Tod Goldberg - The Reformed

Barry looked fairly astounded. “How’d you know?”

“I’m a spy,” I said. “And the work is shoddy.”

“I just told him what to do,” Barry said. “I didn’t go in there with a hammer and chisel.”

“It’s good enough to fool a fool,” I said, “which means he’s probably very safe there from the local police and anyone not trained at Quantico.”

“Well, anyway, he was happy with that work, and that’s when he gave me the money, and that’s when I called him on it being crap. He didn’t like that.”

“So you told him how to make good money?”

“I might have given him some hints, yes.”

“And what did you get for that?”

“He said he’d give me a hundred K from the fine cut,” Barry said, “plus ten grand of real money if I served as, you know, a quality-control expert. So I went down to the hotel-and yes, before you ask, I told him to do this at the hotel, okay? — and saw what they were making and it was surprisingly good for a bunch of amateurs. But I told him that I wasn’t going to take any of that pre-’96 money. That’s like waving a huge red flag. Who has that much money all from one year, you know? You gotta get a mix from the last ten years to make it look right, but they didn’t have that technology, which I told them. So I said I wanted my money all in cash, that I wasn’t taking their rags.”

“Did you add ‘or else’ when you made this demand?” I said.

“Well, I implied it.”

That’s what I was afraid of.

“How did you do that?”

“I said I had guys who, uh, worked for me who, uh, were, uh, ex-, uh, military and CIA and uh, other, uh, agencies of the, uh, spy variety and who, uh, might have been involved with some large-scale terrorist actions in, uh, the greater, uh, Ireland area. And, uh, that, uh, if I didn’t get my money, well, he’d be hearing from him.”

“Him?”

“Him. Them. You know.”

“And that’s when he threatened to kill you?”

“No, worse,” Barry said. “The cops showed up at my mother’s house. Guess that’s my last known.”

“That’s worse?”

“I told you,” Barry said, “I’ve got eczema on my knees. My mom was out of town, so the cops put a pretty big scare into my aunt Lois, who’s down from Ocala to watch the cats, water the plants and such, so she called me and I figured it was time to lie low for a piece. So I’ve been sort of waiting it all out at sea. Hopped on a friend’s houseboat and have been just sort of chilling in international waters for a couple days. Until Sam called. If I’d known the Latin Emperors had cops on the payroll, I’d have just kept sailing until I hit Australia. But it makes a lot of sense now, since they told my aunt that they were just coming by to see if I was still alive, which, at the time, didn’t sound like what cops normally go around saying.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” I said.

“I didn’t know what to do, Michael, on account of-well, the, uh, fact that I may have misrepresented our working relationship to Junior.”

It was then that my mother finally broke and stopped eavesdropping from the sink area-where she’d been washing the same dish for the previous ten minutes-and sat down at the table next to me. She lit up a cigarette and exhaled the smoke directly into Barry’s face.

“Ma,” I said.

“Shut up, Michael,” she said.

Barry smiled. “Wow, that was pretty cool. That’s your mom. I guess I never really understood that she’s your mom, so she can tell you to shut up. Wow.”

“Shut up, Barry,” my mother said, and he did. “Do you mind, Michael?”

“Have at it, Ma,” I said.

“You know what your problem is, Barry?”

“Uh, no, Mrs. Westen,” he said.

“You consort with assholes. I’m sorry for my language, Barry, but that’s the truth. Did I hear you say the police came to your mother’s house?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Barry said.

“Do you know what that would have been like if she’d been home? You would have ruined her whole week. Maybe her whole year. Do you have any skills, Barry, other than whatever criminal things you do with Michael?”

“No,” Barry said, “that’s all I’ve got.”

“Well, then, you’d better be a bit more selective with the people you work with so that Michael doesn’t need to come in and save your ass like he does with everyone else. Do you understand?”

“Uh, yes, Mrs. Westen.”

That made my mother happy. She stubbed out her cigarette. “Now, can I get you some pot roast, Barry?”

“Sure, that would be great, Mrs. Westen,” Barry said.

She stood up, reached across the table and mussed up Barry’s hair. “That was a good chat. We should do that again.” She turned to me. “Michael, help this idiot out before he gets his mother killed.”

And suddenly I had another unpaid client. That made three.

You can do all the planning you want, but when it comes to fighting a battle, eventually you’re going to need guns.

Unless, it turns out, you’re defending Father Eduardo Santiago.

“That’s the first thing,” Father Eduardo said. “And I am firm on this.” He’d come to my loft that same evening so I could explain to him all that we’d learned and all that was at risk, including what Fi had learned about Leticia, which seemed to break Father Eduardo’s spirit more than any other single detail. But before I could even tell him my plan, he made the proclamation about the guns, which was no insignificant thing, since I generally keep two pieces on me at all times, as does Sam. I suspect Fiona tries to form a more rounded-looking number, like six, but all of that is really predicated on her outfit.

Sam and Fiona, who were both standing in my galley kitchen, sighed audibly and in perfect synchronicity. Barry was also in my loft, because he was too scared to go anywhere else. I’d instructed Barry that under no circumstances was he to let his fear manifest into a situation where he thought he should hit on Fiona-something he does on a fairly regular basis-because I was pretty sure Fiona would react with malice. And to keep that from happening, I’d instructed Sam to fix Barry a drink containing as many varieties of rum as he could find, which in short order had knocked Barry out.

“Do you understand what you’re saying?” I asked.

“Do you?” Father Eduardo said. “Seventy-five percent of the people who work for me-nearly everyone! — are convicted felons, parolees, ex-gang members. If someone under my guise comes onto my property with a gun and is anywhere near them, they could all go back to prison. I will not put them in that position.”

“What about knives?” Fiona asked. “Or swords. Swords would be fun, Michael.”

“No concealed weapons,” Father Eduardo said.

“Grenades?” Sam said.

“I still have some C-4,” Fiona said. “We could blow up Junior’s car in the parking lot. That would solve this all very quickly. Make it look like an accident.”

“How are you going to make a C-4 explosion look like an accident?” Sam said.

“I have my ways,” Fiona said.

“No,” Father Eduardo said. “No. No. No. I cannot have any of this. Do you understand? I am a man of faith. I will not let you blow up his car. I cannot have my campus turned into something on CNN. Don’t you understand?”

I did. Really. It’s just difficult to imagine fighting a gang without ammo.

“So, when I inform Junior what the score is going to be,” I said, “and he pulls a gun, what am I supposed to do? Talk to him sweetly until he puts it away?”

“He won’t pull a gun,” Father Eduardo said. “He has too much to gain from this shakedown to kill anyone. And he’s a coward now, from what you tell me. Hiring a person like your sleeping friend? Thirty years ago, your friend would have been like a chew toy for Junior. No, he’d have someone else kill you. Or have you picked up by the police. At no time do I want you to bring any guns onto my campus. I would rather go down myself than put these kids in jeopardy of losing everything because of my own foolish past.”