“We were coming up on Christmas break. I told Geraldo we were going to Bangkok on my father’s plane and asked if he wanted to come along. He said no. I said we’re gonna get drunk, we’re gonna get stoned, we’re gonna get laid, and he said, ‘Me too, and I don’t have to go halfway around the world to do it.’ The next day, he went from no to maybe. He knew Dingo was our dealer, and he told us he knew how we could get three, four months’ supply of coke free. All we had to do was bring back a small package from Thailand.”
“And you knew what was in the package.”
“Hell, yeah. That’s what made it exciting. I wouldn’t pick up somebody’s laundry for free cocaine. But smuggling heroin from Thailand? Do you have any idea what kind of a rush that was?”
“Malique said you’re the one who cut the deal with Dingo.”
“Dingo knew me. I was a good customer. I guess he trusted me as much as any Haitian drug lord can trust a rich white kid. It was all Geraldo’s idea, but I got to be the front man. I loved it.”
“How come he’s in prison, and you’re not?”
“My father paid the Thais a fortune to let us go. But they would only release four of us. They needed someone to stay behind. It’s their perverted way of showing their justice system works. The last thing I did before I left Geraldo was make a promise that we’d take care of his family. We have.”
“Did Nathan Hirsch tell you that Segura may have crossed paths with the man who designed the bombs?”
“Yes, but Nathan is an idiot if he thinks Geraldo’s abuela is funding these bombings.”
“Can you think of anyone here in the States who might be acting on his behalf?”
“No, but I’m not the right person to ask.”
“Who is?”
“Geraldo Segura.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Bullshit. Two of my partners are dead, and I’m starting to believe Nathan that he and I are next on the list. So do me a favor: get your glorified supercop asses on the next plane to Bangkok, and keep that from happening.”
“I don’t know what that would cost,” I said, “but I’m pretty sure the department isn’t going to shell out the kind of money it would take to fly us to Thailand.”
“You never know till you ask, Detective.”
“I wouldn’t even know who to ask.”
“Then we’re in luck,” Wells said. “Because as it turns out, I do.”
CHAPTER 39
I was back in the office when my cell phone rang. The caller ID said Silvercup Studios. I picked up.
“Zach, it’s Bob Reitzfeld. How’s your day going so far?”
I looked at my watch. It was 3:00 p.m. “Let’s see: I’ve been at it for twelve hours, and so far I’ve had to suck up to a Haitian drug lord in the back room of a supermarket in Brooklyn, been chewed out by a billionaire, lied to by a lawyer, and wait…I know there is one more thing. Oh yeah: despite the fact that I had a six-man backup team, I managed to lose a hundred thousand dollars of the DA’s money. On the plus side, I got to spend some time on the High Line. It’s quite spectacular. I’m hoping next weekend I can go back there with Cheryl. And how’s your day going, Bob?”
“I need your help.”
“Why? Did someone zip-tie you to another water pipe?”
“I think I know who hired those two lowlifes who pulled off the poker game robbery.”
I inhaled sharply. “Hold on a minute.”
Kylie had gone to the break room for coffee, but she’d be back any second, and this wasn’t a phone call I wanted to have with her sitting at the next desk. I took the stairs up to the fourth floor, found an empty interview room, and shut the door.
“Bob, I’m sorry if I sounded like a jerk. It’s what happens when you ask an overworked cop how his day is going. Who do you like for the robbery?”
“Is Kylie within earshot? I don’t want her to pick up on your reaction.”
“No, we’re good. I’m alone.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s her boyfriend who planned the whole operation. His name is C. J. Berringer. Do you remember meeting him the other night?”
Did I remember meeting him? I’d dug deep into Clyde Jerome Berringer’s past, hoping to find something I could use against him, but since Reitzfeld had told me to mind my own business, I couldn’t admit to him how much I knew. “Yeah, I met C.J.,” I said. “Tall guy, professional poker player—what makes you think it’s him?”
“Because it’s clearly an inside job. At first I thought it might be someone connected to the hotel—a desk clerk, someone from room service, a bellman—but I interviewed anyone and everyone at the Mark who knew about the game, and they all come up clean. So I decided to focus on the people in the room.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, leaving out the fact that I’d gone down the exact same road two nights ago. “And how did you land on Berringer?”
“Zach, the man sticks out like a boner in a Speedo,” Reitzfeld said. “Everyone else is a regular—same faces month after month, year after year. This Berringer character starts dating Kylie, gets her to introduce him to Shelley, plays twice, which is all it takes to get the routine down pat, and bingo—the third time he’s in the room, the game gets hit by a couple of bozos who couldn’t organize a two-car funeral if you spotted them a hearse and six pallbearers.”
“Can you prove anything?”
“Probably—if Shelley would let me.”
“What do you mean if?”
“When I told him I thought Berringer could be the brains behind the hit, he told me to back off. I love the old man, but he just doesn’t think like a cop.”
“That’s why he made you head of security at Silvercup Studios.”
“It’s a great title, Zach—very impressive on my business card. I’ve never seen Shelley’s business card, but it should say Control Freak. He doesn’t want me to follow up on C.J. because he doesn’t want Kylie to get hurt. He says her husband has caused her enough pain, and he would rather protect her than recover eight hundred thousand dollars.”
“That’s insane,” I said. “I know Kylie: if her boyfriend is guilty, she’d want you to nail him.”
“That’s why I’m calling you. You’re her partner. Shelley won’t listen to me, but he’ll listen to you.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“It can’t hurt to ask him.”
“Yes it can. If I tell him to go after Berringer, and he says no, I can’t then turn around and do it anyway. But if I don’t say anything…”
“Don’t ask permission; ask forgiveness,” Reitzfeld said. “But you’d have to investigate on your own. Do you mind?”
Did I mind proving Kylie’s latest was a crook? I grinned. “I can deal with it. Give me a few days.”
“Thanks. So tell me about losing the DA’s hundred thousand dollars.”
“How about I tell you over a beer at my retirement party, which will be coming around a lot sooner than I planned if I don’t find the money?”
He hung up, and I sat there, staring at my phone. I was planning my next move when a text message popped up on the screen. It was from Kylie.
Where R U?
I tapped out an answer.
I was meditating. Thanks for harshing my zen.
She texted back.
Your zen can wait. Cates wants us.
I let her know I was on my way, then hit Q’s number on my speed dial.
He answered on the first ring. “Detective Jordan,” he said. “Rumor has it that you and Judge Rafferty had quite a costly adventure on the High Line.”
“The good news is His Honor no longer thinks you’re blackmailing him.”
“For which you have my undying gratitude,” Q replied. “If you ever need any—”
“Forget ‘If you ever.’ I’m collecting now.” I filled him in on the poker game robbery that went down at the Mark.
“So you want me to be on the lookout for two gentlemen of dubious earning power who are spending money like a couple of scratch-off winners.”
“Yes,” I said. “And Q…this one is between me, you, and nobody else.”
“Please, Detective,” he said. “You know my reputation. I’m as discreet as a whisper in a windstorm.”
“And you know my partner,” I said. “If she finds out, I’ll be as dead as a flounder in a frying pan.”
I hung up and headed for my meeting with Cates. As I double-timed down the stairs, I realized I was smiling. I know it’s not healthy, but for me, there’s something gratifying about proving to the woman who dumped me for another man that once again, she’d made the wrong choice.
CHAPTER 40
“Uh-oh,” Kylie said as the two of us walked down the hall to Cates’s office.