A Filthy Business [Kindle in Motion]

by William Lashner

  “In the last few years Portofoy has become something of a legend with the legislative victories he has pulled out of his rear pocket,” said Alberto. “Other firms have tried to poach him, but he is apparently happy where he is. They say he is quite ferocious.”

  “And you are meeting him in fifteen minutes.”

  “Thirteen, now. And I’m afraid I will need something a little more definite than a vague threat about a criminal matter to rattle Mr. Portofoy’s cage.”

  “Show him this,” I said, taking a padded manila envelope out of my briefcase. Inside was the photograph of me and Mandy and the blood and the knife. “You can leave it with him. Tell him the photograph was snapped inside the Chadwick Club. That will be enough. I’ll take it from there.”

  “Should I mention the Scarlett Gould case?”

  “You won’t have to. He already knows who you are; he wouldn’t have agreed to meet with you if he didn’t. I haven’t yet learned who did the actual wet work, but if you ever ended up filing the Scarlett Gould complaint, Portofoy’s name would be among those on the caption. But this isn’t about him, it’s about the woman Portofoy is fronting for. Once you show the lobbyist what is inside the envelope, he’ll want to get it right into the hands of his boss. No scanning and e-mailing—he wouldn’t want an electronic record—this will be a hand delivery. Either Portofoy will do it himself or he’ll send a messenger.”

  “And you’ll follow.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Why was she killed, Dick? Scarlett Gould. What had she done?”

  “Nothing at all. I thought she was murdered out of rank jealousy by the son of a senator, but then I met the son and I realized he didn’t care enough about his wife to raise that kind of passion. But if you need a senator’s vote badly enough, and you need it right away, maybe you don’t have time to wait for a crime to occur before you reap the rewards of covering it up. Sometimes you have to make your own luck.”

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “It’s all a matter of evolution. Give him the envelope, I’ll take care of the rest. And that, I expect, will be the end of our relationship, Alberto. It was a pleasure working with you. You exceeded my expectations.”

  “Maybe so,” he said. “But I don’t think that was so very difficult.”

  “Not really, no.”

  “I’m sorry it is ending. I would have liked to filet the sons of bitches who killed Ms. Gould.”

  “Who knows,” I said. “If things go really south on me, you might get that chance.”

  You could say I lost Portofoy’s trail, but that wouldn’t be quite true. I never caught his trail to begin with. I had expected him to leave by the building’s front door, to hightail it along the wide sidewalks to another high, shiny building in that high, shiny section of the city, or to one of the restaurants that fed the capital’s insatiable desire for meat: Ruth’s Chris, Charlie Palmer, Annie’s, Claudia’s, Bobby Van’s. But even after Menendez stepped out of the building, gave me a nod from across the street, and made his way to the Metro, our boy Portofoy never showed.

  But it didn’t much matter. Within the stuffing of the padded envelope was a tracking device the size of a credit card, and it wasn’t long after Menendez left that the envelope was on the move. I ordered another coffee and waited in the shop as Kief did the tracking. When he gave me the call, I caught a cab and took it south to the river.

  Kief, in shorts and a T-shirt, was sitting on the hood of a car in a parking lot overlooking a crowded marina. I leaned beside him, sunglasses on, wearing a snug suit with no tie, and surveyed the scene. To the right was the Jefferson Memorial, on the far side of the inlet was a golf course, and before us a wide collection of pleasure craft. The Capital Yacht Club. Bully for them.

  “Do you see that sweet yacht parked on the tee of the third dock down?” said Kief. “With the orange canvas stretched over the third level?”

  “It’s big, isn’t it?”

  “It’s like the perfect crash pad. When you run chronically low you can just motor on down to Mexico and top off the tank.”

  “What’s it called?”

  “Darwin’s Dream.”

  I laughed. “That would be the one. Anyone getting on or off?”

  “Some fire hydrant with a briefcase just left. Fiftyish, walked like he was angry. Drove a Mercedes.”

  “Portofoy. Any idea of the boat’s owner?”

  “It’s not a boat,” said Kief. “It’s a yacht. I took a saunter and copped the registration number. Riley ran it for me. It’s based in Miami, so she went into the Florida website. We figured it would be that Jungle Dog outfit, but we copped a surprise. There was an individual owner. The boat—sorry, the yacht—is registered to one Yvonne Quarry.”

  “What do we have on her?”

  “Nada much. Her profile is low. There’s a daughter stashed at some school in Paris, there’s a bit of charity stuff. She’s known as a business shark, got started with a limousine company. She’s not mentioned as a political player, but there are pictures of her with politicians, congressmen, a few senators.”

  “Our Senator Davenport?”

  “At a fund-raiser in Newport. But generally she stays on the down low.”

  “She feels more comfortable with fronts.”

  “So, boss,” said Kief, “who is she and why do we care?”

  “She’s the Principal,” I said.

  “Oh man, what the fuck?” said Kief. “Riley was right and I hate it when she’s right. Don’t you think it’s stupid as shit to be busting in on the head boss uninvited?”

  “I think I’ve been invited, Kief,” I said. “I think from the moment she put Tom Preston on our asses she’s been waiting for my visit.”

  “You’re going to get us all fired.”

  “If that’s all it is, we’re lucky.”

  “Are you going to stand with us if things go bad?”

  “Maybe I’ll run with you,” I said. “How about that?”

  “As long as we stay together, man. When Tom Preston comes after me, I don’t want to be standing alone with just a bong in my hand.”

  “At least you’ll die relaxed.”

  “You’re killing us here, Phil.”

  “Lately I’ve taken on a new tack: I’m trying to give everyone what they want. That’s all I’m going to do with the Principal. Things work out, you might end up getting promoted. Now, while I’m in there, go back to the suite and tell everyone to do what we have to do so we can get this job finished. Riley and Gordon should finish up their work on our Detective Booth. And I want you on the trail of Melissa Davenport; I need to meet up with her and soon.”

  “You still want me to mess with the DNA results?”

  “Forget about that. If push comes to shove, and my suspicions are right, we might need them just as they are. But let’s get everything tied up that needs tying so we can get the hell out of this burg.”

  “Whatever you do, do me a favor and don’t give her my regards.”

  I looked at the boat, sitting fat and arrogant at the end of the dock. Darwin’s Dream. The question, I suppose, was whether I was fit enough.

  “If you don’t hear from me in a couple of hours,” I said, before pushing myself off the car’s front and heading to the yacht club, “drag the river.”

  27. The Proposal

  If I thought I could slip onto the boat unobtrusively and surprise the Principal in her waterborne lair, the man in the crisp white blazer standing at the entrance of the Yacht Club dissuaded me of that notion immediately.

  “Mr. Kubiak?”

  “Guilty,” I said.

  “Could you come this way, please? We’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Not too long I hope.”

  “No, not too long,” he said, blond and as officious as his blazer. “The docks can be slippery, so please watch your step.”

  I figured that was good advice as I followed him through the gate, down to the water, and then along one of the weathered c
ement walkways set between two rows of heavy-breasted boats. At the end of the pier, Darwin’s Dream was lashed fore and aft to the abutment. He stepped down onto a low platform at the stern of the yacht and I stepped behind him.

  I was led up a short flight of exterior stairs, across a deck, and up more stairs. I smelled her before I saw her, that vapor scent of jasmine and clove. Atop the second flight of stairs was a large covered deck with a table set for lunch, an L-shaped couch, and a bar. The Principal, in a red kimono tied tight, was sitting on the couch, inhaling from her vapor pen as she stared at a laptop on the cocktail table. A man in white shorts and a tight polo shirt kneeled on the deck beside her, rubbing one of her calves. On the table, beside the laptop, was the manila envelope with the photograph, the padding ripped open to show the tracking device.

  “Mr. Kubiak has arrived,” said the man in the blazer, before heading through a set of dark glass doors and disappearing into the boat’s interior.

  “Something to drink?” said the Principal without looking up from her screen. “Water, perhaps?”

  “I liked that Scotch,” I said.

  “Of course you did. Two waters please, Jeremy,” she said, waving her vapor pen in the general direction of the bar. “Sparkling. With lime.” The man in the polo stopped his kneading and rose to make up the drinks. “The Scotch I save for invited guests, otherwise people would barge in like boors. There’s a reason I try to remain difficult to find.”

  “Good job on that,” I said. “It took me almost forty minutes.”

  She snapped closed her laptop, inhaled. The tip of her pen glowed as she looked up at me blandly with those sharp, pale eyes. Mist floated from her nose. “Did you think the photograph would please me?”

  I sat down on the facing stretch of couch, leaned back, crossed my legs, pulled an imaginary piece of lint off my suit pants. “I assumed you had already seen it. But I also assumed Portofoy hadn’t. I hope I didn’t terrify the poor man. He looked quite put out as he left the boat. A tender soul, no doubt.”

  “He has his uses. All my employees have their uses or they don’t remain employees.”

  “Tom Preston, too?”

  “Yes, Tom Preston, too. Good employees are hard to find, but finding employees like Tom Preston is even harder. I was hoping you would be one of those. It can be quite disappointing when hope dies. Ah, thank you Jeremy. Now leave us be for a time. We won’t be long.”

  After handing us our waters, Jeremy disappeared through the dark doors. She took a vape.

  “How’s that evolution going?” said the Principal.

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Work faster.”

  “Tom Preston wants to take over your organization.”

  “He’s ambitious. I prize ambition.”

  “He’s a savage.”

  “I also prize a certain level of savagery. You should see Portofoy laying into a junior congressman who is bucking our position. He can be positively barbaric.”

  “Tom Preston is a little more savage than that. There you sit, sucking in scented vapors to avoid the dangers of tobacco when you have let into your organization something ever more deadly. There is no telling what Tom Preston is capable of in pursuing his goals.”

  “He is capable,” said the Principal, “of everything. That is why he is such a valuable employee.”

  “He wants me to join him in a plot to kill you and Maambong.”

  “And you came to warn me, as if I’m not aware of everything that goes on in my houses, or my limousines, or even in the hotel rooms I rent for my employees. It is gratifying that you care so much about my welfare, but everything is very much under control.”

  “You can’t control Tom Preston, you can only kill him.”

  “I’ll do whatever must be done. What about you? Can you say the same? For example, have you done what must be done to conclude your task here?”

  “Not quite yet, but three simple conversations will finish it off.”

  “Three conversations? That’s all? Are you certain?”

  “It’s called working with tact and brains. I should wrap the whole thing up in a day or two. But let me ask you: How much is the firm getting paid for this operation of ours in Washington?”

  “Is that what you came to learn?”

  “I didn’t come to learn anything, I came to propose.”

  “The details of the payments on this case are none of your business. But have no doubt you will be paid, and handsomely, when the task is completed.”

  “It’s not my bank account I’m worried about. I think the firm is getting nothing, nada, zilch. I think my team is up here at premium rates just to clean up the mess left by someone else in the organization. I think instead of sending Tom Preston to spread chicken blood over a young girl’s body in order to gain some power over me, you should be dealing with whoever made the mess in the first place.”

  “If you have a proposal, get on with it.”

  I took a sip of sparkling water and looked around calmly. The snap in her voice was encouraging. The sun was bright off the river, the golf course glowed in the light, a breeze stirred the water and slipped up and over the deck, caressing our cheeks.

  “Gosh, this is beautiful, isn’t it? What could be better, Yvonne? You don’t mind if I call you Yvonne, do you? Ms. Quarry is so formal. And to call you the Principal, well, it makes me feel like I’m in grade school. So Yvonne it is. Do you know what could be better than this, Yvonne? More of this. More crew like the man in the crisp white jacket with his oh-so-officious manner or Jeremy in the tight polo shirt who is undoubtedly so adept at rubbing and pressing and soothing and telling you to turn around please; more stark white architectural monstrosities like Fisi to call home; more rare Japanese Scotches to guzzle. This is a nice boat, absolutely, a hundred-footer I’m guessing, some would even call it a yacht. But wouldn’t more be better? Let’s say a one-fifty-five, or even a two-twenty. Do you know the size of Larry Ellison’s yacht? I do. Bigger.”

  “Get to your point, Mr. Kubiak.”

  “Call me Phil. In my time as a gold salesman, I found pitches worked so much better on a first-name basis. Let me put it straight out there, Yvonne, straight because you’re a discerning woman and anything else you’d see right through. You want a boat that would make this look like a rubber ducky bobbing in the bathtub? Then put me behind the desk in Miami.”

  She stared at me for a moment before her cold eyes warmed and she broke into laughter. “You want Maambong’s job?”

  “That’s your route to more, Yvonne. See, I won’t make the same mistakes Maambong is making.”

  “And what mistakes are they?”

  “I wouldn’t have saddled you with a potential murder rap just to pocket a senator’s vote, for one. It’s a neat trick killing a girl and then convincing a senator that his son is the culprit and only you can cover it up, but at what price? And I wouldn’t have saddled you with Tom Preston, for another. You told me I needed to evolve, but what I think, Yvonne, after looking at everything clearly, is that the Hyena Squad is the thing that needs evolution. You need to be nimble, smart, and most of all aggressive, but only in the right way. You need to step into a new realm, where homicide detectives aren’t on your ass and you don’t have to hide behind fat shades like Portofoy.”

  “Check your fly, Mr. Kubiak, your weakness is showing.”

  “All I’m showing is the reason I was hired in the first place. Murder is easy—bang bang, any idiot can do it—but then what? This whole town is about bribery, theft, prostitution, blackmail, crimes that are not only common as dirt here, but positively encouraged. If you can’t blackmail a congressman, bribe a general, and get rich on a bogus government contract all while riding Jeremy there, then you’re not trying hard enough. But as soon as you step over a certain line, everything you worked for is at risk, and you spend more and more of your time and resources keeping your head out of the noose. That’s not a recipe for more, Yvonne, that’s not even a recipe for le
ss. That’s a recipe for annihilation. And over that line is where Maambong has put you.”

  “And you can step the firm back?”

  “I will.”

  “And still be effective?”

  “Try me.”

  “Let’s say I do try you, Mr. Kubiak. What do I do with Maambong? He won’t take kindly to losing his position.”

  “Promote him,” I said. “Send him to LA to concentrate on West Coast client development. We should be working for the studios. Talk about a bunch of thieving bastards who need our help. There’s a fortune waiting out there and Maambong could mine it for you.”

  “And what do I do with Tom Preston?”

  “Fire him.”

  “He won’t take kindly to that.”

  “Here’s a tip, Yvonne. Don’t ever hire anyone you have to kill to get rid of. Put Maambong on it. They deserve each other.”

  “Even if I agreed with you about the direction of the firm, what makes you think you’re the person for the job? What makes you think you can be as effective for me as Maambong has been?”

  “Try me. Or fire me, either one. I won’t stay around while you self-destruct. No one knows more about self-destruction than me. But I’m done with that. I’ve taken your advice and evolved.”

  “Three conversations?”

  “That’s all it will take.”

  “Do it and then I’ll consider your proposal.”

  “Good. This has been quite pleasant.” I put my empty glass on the cocktail table, slapped my leg, and stood. “I could get used to this. I believe we’ll have many fruitful discussions on this boat, and the bigger one you’ll buy in a few short years. It would be best if Tom Preston was taken care of as soon as possible. We won’t have any use for him as we walk arm in arm into the future.”

  “You’re afraid of him.”

  “We’re brothers, he and I. I know what’s in his heart because it’s the same as what is in my heart. And so I can tell you with complete confidence, Yvonne, that if you’re not afraid of Tom Preston, then you deserve everything he’s going to do to you.”