forefathers so I might fulfill my destiny, and the unification of Kurdistan could begin.”

I wasn't in the mood for another video, so I stopped the unification train before it picked up too much steam. “What's his name?” I said.

The King fluttered his eyebrows and counted his fingers and searched the clear sky for rain clouds. That one was staying in the royal vault.

“Without a name it's just a good story, but not all that convincing.” I knew Zoran wasn't going to cooperate, so I turned to Gill. “How about you? You're not afraid, are you?”

“Afraid of . . . ?”

“This guy. The devil behind the throne.”

“No. Not afraid of him,” Gill said as if the thought never occurred to him before.

“Then what's his name?”

“John Bannion. Johnny.”

I turned back to the King. He looked like he was considering diving under his chair to avoid the lightning Johnny Bannion was sure to hurl. Eventually, he realized that was not going to happen right away so he puffed up his chest and tried a little flattery to blind me. “Maya has been looking for help for some time. She thought you might be the person. You have the money and the confidence. And the connections. She was very hopeful and I agreed. Unfortunately, John somehow understood our intent to ally with you. He wanted to demonstrate his control, so he has taken Maya with him. She will be safe as long as I cooperate.”

“Where's the chauffeur?”

“With Maya.”

I shook my head. “I didn't see him and no one referred to him.”

Zoran looked worried. The King smiled, “Arun will stay near Maya.”

“Somebody in this room tipped Bannion that I was coming.”

“That's impossible. I assure you we all wanted you to succeed. We did not betray you.” He spread out his arms, palms up. I expected him to pull up his sleeves, too.

“Somebody here did betray me.”

“Robert, please.”

“I'll make it easier for you. I called the security company and asked them to turn on the alarm. They called Darrell White because I was calling from a number they didn't know and they wanted to confirm the order. Darrell White couldn't get in touch with Bannion, but he knew I was on the loose. He called here. And somebody here called Bannion. He knew I was coming. That's the way it was and there's no other way.”

I had already decided who did it. Zoran's hump grew rounder, and when he licked his lips, I thought I glimpsed a tongue that could stretch across the room. The King spoke in his native language, asking Zoran if he did it. Zoran replied that they were lucky there wasn't a shoot-out; Maya could have been killed. The King said something I wasn't sure of, but it sounded like he was agreeing.

“No one here did that, Robert,” he said.

“How is Bannion financing his coup? My million won't go very far.”

“As I explained, the oil companies. Just as you have allied with the Kongra-Gel.”

It did not matter to me if he knew about the money in the graves or not. I wanted another bit of information.

“Maybe it's okay with you, King, if Maya stays with Bannion, but I paid a million dollars to get her out and I want my money's worth.”

“Please, Robert, for Maya's sake, I urge you to reconsider.”

Shaming the King was tempting, but too easy. He was hostage to Bannion whether Maya was free or not. He was hostage because it was easier and safer and it was a sure way to keep the dream intact, far from the danger of becoming a reality. I knew he would not answer me, but I gave him dibs.

“Where is she?”

“You are entering into matters beyond your understanding.”

“Well, King, if I only dealt with things I understood, I'd be a hermit.” I turned to Gill. “Where is she?”

Gill moved his eyes to the King and then to Zoran and then back to me. With all that activity, I knew he was excited. He said, “I'll go with you.”

The King said, “Mr. Gill, I forbid it.”

Zoran came forward fluttering his camel eyes in lieu of spluttering out a lot of angry sounds. He and the King stared at Gill, waiting for a response to the command, but that just meant they had delved into matters they did not understand. I let the silence run a little because I remembered the King moved slowly in moments like this. When I thought he had all he could take, I got up and moved close to Zoran and spoke to him in Dari, which I knew he would understand. The message was this: If you warn them this time, I'll kill you.

Zoran jolted upright and his long eyelashes brushed his eyebrows.

I turned to Gill. “Ready?”

______

I packed, showered, and lay on the couch for a nap. A cop-knock woke me. I counted out the seconds until the notes repeated. At eight, the knock came again. Though I have never been able to articulate the characteristics that distinguish a cop-knock from others, I enjoy holding on to the belief, fantasy or not, that I can tell when a cop touches my door. This time I was cheating: I had been expecting the FBI for a while.

Agent Hanrihan looked as if he had been beamed in from Chicago; he wore the same blue blazer and beige pants and striped tie. His hair fell over his forehead in just the same way. Agent Sampson had changed into a blue skirt and a beige sleeveless blouse. I sat them down in the living room and made a show of closing the bedroom door before joining them. I asked if they wanted me to order up coffee. They declined. I ordered coffee for three anyway.

Sampson took the lead this time. She was calm, encouraging, confidential; we were teammates, comrades; she had forgotten Hanrihan's aggressive hostility and I should, too. She showed me a scrap of paper with a name and the name of a graveyard in Kentucky, handwritten, all in capitals, in pencil. Hanrihan kept eyeing the bedroom door like a cat that heard scratching on the other side. The effort it took to play backup was making him sweat.

“We found this at Frank Godwin's apartment. The grave was raided. Do you know anything about this?” Sampson said.

“Why would I?”

“You knew Frank.”

“I don't know anything about that slip of paper or who attacked the grave. Based on conversations with Frank and others, I identified the grave in Havre as one that might have the wrong remains in it. I went to see him again to ask some more questions.” I sounded like a lying call-center clerk trying to placate an angry customer.

Sampson took time to do some thinking. Hanrihan had already finished all his thinking for the day. “Why are you here, then?” He sneered as he said it: a sniveling prosecutor thinking he has trapped a witness. I was in no rush to answer. Hanrihan's eyes drifted to the bedroom door. A different kind of knock sounded. I opened the door for room service and told the waiter to put the tray on the coffee table.

Hanrihan stood. “Who's in there?” he said.

“That's not your business.”

The waiter held the pen out for me to sign the check. His head held still, but his wide eyes were moving between the agents and me. He wanted no part of this. Sampson shook her head slowly as if to warn Hanrihan. He ignored her.

“I'm going to see for myself.”

“Bill, leave it alone,” said Sampson.

“Sir, could you sign, please,” said the waiter.

Hanrihan stepped toward the bedroom and I stepped in front of him.

“I could make you hit me and be rid of you forever. But I won't do it. Because I want you around.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Because you're so stupid.”

Hanrihan's back was to Agent Sampson or he would have seen her shrug and nod in agreement. The waiter put the pen down next to the check and moved quickly for the door. Hanrihan smirked and stepped around me and opened the bedroom door. I watched Sampson, expecting her to get up and follow him. She sat back like someone intending to turn on the tube and hang out.

“I don't get it, Lieutenant,” she said.

“What's that?”

“I don't get why a smart, aggressive, angry Marine like you isn't in a war zone. Why he's digging up the dead.”

“Therapy.”

Hanrihan reappeared. “Where are you going? His bags are packed. That's why he didn't want me to go in there.”

“He closed the door so you would go in there,” Sampson said.

Hanrihan blinked away that ray of light. “Where are you going?” He said it slowly to make it sound threatening.

“Where are you from?” I said in the same way.

Most cops would ignore that, stick to the business of getting an answer to their question. Hanrihan jolted his head back like a rooster. Maybe he didn't like where he came from.

Sampson spoke up. “What would you do, Lieutenant, if you wanted to know who killed Frank Godwin?”

“I do want to know.”

“Then help us out. How would you proceed?”