by Jim CaJacob
“Right. Good luck getting a cab to take you there. Been there during daylight, if I were to venture a guess. Now listen. The clientele at Papas is not that accustomed to visits by honky yuppies, even those who are slumming. You do what you’re told. You walk in the front. In the far right corner there will be a table with three or four men sitting there. Walk up about three paces from the table and stand politely. One of the men will, eventually, get up and ask you what you want. And for God’s sake, lose the shades first.”
“What do I tell him that I want.”
“Now listen really carefully. It is illegal for the police to entrap. Say exactly this: ‘I am neither a police officer nor am I working in any way with or for any law enforcement agency.’ Got that?”
“Yes. Then what?”
“Keep waiting. Do not cop an attitude. The man will return to the table. You go find somewhere else to sit, maybe at the bar. There will be plenty of places. After a while another man, not the one you spoke to, will get up and leave. Wait a couple minutes and follow him out the door. He’ll be in a car with the motor started. Get in and shut the fuck up.”
“Get in his car?”
“And shut the fuck up. He’ll drive for a few minutes, stop, go inside a place, come out, drive some more, and stop again. Continue shutting the fuck up. At this point he will turn to you without talking. Hold out an envelope with $600 in it, in twenties. He’ll take it and count it. He’ll reach under the seat and give you a brown manila envelope. Do not look inside. He will give you a ride back to the front of the club, will drop you off, and will continue down the street. I reiterate, shut the fuck up. No witty asides. No soul handshakes from reruns of the Mod Squad. Don’t go back in the club. Just get another cab and get out of everybody’s life”.
“Will it be loaded?”
“Will what be loaded?”
Josh looked at him. Ernest looked back, over his granny glasses. Two thirds of the rhythm section got out of the car. The guy on the driver’s side ground out a cigarette – not exactly! – on the pavement. Josh decided to start shutting the fuck up immediately. He nodded and left. The last thing he heard was somebody singing – it was Billie Holliday but he didn’t know that - through the door of the club as it closed behind Ernest.
Chapter 42
Schneider hated to admit it, but he was in his element. He had a thermos of bad coffee, a box of Ritz crackers and a jar of crunchy peanut butter – a weakness of his. Every few hours he drove to an all night diner, used the Men’s and refilled his thermos. He knew that he ran the risk of missing Josh, but he was a patient man.
He had been lucky to find a parking place with a view of Scott Crane’s flat. On the other hand, he had begun cruising the block around 3:30 the previous afternoon. Even then it took forty-five minutes to find a suitable spot.
Estelle, in her way, had been much stronger than Renggli. Probably this came from merely surviving as an attractive woman in a city like this. Mr. Schneider had no difficulty noticing that she was attractive. And Estelle had no trouble realizing that her sexual power held no sway over a man like Mr. Schneider. Not while he was working.
In the end she told him everything as well. They always did. But even after interviewing Estelle he wasn’t entirely sure what Mr. Crane’s role was in this affair. He didn’t really care. It was clear that Scott Crane was involved in some way. He hoped this affair didn’t take too much longer to clean up. He preferred sleeping in his own bed to dozing in the front seat of a car – and eating his wife’s cooking.
All cities woke up the same way. Graying sky, gradually thickening crowds, the crescendoing growl of traffic, pedestrians mostly grim and businesslike as they set out to face another day. He heard the first impatient car horn at quarter to seven.
He wasn’t sure whether Crane would be on the move, or Calder would come here. If Crane went to the Bureau office, Schneider would leave him there and pursue some other leads and get some sleep during the day, then resume surveillance. If Crane didn’t go to work today, Schneider had another plan in mind.
It had been Schneider’s experience that subjects of surveillance had very little imagination. It was easy to get lost in a large city. Just ask the parents of any three-year-old. But most of these people relied on a few so-called tricks that they had picked up reading James Bond novels. Wearing a hat. Stopping to window shop in front of every second store.
Schneider had a good photo of Josh Calder. He had stopped by the Embassy to pick it up as soon as he had arrived in Washington. He was accustomed to imagining how a person might try to change his appearance.
Schneider was not interested in Eastern religions. But his surveillance technique for looking for a person whom he had never seen in person was Zen-like. After immersing himself in information about his assignment – appearance, habits, associates – he positioned himself where the person was most likely to appear, sooner or later. Then he consciously emptied his brain and simply observed the world pass by. When the person did come into his field of vision he somehow simply knew. The hundreds or thousands of false alarms – try doing this in Denmark! – registered a small adrenaline jolt. The real thing settled into his awareness with a comforting fullness. A very Swiss sensation.
His task was made easier by the fact that at least half of the pedestrians were black. It was also a big help that Scott’s co-op didn’t have indoor parking.
Schneider never took stock of his strengths and weaknesses. But an objective observer would note that Schneider was a hard man to bore or distract.
If Josh Calder paid a visit on his friend Scott Crane, Schneider would know and would soon pay a visit on the two of them together.
Chapter 43
Val met Jenny in the elevator. There was no need to get Wilton involved in this. He felt funny about bringing Jenny, but he needed her in case Josh tried to bluff. They rode in a cab. At quarter past six the street were empty.
Scott let them in. He was nervous.
“He should be here in a couple hours he said.”
“Right. Are we ready?" Val said.
“Everything is set up like you said.”
“Can I look it over?" Jenny said.
“Sure.”
She got up and walked over to Scott’s computer, on a desk in the oversized living room, sat down and began typing. Val went through how he wanted to play things in his head. They watched the Today Show.
About 8:20 Scott’s phone rang. He answered. “Hi. Yep. Yep. I’ll watch. See you in a sec.” Scott went over to the living room window and peeked through the blinds.
Val and Jenny went into the one bedroom. They talked with lowered voices.
“Kovalczyk, I think we should discuss my forthcoming performance review," Jenny said.
“Very funny.”
“Isn’t today it for this assignment?”
“Give or take a couple days of debrief. Going to take some time off?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
Val thought he hadn’t heard right. We’ve got to concentrate, he thought. “Can we discuss this later?”
She was smiling looking ahead. She just wanted to break the tension, he thought.
In a couple minutes they heard the doorbell ring twice. Scott unlocked the double latch. They heard what had to be Josh’s voice.
“Did you see anybody?”
“Just you. I think the coast was clear," Scott said.
“This is, I repeat, not funny. I’m scared shitless.”
“I can tell. Sit down. You’re safe here. Coffee?”
“The one thing I don’t need is more of a jag right now.”
“Josh, relax. I’ve got a plan. I think things are going to be OK.”
“You’ve got a plan? Since when do you have a plan?”
Val took his cue. He stepped into the living room. “Actually, Scott’s right, Josh. Sit down. Relax. Let
’s talk.” Val walked over to the kitchenette, pulled out a chair, turned it backwards so it faced them, and sat down. Jenny followed him and sat, correctly, at another kitchen chair. Josh, seated on a low couch, stared. He was built a little heavier than Val expected.
“Who the fuck are these people, Scott? What’s going on here?”
“Relax Josh, they’re on our side," Scott said.
“What the fuck side are you on, Scott?” Josh was very agitated.
Val spoke in what he hoped was a calm but firm voice. “Josh, we’re with the company. Your company. We know exactly what’s going on. We proved to Scott that we do. Scott?”
Josh turned toward him. Scott said, “He’s right. They know. The whole shot.”
“I thought you said it was stealth," Josh said.
“I thought it was. These guys are really good or really lucky.”
Jenny spoke. “Maybe both. It doesn’t matter, Mr. Calder. You left some traces on the Tavron job that weren’t so, as you say, stealth. It made people suspicious. It gave us a place to start. So we know. The question is what are you going to do next.”
“Do?”
“You’ve been very bad boys, but, maybe, also very lucky. The company and the Bureau are not interested in a lot of publicity about this. They have authorized us to help you glue the cookie jar back together before dad gets home.”
“You don’t understand," Josh said.
“Understand what?" Jenny said.
“Understand that the fucking cookie jar is in a million pieces and people are already mad as hell.”
“Who’s mad?”
“The people who lost all the money because my so-called friend here screwed me.”
“Scott told us you’re concerned about your friend Estelle," Val said.
“Yes. I’m concerned that she’s fucking dead and I’m concerned that before she fucking died she told whoever killed her all about me and I’m concerned that I’m going to be fucking dead next. Still think everything’s going to be all right?”
“Sounds like we’re the only friends you have right now. Not because we like you or condone what you did. But because we need you just like you need us," Jenny said.
She was good at this, Val thought. “Let me guess. She’s the bad cop?" Josh said.
“We’re not cops," Val said. “But with a little more attitude on your part we’d be happy to call some. We’re here to see if there is a way out of this. But you’ve got to play ball.”
“Listen, Mr. Calder. We know about Tavron. We know you’re using the CPI to make money on futures trades somehow. Our guess would be foreign currency.”
Val continued, “But we need to know the whole deal. It will stop here, but only if you come clean.”
Josh stared at Scott. “You bastard. I trusted you.”
Scott sat still.
“What’ll it be, Josh?" Val asked.
Josh looked like he was going to cry. He stood up and pulled a handgun out of his jacket pocket. “I don’t think so. Not like this.”
Val and Jenny looked at each other, wide-eyed. Scott spoke first: “Put that away, Josh. Jesus Christ. You could hurt somebody.”
“You should have thought about that when you arranged this little intervention, Scott. Let’s see. ‘Three slain as home invasion goes awry’. How’s that sound?”
“Home invasion? You think everybody’s not going to know what this about?" Val said.
“No. Not for sure. I’ve been thinking about making a career change anyway. This Y2K shit is getting boring.” Josh laughed. It sounded hysterical to Val.
“Mr. Calder, you need to know one thing. We anticipated your reaction. We took precautions.” Jenny’s voice was calm.
“Let me guess. You left an envelope marked ‘Open in the Case of My Death’ with the New York Times?”
“No. Look on top of Scott’s monitor.”
Josh glanced over.
“See the little white, round thing?”
“What about it?”
Val said “Can you say ‘See You See Me’?”
Josh said, “I don’t fucking believe you people”.
Jenny said, “Start believing. A video of this entire conversation is being sent to a server over the ‘net. You’re a star.” The little round thing was a digital video camera. Jenny and Scott had set it up and tested it when she and Val had first arrived.
Josh stared vacantly ahead, still holding the gun. At last he said “Guess we’ll all get what we deserve, Scott, one way or another. Adios, assholes.”
He spun through the door and slammed it behind him.
- - -
Mr. Schneider knew it was Josh. The young man had stormed out of Scott’s building, looked up and down the street, then began trying too hard to act natural. He walked down the street, stopping too often to window shop in front of little stores that would obviously have no interest for him.
Schneider noticed one more thing. Calder obviously had a handgun. He had planned for this possibility, but he noticed his pulse increase just the same.
Calder was on the move. From now on, Schneider thought, things would play out more or less to form. He had a very good idea where Calder would eventually go. Now it was time for a little nudge.
Schneider got out of the car. He needed a shave, which was probably good for the desired effect. He had binoculars around his neck and a camera with a long lens. He was not kind of man who would be amused by the fact that the camera had no film. He began following Josh, about hundred meters behind. Every half block or so he would either peer through the binoculars or aim the camera. He did his best to look competent.
He could tell the moment Josh spotted him. Calder was obviously torn between the urge to run for his life and maintaining his casual demeanor.
Schneider kept up a steady, insistent pressure. The worst scenario was if Calder panicked and began firing his gun on this crowded street. Schneider didn’t think this was very likely.
There was no way Calder would use the underground. His fertile imagination would provide too many images of him, cornered, being thrown from the platform. Likewise, taking a cab in this rush hour traffic would only make him less mobile and more vulnerable. He would most likely stay on foot.
After about 15 minutes of this Schneider broke contact. He walked back to the car, stopping to buy a pretzel. In the car he dialed a number on his cell phone. He spoke in Swiss German, but anyone who spoke a little hochdeutsch would have understood “day after tomorrow” and “Mexico”.
Chapter 44
Josh had decided on a safety deposit box when he was on the Tavron job. Mexico seemed like the best bet. They couldn’t care less what anybody brought in from the U.S. All they wanted at the border was his driver’s license.
Josh locked his passport and most of his cash in the little safe in the hotel room. The bank was walking distance. He jaywalked across with a bunch of locals, dodging a herd of yellow VW bug cabs, and walked around the corner onto Reformas.
He always forgot the guards - two uniformed men, each about five feet tall, holding what looked like burp guns at the ready. Today, as usual, they scared the shit out of him.
In Mexico everything seemed like it was a palace or a slum. The bank lobby was marble, maybe fifty feet high. He knew where to go. The assistant manager or whatever he was and the guard let Josh into the little room and left him alone.
He got the idea for uncut diamonds from a bad movie. They were small, wouldn’t set off a metal detector, untraceable and universally negotiable. He had kept about 150 grand in cash of the Tavron money in his apartment, feeding into his lifestyle a few twenties at a time. Mona didn’t even notice. The rest, over 500 thousand, he used to buy diamonds. The old Jews in the diamond district certainly knew how to do business without asking questions. You could fit 500 thousand dollars worth of diamonds into a couple cigarette packs. He decided on two deliveries t
o the bank to spread the risk.
He had another chunk, several hundred thousand, in IRAs, but these assets weren’t liquid, as they say. He didn’t really have a plan, but he figured he could go a long way in Mexico on 500 thousand if he was a little careful. He would sell some diamonds immediately – can’t be that hard – como se dice pawnshop? -- to get some cash and begin to make contacts. Later he could relocate somewhere else, or back to the US. He just needed breathing space. So far he hadn’t seen any real reason to learn Spanish. There were plenty of Americans around and any of the Mexicans he wanted to talk to anyway spoke English.
That asshole Scott. What a backstabber. After he left the apartment Josh drove to Philly, right to the airport. He left his car in a hotel parking lot and took the shuttle to the airport, took a non-stop to L.A., rented a car, and drove to the border. He paid cash for his ticket and put down a cash deposit for the hotel room. Nobody seemed to think this was unusual.
He opened the box. There should have been two bulging little manila envelopes. There weren’t any. Instead there was a folded up piece of paper.
Josh sat down, holding the paper. His heart was pounding. He realized he was biting his lower lip so hard it hurt. He waited at least a minute, then unfolded the paper. The note was neatly typed.
Mr. Calder,
By now you realize that we know all about you and your childish attempt to take advantage of us. There is no one to complain to. There is no one to go to for help. Your diamonds are gone. The safe in room 1432 at the Nikko is empty. Your credit cards have been cancelled. We have decided to allow you to keep your wallet and the cash in your pocket – just under $1,500. Spend it wisely. You will need it to last a long time. Our advice is to not return to the hotel and be embarrassed.
You cannot hide from us. Do not test our patience further.
Unlike most of the people who had ever lived, it was possible for an American born in the second half of the 20th century to live a life that was substantially free of danger, free of hunger, free of fear. That life ended forever for Josh Calder in this stuffy room on this average afternoon. He stared for a long time at the soundproofed wall, but could conjure no image of what his new life, the one that had just begun, would be.
Chapter 45
Malcolm had made his wife rehearse this day dozens of times. They had suitcases packed in the hall closet. Carry-on only. They replaced some of the contents over the years as diets came and went.
