Dirty White

by Brian Freemantle

  “Hostile,” said Belson.

  “Think he’ll run?”

  “I haven’t got any doubt about it,” said Belson. “He looks at the keys and the locks like he’d look at a hypodermic.”

  “What sort of therapy do you recommend?” asked the director.

  “Nothing group, not at this stage,” replied Belson. “He’d wreck any session. It’ll have to be one-to-one.”

  Halpern sat back in his chair, sighing. “So young Howard is going to be a problem for us?”

  “Unless he’s stronger than we both think he is.”

  “I pity the father,” said Halpern. “He’s worried to hell. I think he still can’t believe it’s happened.”

  At that moment the telephone sounded in Farr’s Manhattan townhouse. The investment broker recognized Peter Brennan’s voice at once: “It’s agreed. Everything your way.”

  Gomez did the coke by himself—because he didn’t want anyone to observe his enjoyment of it—but summoned Orlando Ramos to join him with the women. Gomez decided he was lucky, having Ramos as his chief protector. They were cousins and had grown up with each other, in Medellin. Ramos was family; someone he could trust—not bright enough to be ambitious for the top job but happy always to be the loyal lieutenant.

  8

  The need for Brennan and Seymour to return to Washington for further consultation had caused a hiatus and Farr was glad of it. Everything had happened too quickly from the moment of his first encounter with the FBI agents, not permitting him sufficient time to think. Farr realized that, whatever happened in the coming weeks and months—and, despite his apparent confidence at the Boston planning meeting, he hadn’t the remotest idea what might happen—he still had business and clients to consider, and brokers who relied upon him. What was occurring was an aberration, a nightmare intrusion into his orderly, settled, complete and satisfied life. For an indefinite period—he wished to God he knew how long—he was going to be forced into an absurd situation more fitting to a five-dollar novel or a cheap movie than to Walter James Farr, revered investment broker, pillar of Wall Street respectability. But aberrations were like hiatus; only temporary. When it was over, he would return to the life he knew and in which he felt safe—which meant taking as many precautions as possible to protect the business while he was away.

  Farr had structured his business as a pyramid, so it wasn’t necessary to summon everyone in the firm. Angela Nolan had to be briefed, of course—while he was away, the burden of his part of the corporation would fall predominantly upon her—and the other immediate division managers, Paul Brent, Richard Bell and Hector Faltham. Particularly Faltham.

  Faltham had joined him within a year of his setting up business and Farr didn’t regard him as an employee. Faltham and his wife, Nancy, still invited Farr for weekends and at Thanksgiving, although the two men’s social involvement wasn’t as frequent as it had been when Ann was alive and they made foursomes for dinner and for the theater.

  Angela entered the conference suite first, habitually eager, obviously wanting to ask in advance of the others’ arrival the reason for the summons. Brent and Faltham arrived together, shirt-sleeved and relaxed, and Bell was late, apologizing as he came into the room and explaining that he’d been held on a telephone conversation to Hong Kong. They grouped themselves familiarly around the table and Angela said, “It isn’t time for the monthly conference. What’s all the mystery?”

  “No mystery,” said Farr, hoping he’d rehearsed everything sufficiently. “I’ve decided upon a little expansion.”

  “Expansion?” queried Faltham, the man who knew him best and was therefore most familiar with his method.

  Farr supposed that the reaction was predictable. And not just from Faltham. It was practically a joke among them that although they had all the business they could handle and were turning clients away every day, they were determined against becoming an uncontrollable conglomerate. Farr acknowledged his earlier reluctance to expand and said that he still regarded the Caymans as only an experiment that might not work. He’d apologize when it was all over, Farr thought; explain the reason why he’d had to lie and ask for their understanding. He was sure they’d forgive him. If they had kids in similar situations and had been asked to do what he’d been asked to do, they’d do it—and he would have understood later, when the explanations came.

  “The Caymans!” said Brent, voicing everyone’s surprise. “Offshore. Funny money. That’s not our style.”

  “I’m not saying that it is,” repeated Farr. It was right that he should talk to them—even as incompletely and as possibly dishonestly as this—but he reflected as he did so how fortunate it was that he’d always retained sole control of the business. Partners or directors could, and probably would, have insisted upon a fuller explanation. These people, his most intimate working companions, might question, but when it came to the bottom line they, even Faltham, were still employees—and he was the employer. They couldn’t seriously challenge or stop him.

  “Surely the Caymans is pretty well established now?” said Faltham, a pipe-smoking, deliberate man who was older than any of the other senior brokers—older, in fact, than Farr. “Would there be sufficient volume of business to make it worthwhile?”

  “I won’t know until I’ve explored it thoroughly,” said Farr. He looked from one to the other, particularly at Angela. “It’ll put an extra burden on all of you, for a time.”

  “You won’t be working from here?” said Brent.

  “Not a lot,” said Farr. “If it’s not feasible, then I don’t want to waste my time—our time. I’m going to go down and give it my undivided attention, check it out thoroughly. If it works, then fine. If not, then I can wrap it up with the minimum amount of fuss and bother.” He sat hot and uncomfortable under their obviously skeptical looks.

  “How long?” demanded Angela.

  “I’m not sure,” said Farr, anxious to avoid positive commitment. “Maybe six months.”

  “Six months!” exclaimed Faltham.

  “I’ll be back and forth during that time. There could be daily telephone or telex liaison, if we thought it necessary.”

  “You’ll want us to get involved?” anticipated Angela hopefully.

  “No!” said Farr, regretting at once the quickness of the refusal. Trying to recover, he said, “I’m keeping everything to the minimum. Time, money, and certainly staff. I want you all here looking after the shop. This will always be the mainstay of the business. This is the business.” Would he be able to keep the undertaking to commute back and forth? The FBI would have to allow him that, surely? He would create just the sort of curiosity and uncertainty they were trying to avoid if he simply vanished from a city in which, within a selected environment, he was so well known.

  “Never expected this,” said Faltham. “Against all our previous policy.”

  “So maybe I’ve changed my mind.” It was too dismissive and Farr felt further regret: none of them had ever abused the employer/employee relationship and he didn’t like having to remind them of it.

  “It’s your right; your company,” acknowledged Faltham.

  Shit, thought Farr, I’m handling it very badly. “Like I said, I’ll be in constant touch, but you guys will be running things here. I’m going to need your support. I know I’ll get it.”

  “Of course,” said the loyal Angela.

  “What if the Caymans works? Where after that?” asked Brent, probably the most ambitious of the senior men.

  “Let’s see if the Caymans works first.” Farr was anxious to finish the meeting and stop deceiving them.

  “Sure we can make it work,” said Bell. It was an admiring remark: the man had said “we,” but he’d meant “you.”

  In his growing embarrassment, Farr decided that it was inadequate to hope that they would understand and forgive him at some future, indeterminate date. “We’ll see.”

  Bell asked when he would be leaving. When Farr said, “at once,” the persistent Faltham
commented that things were happening not only unexpectedly but also very quickly. Farr lied that he’d been thinking about the project for some time, managing to remind them more subtly this time that he didn’t need to discuss anything with them if he didn’t choose to do so. Angela asked directly about his personal clients and Farr said they would become her responsibility.

  “I’m sending out letters to the most important ones, explaining that I might not be as available as I have been in the past but that it’s only temporary—” He looked beyond the woman, to the three men. “If Angela’s workload gets too heavy, I’d appreciate you pitching in.”

  There were nods of agreement from them all and Faltham said heavily, “Best of luck.”

  Farr decided that the man expected a fuller explanation. “Maybe I’ll need it,” he said sincerely.

  They’d been very good, the Negress particularly. Professional and athletic and inventive and very good. Gomez was glad he had given them a hundred dollars more than they’d asked for: they deserved it and he was celebrating after all. He decided to have the black girl again. But on her own. Two was a fun fuck but it was distracting. Definitely on her own, next time.

  “Good?” he asked, as Ramos emerged from the other bedroom.

  “Great,” said Ramos, knowing that the man expected gratitude for including him in the orgy.

  “I want the black girl again,” said Gomez.

  “Any time,” said Ramos, who always acted as procurer.

  “They’ve agreed,” disclosed Gomez. “Navarro and Scarletti.”

  “Congratulations,” said Ramos. The left side of the man’s face was creased by the scar of a long-ago knife fight. In a familiar gesture, he ran his finger the length of the scar.

  “Scarletti I’m confident of,” said Gomez. “Because he’s the biggest producer, I’ve got to deal with Navarra.”

  “There are others.”

  “It would mean involving more than one—three, maybe four. The beauty of the whole concept is its simplicity: one supplier, one buyer, with us in the middle.”

  “We could always switch, if Navarra doesn’t work out.”

  “Watch it, closely,” ordered Gomez. “Navarra will try to buy someone, an informant from among our people.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  Gomez believed everyone had a price—everyone except Ramos. He thought again how lucky he was to have his cousin so close.

  9

  Farr’s shuttle arrived in time for him to book into the Copley Plaza. Afterward, outside in the square, he considered walking to the safe house off Bedford Street but decided against it, not wanting to be late. As it was, everyone was already assembled by the time he got there.

  As he entered the same large room as before, Farr thought in passing that, although he had gone to New York and Brennan and Seymour to Washington, the others in the group must have stayed on in Boston, assembled for the job and with nothing else to do. Farr made a general greeting, smiling toward Harriet, who smiled briefly back. She had very even white teeth.

  Farr sat back easily as Brennan recounted the Washington meeting. Farr was conscious of the immediate tightening of Mann’s face at the announcement that the operation was going to be conducted out of the Caymans rather than Florida. The man’s resentment couldn’t stem entirely from their one short meeting. Farr speculated that Mann had felt he could financially organize the entrapment, that there was no need for the involvement of any additional expertise, certainly not expertise from outside the Bureau. Farr conceded that this was an understandable attitude but he hoped it wouldn’t become a problem between them.

  “How much liquidity?” he asked Brennan.

  “Better than I expected. Three million,” said the FBI man.

  “Washington must attach a great deal of importance to this,” said Harriet, and Farr wondered once more about the source of her accent.

  “They do,” said Seymour. “They see it as one of the big ones.”

  “So now we’re set,” said Brennan, looking expectantly at Farr.

  “When’s the money available?” asked the investment broker.

  “Whenever you want it.”

  “Working finance, too? There’ll be expenditure on office accommodation, incorporation fees, legal expenses, stuff like that.”

  “All available,” assured Seymour. “You said a hundred and fifty thousand at the last meeting. That’s what has been allocated.”

  His terms appeared to have been met easily, given the vagueness and uncertainty of the last encounter, thought Farr. He said, “Looks as if we can start a business then.”

  “When?” said Brennan.

  “Right away, I suppose. I’ve told my people in New York I’m going to be absent. … Everyone here has been gathered for the specific purpose …” Farr hesitated. “There’ll be no need for everyone to come down, not at once. It would look unusual, in fact. I’ll go down and secure some premises, go through the legal necessities.” He turned to the two technical men. “You’d better make a visit before I sign any binding leases, to make sure the premises will be all right for you to work in.” To Mann he said, “There’s really no point in your thinking of coming down until we’re all set up.” He didn’t intend it to sound as dismissive as it did. The accountant’s face stiffened again.

  “What about me?” asked Harriet.

  “I think it might be an idea for us to travel together,” said Farr. “Your supposed role is to be up front, after all. It would look better—more natural—for you to accompany me.” Was that the sole reason? he asked himself. He pushed the intrusion aside, adding, “And it’s probably a good idea to have someone official with me.” He smiled at her again. “You’re liaison, after all.”

  She didn’t smile back. “All right.”

  Brennan took over the conversation, talking through with Jones and Batty the possible difficulty of taking undiscovered into the island the sort of monitoring equipment that would be necessary, appearing relieved when both technicians assured him that what they needed could be stripped down to appear no more unusual than rather complicated photographic equipment with sound attachments. Such equipment wouldn’t seem particularly unusual on islands with some of the best scuba water in the world and fish that were frequently photographed. Anything additional could easily be purchased locally.

  “We’re set then?” asked Seymour.

  “One thing won’t be possible,” disputed Mann.

  “What?” asked Brennan.

  “The sort of protection you promised,” said the accountant.

  “We’ll be there for a lot of the time,” said Brennan. “Certainly at the first indication that there might be difficulties.”

  “Just you two,” persisted Mann. “You won’t be able to have the sort of task force backup that would be possible on the mainland.”

  Brennan and Seymour looked at each other. It was Seymour who spoke. “It was discussed in Washington. You’re all volunteers. If any of you feel like withdrawing, now’s the time to do it. We can’t afford any internal problems once the thing gets underway.”

  Do I qualify as a volunteer? thought Farr, as he watched the two FBI organizers invite any of the other assembled people to speak. Farr supposed he was. Just. A reluctant volunteer. No one responded to the invitation and Mann looked away from Brennan’s direct gaze.

  “Everyone’s fully committed then?” insisted Seymour.

  There were mumbles and nods from the men and Harriet said, “Fully committed.”

  Mann’s embarrassment this time was entirely of his own making, thought Farr: it was understandable that the man should be properly apprehensive but if he was that nervous why had he volunteered in the first place?

  The conversation continued for some time, but there was really nothing left to say, so Brennan called the meeting to a close. Farr told Harriet that he was staying at the Copley Plaza and invited her to eat with him there that night—extending the invitation to Brennan and Seymour as well, to avoid the appea
rance of anything more than a business meeting—but Harriet declined, saying that she had last-minute things to do. At the hotel Farr called the Eastham clinic, wanting to visit before he flew south, but the director said he didn’t think that seeing Howard so soon was a good idea.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Farr, immediately alarmed.

  “It’s not my policy to lie to patients. Or to their relations,” said Halpern. “At the moment everything’s wrong with Howard. He’s needing a lot of help with the detoxification—we’re having to use blockade medication, which I didn’t want to do—and he’s resisting everything we try and do or say to help.”

  “I should come up.”

  “No,” said Halpern. “Howard’s important at the moment—not what you feel you should do. Whatever slight settling in we’ve managed to achieve—and it’s very slight, believe me—would be destroyed by your coming. When would there be another opportunity?”

  “I’m not sure.” He could make time. The formation procedures—office leasing and legal necessities—would take a while, and there would be days when there was nothing to do. He said, “I’ll keep in touch; as soon as you tell me it’s OK, I’ll come.”

  “Thank you for your understanding.”

  “The only thing that matters is helping Howard,” said Farr.

  Farr supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised by the report from Eastham—he had predicted himself what Howard’s behavior would be—but he had hoped for something better. He noticed the stationery and envelopes in the suite bureau and wondered if he should write the boy a letter. About what? There was only one subject between them at the moment and he didn’t imagine that a letter about it would help Halpern and the other doctors—and he could hardly write a gossipy, newsy letter about what he was about to do.

  Farr forced himself on, calling Logan to work out the flight schedules and fixing a connection for himself and Harriet for the following day which involved their transferring for the Cayman plane at Miami. Harriet had given him the number of the Ramada Inn at which she was staying and he called her there, to tell her of the timing. She said thank you and he repeated the dinner invitation; again, she declined.