The Bricklayer

by Noah Boyd

  “From what I’ve been able to read between the lines, he’s mainly responsible for putting this group out of business. Am I correct?”

  She glanced at Kaulcrick and then carefully said, “A good deal of it, yes.”

  “He’s too valuable to this organization to let go. I want you to offer him this permanently. He can go off anywhere he wants and work any case he wants. He can work directly for me.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Everything considered, it looks like you already have. You, too, have my appreciation. How are your injuries?”

  “I’m fine, sir.”

  “And tell Vail, even if we can’t figure out a way to keep him aboard, I will find some way to thank him.”

  “I’ll threaten him with that.”

  The director laughed. “How much longer will you and Don be out there?”

  “I would guess we’ll be done with the evidence and reports in three to four days.”

  “Come see me when you get back.”

  TOM DEMICK had provided Vail with a rarely used alcove in a remote corner of the office’s technical services section. He was wearing evidence gloves and going through the trash container from the building on Ninth Street. It seemed too pat that the extortionists had advertised themselves as a pentad. Now five people, including Pendaran, had been identified, and everyone was assuming that because the body count had reached that number, there could be no one else involved. Why would they give away their strength up front?

  He had started listing all the container’s contents on a pad of paper. Maybe he could, through content, fingerprints, or DNA, separate them by the person who had deposited them, allowing him to determine that there were more than five people. After processing a few items, he realized it would be an impossible task. It was time to cut the Gordian knot.

  He reached in and shifted the contents around until he found the source of the garlic odor. It was an order of linguine with red clam sauce in a foil carryout container with a plastic top, which was in a paper bag stapled closed with the receipt attached. The top of the bag had been torn open and the lid pushed to one side. It appeared that the meal hadn’t been touched. Vail leaned a little closer and sniffed the sauce. There was far too much garlic in it for anyone’s taste. Now fascinated, he set it on a dusty desk beside him.

  There was a good chance that whoever had set the meal in the trash did it so it would be noticed. But why? Would he have noticed it if he hadn’t smelled the odor of garlic so prominently the night before? Was this meant to lead the FBI away from something again? Or to something?

  He dug around in the old desk and found a staple puller. He eased out the fastener and unfolded the receipt. Unbelievably, it was dated the afternoon before and was paid for with a credit card. It was for two orders of linguine. The restaurant, Sargasso’s, was located on Seventh Street, less than three blocks from the building where the shoot-out the night before had occurred, and less than two miles from the building they had searched this morning.

  Vail wondered if he was supposed to follow another investigative chain from the staged meal. Then it occurred to him that every time he discovered one of these pieces of evidence—from the flamethrower car to the dead bodies to the burned money—another clue was left behind to follow up on, which in turn led Vail into another deadly situation. Was this another trap Radek had set in place before his death, or was someone else afraid Vail would discover his involvement and was trying to kill him? Like everyone else, Vail had assumed Radek was the mastermind behind the murders and extortion. But maybe he wasn’t. Vail’s cell phone rang.

  It was Kate. “I thought you were taking me to dinner tonight.”

  “What makes you think I’m not?”

  “I haven’t heard from you in a while. I thought maybe you were hiding out on some rooftop in Chicago. You’re not, are you?”

  “Let’s be European and eat late. Pick you up at nine?”

  “You need time to fly back here, don’t you?”

  “Something like that.” He hung up and thought about going upstairs and telling her what he was doing, but the night before he had given in to her and then she’d been shot. And if it had been the late Victor Radek who left the garlicky meal for him to find, Vail was chasing shadows. He put the credit card receipt in his pocket and headed for the garage.

  SARGASSO’S WAS ONE of those small tucked-away restaurants that use crisp white linen tablecloths and hand-washed crystal that pulse in the low light to create quiet, intimate dining. A man stood with his back to the door inspecting the dining area with proprietary authority. “Excuse me,” Vail said, pulling out his credentials.

  The man glanced at the identification but took a few more seconds to size up Vail. Then he held out his hand. “Armand Sargasso. I’m the owner, Agent Vail.” He had just a touch of an Italian accent left, as if he had come from Italy as a young boy. There was also a noticeable New York corruption of the hard consonants. “What can I do for the FBI today?”

  Vail handed him the credit card receipt. “Yesterday, someone got carryout in the middle of the afternoon.”

  “I’ll get my receipts. Would you like something? Espresso? No, no, it’s too hot. How about some nice gelato? I’ve got hazelnut.”

  “Do you make it?”

  “We even roast the hazelnuts ourselves.”

  “Maybe a small dish.”

  The owner disappeared into the kitchen. A few moments later a young man came out with the dish of ice cream topped with some kind of whipped cream and a waffle biscuit wedge, set it in front of Vail with a spoon, and nodded respectfully.

  By the time Sargasso came back, Vail had finished all of the dessert.

  “How was it?”

  Vail pointed at the empty dish. “It was awful.”

  The restaurateur laughed. “I’ve got a lot more stuff you won’t like. You should come back for dinner, my treat.”

  “How about I come back, and it’ll be the government’s treat?”

  “Even better.” He handed Vail the original credit card receipt.

  It was signed “Andrew Parker.” “Who waited on him, do you know?”

  “We do a pretty fair carryout business. It could have been any of my waitstaff. I was at the market yesterday afternoon.”

  “This guy ordered both meals buried in garlic.”

  “Oh, him. That would have been Nina. When she told the chef, he wanted to take a cleaver to the man. I heard about it when I got back.”

  “Is Nina here now?”

  “She’s working tonight. You come back for dinner. I got some beautiful veal this morning.”

  “Then how about a reservation for two, nine thirty.”

  As soon as Vail got in the car, he called Tom Demick. “Do you know who has the office contact for MasterCard?”

  “I’m sure it’s on one of the white-collar squads. I could find out.”

  Vail read him the information off the credit card receipt. “If you could verify the name as Andrew Parker and get the address on the account, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Since you’re asking a lowly tech agent to do this, I assume the fewer who know about this, the better.”

  “Notice how that isn’t even a question.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  THIS PLACE IS NICE,” KATE SAID. “HOW DO YOU KNOW THE OWNER?”

  “Do you want a really nice dinner, or do you want the truth?”

  “Pass the Chianti and start lying.”

  “Let’s see…the concierge at the hotel recommended it. She said a date brought her here, so I stopped in this after-r noon. Armand is one of the guys who after a minute and a half treat you like they’ve known you their whole life.”

  “What did she say about the food?”

  “I don’t think she remembered.”

  “Then why—in your little narrative—did she recommend it?”

  Vail tilted his head suggestively. “I think, by the end of the evening, everyone was…satisfied.”

 
“Exactly what kind of dining experience did you ask her about?”

  “You certainly are asking a lot of questions.”

  “Sorry, just trying to keep my honor intact.”

  “As an occasionally honorable person, I can tell you it’s overrated. Besides, you’re freshly wounded.”

  “What does that have to do with it?”

  “I wouldn’t want to be responsible for ripping open your stitches.”

  Kate laughed musically. “You must be quite the athlete. And an even bigger optimist.”

  “You’re the one who started it.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re wearing a dress, and unless my eyes are going, it’s a little shorter than the last time.”

  She blushed and looked down at the menu. “I wanted to look nice for you.”

  “Accomplished.”

  She let her eyes drift up to him slowly. “Thank you.”

  “This isn’t a sympathy date, is it? You know, because I’m about to get fired?”

  “I thought you were better at reading people than that.”

  “Only when it comes to evil intentions. When it comes to the good stuff, I don’t have a clue.”

  “That would imply a lack of exposure to the good stuff.”

  “Finally someone to show me some compassion,” Vail said. “I’m ready to leave right now.”

  “Slow down there, Secretariat. First things first. Since the government is paying for this meal, let’s get the paid advertisements out of the way up front,” Kate said. “The director asked about you this morning.”

  “Next time you talk to him, tell him Steve said ‘Hey.’”

  “He wants you to stay on board. He said you could work any case you want, anywhere in the country.”

  “The work’s not the problem. It’s the bosses.”

  “You would report only to him.”

  Vail laughed. “You’re becoming quite the salesman, aren’t you, saving that last little tidbit to ambush me because you knew it would be my final line of defense.”

  Kate interlaced her fingers and rested her chin on them. “Go ahead, Steve. I want to see how creative your excuse is for not accepting.”

  “How about ‘I’ll think about it’?”

  “Legitimately?”

  “Legitimately.”

  The waiter came, and they both ordered the veal. Vail asked him, “Is Nina here?”

  “She’s in the kitchen. Did you want to speak to her?” he said, pointing to the back.

  “That’s all right. I can go back there.” When the waiter left, Vail asked Kate, “Did you bring the photos of Radek and his crew?”

  “Now?”

  “Sorry.”

  Kate took the mug shots out of her purse and handed them to Vail. “When you called and said you wanted them, I figured it was for tomorrow. I’m beginning to find your concierge story a tad suspicious.”

  Vail refilled her glass with the thick velvety wine the owner had sent over. He got up and leaned over, touching his cheek to hers. He let it linger a moment. Then he turned his head until his lips were just touching her ear and whispered, “Would I lie to you?”

  A shudder of pleasure ran through her and she shrugged her shoulder toward her ear in an unconvincing gesture of modesty. Then, as though trying to neutralize Vail’s surprising effect on her, she said, “Considering the primary directive of all men—absolutely.”

  Vail laughed. “You’re not leaving me much room to operate.” He walked up to the front of the restaurant, where the owner was lining out a reservation. He extended his hand. “Thanks for the wine, Armand.”

  He shook his hand and smiled. “For you, I send over the stuff that doesn’t come from a box.”

  Vail noticed that Sargasso’s accent had shifted from Brooklyn back a little closer to Italy, apparently something the customers found authentic. “It’s very nice,” Vail said. He looked back at Kate. “I hope it’s as strong as it is good.”

  The restaurateur stared at Kate appreciatively. “Molto bello. Maybe I send another bottle to make sure.” Sargasso wagged his eyebrows.

  “Thanks, but I think you’ve done enough. Is it all right if I go in the kitchen and talk to Nina? I promise to stay out of everyone’s way.”

  Sargasso looked back out the door to make sure no one was coming in and said, “Come on.” Vail followed him into the kitchen and introduced Nina, a thickset woman whose hands were julienning vegetables with a practiced consistency. “This is the man from the FBI I told you about who was asking about the Garlic Man. Please help him if you can.” Sargasso slapped Vail on the shoulder and went back out through the swinging door.

  He took out the pictures of Radek, Simms, and Hudson. Since Salton was dead and Pendaran was in custody at the time, they couldn’t have purchased the meals. Vail laid the photos on the counter in front of the sous-chef as she continued to cut the yellow and green vegetables. She blew a long strand of graying hair away from her eyes. “The one on the right, that’s him,” she said. It was Victor Radek.

  “Did he say anything other than giving you the order?”

  “When I told him that was an awful lot of garlic, he said the weirdest thing. He said, ‘Only if you’re going to eat it.’”

  “That makes more sense than you know. Anything else?”

  “No, that was about it. Paid with a credit card. Gave me the creeps the way he smiled at me.”

  “How so?”

  “It wasn’t real, like he had never smiled before.”

  “Thanks for your time.” Vail went back to the table, where a fresh bottle of wine had been delivered. Kate nodded toward it. “Quite the operator, aren’t you? Another bottle with the owner’s compliments.” She held up her glass as if to toast Vail.

  “I told him I was getting nowhere with you sober.”

  “So this Nina, is she my competition?” she said playfully.

  “As if anyone could compete with you.”

  “There isn’t enough wine in this entire place to get me to swallow that line.”

  Vail sat down. “I told you I wasn’t very good at this.”

  “Don’t panic just yet, bricklayer, you’re doing all right.”

  “That’s a little teaser to get me to tell what happened in the kitchen, isn’t it?”

  She tilted her head coyly. “Is it?”

  Vail stared at her as if making a decision. “Okay, on the off chance that this will help close the deal, here’s what I’ve been doing. Remember the trash can in the backseat of the car?”

  “A story that starts with a garbage can and winds up in a kitchen doesn’t sound like it’s going to be very interesting.”

  “That’s the good thing about it, it’s not interesting at all.” The waiter brought their veal, and when he was gone, Vail said, “It would probably be more exciting talking about what we’re going to have for dessert. Or for dessert after dessert.”

  “Hmmm, methinks he protests too little. Maybe you better give me the boring details.”

  Vail told her about Nina’s identifying Radek as having come to the restaurant the afternoon before, ordering the two heavily seasoned meals, and saying they were not for eating. “So then he puts one where he hides the two million dollars and the other in the building last night.”

  “Why?”

  “He wanted them to be noticed. The one from last night set up our noticing the one today. In case we survived last night.”

  “That means he expected us to find the laundry. Would he leave the money there and then direct us to it?”

  “He didn’t plan on dying. If we did somehow survive the shoot-out, he would have gone to the laundry and taken the two million out and left the metal box to electrocute one of us. And just in case that didn’t happen, he left the second garlic clue.”

  “To lead us where?”

  “Does it matter? He’s dead.”

  “Well, something good did come out of the money being destroyed.”

  “What’s that?” Vail a
sked.

  “If there were doubts that Radek was dead, there’s no way he would have let it burn up if he were alive.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “But DNA already said he was dead. Why did you chase down this clue?”

  “My only reason for checking this out was to make sure it was Radek and not somebody else we didn’t know about,” Vail said. “That’s why I wanted the photos.”

  She smiled. “Let’s see, the Pentad minus five bad guys, and five million minus five million—we’re back down to double zeros, just the way the Bureau likes it. I believe I’ll have another glass of that unbelievably inexpensive wine.”

  Vail poured them each another glass and held his up to hers. “To the bureaucratic goal of zero.”

  Kate’s cell phone vibrated on the tabletop. She picked it up and looked at the screen. “It’s Kaulcrick.”

  “Don’t answer it.”

  “You know I have to.”

  “Okay, then have a lie ready. You have a fever; you think your stitches are infected. Come on, Kate, you should really be on light duty,” Vail said. “You’re drunk.”

  “This is the first time I can ever remember being so attracted to a desperate man. Hold that whimper.” She answered the phone. “Yes, Don.” She looked at Vail and started deliberately taunting him with the vagueness of her responses. “Uh-huh…okay…sure…uh-huh…okay, I’ll be there.” She hung up and waited a couple of seconds before bursting into laughter. “You should see your face. He was just letting me know that the lab confirmed that the residue from the steel box was consistent in both weight and components of paper and ink with forty to forty-five pounds of U.S. currency. I believe that’s what two million dollars of hundred-dollar bills weighs.”

  “Did he say—”

  “I’m sorry, Steve, that’s it. I’m off duty. I just want to spend the rest of the evening without the FBI. Besides, I normally require a forty-eight-hour turnaround after being shot, so let’s just have a nice, boring dinner.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  I THINK I HAD TOO MUCH WINE.” THEY WERE STANDING IN KATE’S hotel room and Vail had put his arms around her.