“He put it in envelopes and mailed it to Rio. Some in the regular mail, some by courier.”
“He put the cash in the mail,” Bullock said. Even Blondie looked surprised.
Trimble nodded. “I guess he had a lot of faith in the postal system. Sent it to a bunch of five-star hotels in Rio, planned to go down there and pick it up. At least it could have been worse.”
Bullock cocked his head. “How do you think it could be worse?”
“Could have been you who paid nearly nine grand for that car at auction. At least it was Walker’s money that did that.” He glanced over at me, like maybe he thought he was scoring me a brownie point.
It didn’t appear as though Bullock saw this as any sort of silver lining. He didn’t look at me or Angie, but settled himself into his chair behind the desk, then glanced down and saw the Barbie box on the floor. He eyed it curiously, as if seeing it for the first time.
“I’m guessing Mr. Indigo’s not going to be very pleased about this,” Trimble said.
“Not pleased,” Bullock repeated. “Not pleased, you say? That’s very astute of you. Not pleased. Mr. Indigo will be disappointed, perhaps even miffed. But you know what he’ll be mostly?”
Trimble’s eyebrows went up a notch.
“He’ll be fucking apoplectic, that’s what he’ll be! And he’ll have someone else running this organization before daylight, that’s what he’ll do.”
Bullock shook his head with rage, and then his eyes landed on the Barbie box that had dropped to the floor. “Steve,” he said to Detective Trimble, his voice dripping with politeness, “would you please put that Barbie back up where it belongs?”
“Excuse me?” Trimble said.
“My Barbie box. Would you please put it back up on the shelf? I guess it fell when I lost my temper a moment ago.”
“You want me to put your Barbie back on the shelf.”
“That’s correct. I want to see if you’re good for anything this evening.”
I held on to Angie. This had a very bad feel to it.
“I think you’re closer,” Trimble told him. “Why don’t you do it.”
Blondie was looking very ill at ease, and wanted to try to defuse the situation. “I’ll get it,” he said.
“No!” Bullock shouted, and Blondie jumped back. “Did I ask you?”
“I was just trying to help.”
Pockmark strolled back into the room, quipped, “All quiet,” and, spotting the Malibu Barbie on the floor, quickly scooped it up and put it back on the shelf before Bullock could scream at him not to.
“Fuck,” said Bullock, and Pockmark looked at him, baffled, wondering why his action hadn’t rated a thank-you.
“What do you want from me?” Trimble said. “I help you out, I tip you off to things, I run your fucking errands. And you’ve done right by me, I’ll grant you that. And I’ve even stood by and done nothing when I find out you put my old partner in the hospital.”
“Who told you that?” Bullock demanded. “I’ve been over this with you.”
Trimble didn’t think that was worthy of a response. He continued, “Who was it talked Eddie into helping you out? It wasn’t me. I didn’t pick him, and I wouldn’t have, either. That was your decision. I’ve known him long enough to know he’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer. So he double-crossed you. That’s too bad, but I don’t see how that’s my fault.”
I felt the weight of the gun in my jacket pocket. I didn’t know where this was going, this set of hostilities between Trimble and Bullock. And I didn’t know whether it was going to afford me any sort of advantage.
“I’ll tell you what,” Trimble said. “Let Walker here, and his daughter, take a walk.” Bullock eyed the cop suspiciously, wondering what kind of game he was up to. Trimble continued. “They don’t have anything to do with this. He made the mistake of buying the wrong car, his daughter made the mistake of driving it. They’ve never done you any harm, they didn’t rip you off.”
Bullock stared at Trimble as though he’d never seen him before. “Have you lost your fucking mind? You’re suggesting we let them walk out of here. After they know what we’ve been up to, about that smartass photographer, about Eddie, where I live and conduct my business. You think, we let them walk out of here, they’ll just forget any of that stuff ever happened? You think that maybe all we have to do is ask them real nice?”
Even I was thinking Trimble had lost his mind. If I were Bullock, I’d kill us, too. Angie clutched me more tightly.
“I’m just saying,” Trimble said, “that maybe it’s time to lay low for a bit. You start piling up corpses, it has a way of attracting attention.”
Bullock suddenly looked contemplative, as though he might actually be considering what Trimble had to say. “You make some interesting points, Steve. I’d like to think on them a moment, perhaps discuss a couple of things with Mr. Walker here. Would you mind waiting out in the garage while I did that?”