Once a Crooked Man (42 page)

“Not just you! Both of us, Max. In case you haven't noticed, you're not alone anymore.”

“Well, I got a problem. I don't know how to do anything ‘straight,' as you call it.”

“Don't be daft; of course you do!”

“Like what, for instance?” he asked.

“You ran a very successful business,” she answered.

“Yes, but…”

“I'll give you it was a bit dodgy, but it was a business nonetheless. All we have to do is find out what's needed around here and set it up. Thanks to Harry we certainly have enough start-up money. I never realized how easy it was to move cash around this world.”

“Nothing to it if you know how. And anyway, if we need more I can get it from Sal. He has full access now. Carter was smart enough to make it so he could.”

“What did you do with Carter's body? You never told me.”

“Deep down in the muddy marshes of New Jersey. Just beside the turnpike. Sal took care of it.”

“I wonder how he's doing?”

“Last I heard he's doing great.” He laughed. “Furella wrote that he broke ninety and almost had a stroke as he lined up his last putt.”

“What else did she write?”

“Not a lot. Feds took a good look around Mazaras and didn't find a thing.”

“Nothing from the South Americans?”

“No. Poor old Hernandez must have better fish to fry.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“Run a restaurant?” he suggested helpfully.

“Do you really want to do that, Max? You really want to tie yourself down twenty-four hours a day? All the shopping, the cooks, the waiters?”

“I never had any trouble before. You get yourself a good chef and he runs it for you—”

“Then you're not running a restaurant!” Her voice echoed in the empty space. “You'll just end up sitting there drinking with the customers! But wait a minute. Do you want action for your mind or your body?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, I do. I need something physical. Did you know I was once a runner?”

“No.”

“I ran cross-country. I was thinking we could build a gym. You know, like one of them spas. Where people come to exercise. It could have a trendy little restaurant. We got enough property right next door.”

“I'd like that.”

“There are a lot of tourists in this part of the world and not a lot of places to work out. They could run on the beach. We could have bikes to rent. There are lots of roads around here for that. The word would soon get around. All the chicks would come by in their skimpies and you could check them out.”

“I'd like that too.”

The front door opened and closed on the floor beneath. A woman's voice called out, “Anyone home?”

Lizzie leaned over the balustrade. “Up here,” she answered.

Footsteps clicked up the bare stairs. A tanned woman in a wrinkled seersucker suit came into the room carrying a manila folder.

“Have you seen the sunset? Gorgeous!” she gushed.

“You got the papers?” asked an anxious Max.

“Hello, Lucy,” said Lizzie, and shook her hand. “Forgive my husband; he's not in the best of moods today.”

“Not a problem, dearie,” Lucy said easily.

The real estate agent showed the contents of the folder to Max. “I made them all out in just your name, but I can easily change them if you want to make it Mr. and Mrs. Perez.”

“No!” said Lizzie. “They're fine the way they are; we don't need to change anything.”

“Right you are.” Lucy handed over the folder. “You can look at them tonight. I'll collect them from you tomorrow. You're paying cash, so there are no financials to bother with. You should be able to move in within a week.”

“That soon?” Max thumbed through the typewritten pages.

“I'll be off,” said Lucy. “Enjoy!”

Lizzie gave her a wave. After a moment the front door closed beneath them. All was quiet.

“Why did you have to say that?” said Max.

“That you was not in the best of moods?” she asked.

“That I'm your husband.”

“Don't you think we look like a happily married couple buying their dream home?” she said with a laugh. “I did it so we'd appear normal. I wanted her to go away thinking we are just like all her other dumb clients, nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to remember.”

“Then why did you snap at her?”

“When?”

“When she suggested she put both our names on these,” he answered, and held out the folder.

Lizzie took a moment and then said, “I made a mistake. I thought she was asking me to sign as Lizzie Carswell. I forgot that I'm Lizzie Perez now.”

She came back over to him. “‘
The time has come, the Walrus said
…'”

“What?”

“I got to tell you something.”

She sat down on the floor, pulled up her knees and wrapped both arms around them. “I am not what you think I am.”

Max gave her a penetrating stare.

“I don't want to spoil what we have, Max. I want us to have a real relationship. One that's honest. No secrets.”

Max was motionless.

“I've got a horrid little secret. It's the story of my life. Only problem is, it has a bit of a surprise ending.”

“I like surprises,” said Max. “Try me.”

“I wanted to tell you on the flight from New York. And again in the car going down the Motorway. I came closest in Kensington Mews when we was in the basement stuffing the money in them duffel bags. Somehow, I couldn't find the courage.”

“Courage for what?” he asked, dropping the folder on the floor.

“I'm a police officer. A cop.”

“Really!” said Max.

“Yes, really. I came over to the States with Harry on an ongoing investigation.”

“Well, well, well,” said Max. He walked over and sat down beside her. “So that's your horrid little secret.”

“I worked in special ops. Headed up a cybercrime unit. Spent my time chasing hackers.”

“You don't say,” said Max impassively.

“By now they will have given up on me. The report will say that I am presumed dead.”

“A cop.” He put an arm around her shoulders. “Well, I suppose I should tell you my little secret.”

“You?” said Lizzie, surprised.

“Yes, me. You see, Miss Carswell, I knew from the minute we met that you weren't what you said you were. I also saw your pal Harry was a total fake. It was pretty clear both of you were lying. Getting me to call your boss! At … where was it?”

“Honeybee Travel.”

“Right.” He grinned. “What genius thought that one up?” He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Your cover was a piece of shit. And you are much too skinny to be running around checking on restaurants. And too smart. People who poke around to find fault with others do it because they can't come up with anything to do for themselves. Overweight failures. You are neither.”

“Why didn't you say anything?” asked Lizzie.

“I liked you. You made me laugh. I realized that I didn't care what you really were. Because you were the most interesting and fascinating woman I'd ever had the pleasure to stumble across.” He laughed at the look on her face. “God! You cops are all alike. You think you're so smart, got everything sewn up. What you don't get is that you only catch the dumb ones.”

“And Harry?”

“Harry was harmless. I could deal with him anytime. So naïve. Such an innocent. It's a wonder he's lived so long.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “A cop. Who'd have guessed? You got a uniform?”

“Yes. For special occasions. Most of the time I was in plain-clothes.”

“I'd like that,” he said with a grin.

“What?”

“To see you in your uniform. I bet it makes you look sexy. We got to get one and have you wear it one night.”

“Max!”

“All this talk about the straight and narrow and it's you that turns out to be crooked.”

“I should have told you sooner.”

“What for? We're a good team. I've waited a hell of a lot longer for you than you have for me. What difference does it make what you were before we met?”

Lizzie looked into his eyes. “What a wonderful man you are.”

“Thank you,” he replied. “You're not so bad yourself.”

“You're right about Harry,” she said. “I picked him right off the street and used him. Such a sweet guy. I feel badly about the poor bastard. He did us quite a favor.”

“He was trying to save his skin,” said Max.

“No,” replied Lizzie. “He was trying to save
my
skin. I think he had a bit of a thing for me.” She stood up. “On the subject of Harry, you remember that leather case with the money?”

“No. What case?”

“The case the Colonel handed over to Harry. Right after Harry warned him about Eddie Ryan. The one you never found.”

“What about it?”

“I think he's still got it somewhere. He's a clever sod and he could easily have hidden it.”

Max gave her a quizzical look.

“We owe him one, Max.”

“What?”

“Without him we wouldn't be buying this place.”

“Oh yes, we would,” replied Max. “If he'd fucked up, I'd have found another way.”

“Well, he's probably still got the money but doesn't dare touch it. I'd like to let him know he can spend it.”

Max stared at her again.

“Well, what do you say?” she asked forcefully.

“I've a lot to learn about you.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, if that's what you want.”

Lizzie went to put her arms around his neck and Max pushed her away. “It's time we christened this place. Take off your panties.”

“You mean knickers,” she replied with a grin.

For the next hour they had creative sex in every room of the house. As the moon rose they ran naked down to the ocean and rinsed themselves off in the surf. Still sticky with salt, they dined beneath the stars in the little bistro that overlooked the fishing boats in the harbor.

 

80

Fiona Allinson had expressed outrage when Carter revealed the misdeeds of his college days, but she never thought for a moment that the man she had lived with for so long was spineless. The only rational explanation she could come up with for her husband's disappearance was that he had run rather than face the consequences.

For weeks she expected a letter or a call, but nothing came. Her mother advised her to file for a divorce. Her father advised her to file a Missing Persons Report. A few days later IRS Agent Luigi Rienzi came by. Fiona told him she and Carter had quarreled badly the night he disappeared, but she had heard nothing from him since. The agent left, apparently satisfied.

Away at boarding schools James and Amanda were not directly affected by the sudden gap in the family. Both believed their dad would return home soon. Both worried that they might have been responsible for their father's departure. Fiona assured them that this was not the case and infuriated them by saying she would reveal what had actually happened when they were old enough to understand.

The hours alone in the evenings were the toughest for her. Life suddenly seemed pointless. Once again her mother counseled Fiona and warned her that if she didn't take care of herself she could end up in a depression that could take several years to shake off, by which time it would be too late to start over.

In spite of not feeling her usual self, Fiona attended the dedication at the hospital and accepted the thanks of the staff and the good wishes of the donors. Her husband's absence was accepted as quite normal. Everyone assumed his work took precedence over a social engagement. As the evening progressed, Doctor Richards came over and asked her how she was feeling. She sensed he had heard about her husband's odd disappearance. Welcoming the attention, she revealed that there was indeed a slight problem at home. Over lunch the next day she elaborated. They parted that afternoon with a mutual promise to keep in touch.

Discreet inquiries revealed that the doctor was neither married nor divorced nor in a serious relationship. Fiona didn't waste any time and picked up the phone.

“Doctor Richards, it's Fiona Allinson.”

“Mrs. Allinson. What a pleasure. What can I do for you?”

“I have two tickets for the opera tonight. I was wondering if you're free to go. I know it's very short notice, but…”

“I should be delighted.”

“Wonderful. It starts at eight. Would you care to come over for a drink first?”

“That's sounds perfect. What time would you like me to come?”

“Why don't we say six thirty?”

“I'll be there.”

In the opera house they smiled at each other as the chandeliers rose and the lights dimmed. The three loud chords of the overture to Verdi's
La Forza del Destino
burst forth. The irony of the title was not lost on either of them.

 

81

The month in Florida was not easy. Harry's mother fattened him up as his father regaled him with endless stories of their past. Calories and nostalgia finally drove him out. With hugs and kisses he took his farewell.

Using his coat as a pillow, he slept for most of the flight to New York and put it on as he left the terminal at LaGuardia. Snow was falling and a northeast wind blew the big flakes into little drifts. Back on 56th Street he found his mailbox full. Harry cradled the papers, magazines and envelopes against his chest, picked up his suitcase and slowly went up the stairs. Halfway up he had to pause to catch his breath. On the top landing he extracted his keys and opened the door. The big iron radiators greeted him with a welcoming hiss of steam.

The apartment was just as he had left it. A demoralizing scene of chaos and destruction. His first instinct was to leave. But the thought of finding a room for the night was less appealing than the cleanup. At least the place was warm.