Стюарт Вудс - Standup Guy

“Make, model, and color?”

“I never saw it. They said it was a van.”

“Any idea where they’re driving to?”

“Parese said he had a week’s groceries in the van, so someplace with a kitchen.”

“Can you narrow that down for me?”

“Parese said they’d be out of the state by eight-thirty.”

“So, they weren’t going to New Jersey. That pretty much leaves Connecticut, if we’re talking bordering states. You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“The lake cabin? That’s the only thought I’ve had.”

“A good choice, probably. They reckon that the Connecticut State Police, having gone over the place thoroughly, won’t be going back there. Oh, I forgot to tell you, they found Bats Buono’s head in the Mercedes when they floated it.”

“Did the head have a nine-millimeter slug in it?”

“Good guess, Stone.”

“When you catch up with them, run Parese’s Glock through ballistics.”

“I’ll see that that happens. You want some more Chinese now?”

“I want a steak,” Stone said. “Let’s go to the kitchen.”

Stone found steaks in the fridge and, after seasoning the meat, threw them onto the Viking grill, while Viv boiled some potatoes and made a salad. Dino was on the phone with Dan Sparks, in Hartford.

“Oh, Dino,” Stone said, “I forgot to mention that one of them is probably going to kill the other, as soon as they’re at a safe place.”

Dino covered the phone. “You got a bet on who does the killing?”

“My money’s on Hank,” Stone said. “But you never know.”

“Right,” Dino said, “you never know.” Then he went back to his conversation with Sparks.

“Dino,” Stone said, and Dino covered the phone again. “Now what?”

“I got the impression they were planning some sort of money laundering, swapping the small bills for larger ones. Ask Dan if there’s anybody anywhere near the cabin that would deal in large sums of cash.”

Dino asked Dan Sparks and got an answer, then he hung up. “Dan says there are a couple of Indian-owned casinos within an hour or two’s drive of the cabin. The Indians don’t necessarily run them, they hire experienced managers, people with casino experience.”

55

Hank and Parese were driving north on the Sawmill River Parkway in the van.

“Slow down, Marty,” she said. “There’s a fifty-five-mile-an-hour speed limit up here, and we don’t want to get pulled over tonight of all nights.”

Parese slowed a little. “Awright.”

“See that switch on the steering wheel? That’s the speed control. Set it at fifty-five and leave it there.”

“Awright, awright.” He looked at the steering wheel and nearly missed a curve.

“Watch the road, I’ll do the speed control.” She leaned over and turned it on, then slowed the van to fifty-five and pressed the SET button. “There, take your foot off the accelerator.”

“You’re right,” he said. “You’re always right, babe.”

“I’m not smarter than you,” she said, softening her voice, “I’m just better at details.”

“I’m not going to argue that point,” he said.

“So, Marty, tell me how we’re going to do this.”

“Why don’t you just leave it to me, baby?”

“Details, Marty, I need to know the details.”

“All right: did Bats ever mention a guy named Tommy Dion to you?”

“Sounds vaguely familiar.”

“Tommy is an old-school Vegas guy. He grew up working the casinos out there, ended up managing a couple of them. When the Indians started opening casinos upstate, he signed on as a consultant to a couple of them, and they were so impressed they made him a manager. Tommy and my old man were tight all their lives, and I’ve done a deal with him.”

“What’s the deal?”

“He brings us four and a half million dollars in hundreds, and we give him five million in tens and twenties.”

“We’re giving him half a million dollars ?”

“It’s a good deal, trust me.”

“The thing is, can we trust him ?”

“He’s making half a million bucks in one night, and it’s all his, tax-free. He just borrows the cash from the casino for a few hours, and he returns it in small bills. It’s a wash, literally, no bookkeeping problems.”

“And you really trust him?”

“Trust is a relative word when you’re talking this much money,” Parese said. He looked at his watch. “I’m due to call him now.” He took out his cell phone and pressed a button.

Hank kept her hand on the wheel and her eyes on the road.

“Hey, Tommy, it’s me. We’re on. You got the cash ready?” He listened for a moment. “Good work. We’ll be there in an hour. Okay, got a pencil? I’ll give you directions.” Parese dictated precise driving instructions. “You got that? Repeat it to me.” He listened some more. “Now listen to me, Tommy. You know I trust you, but you can only be two guys. We’re two, you’re two. Got that? Good. Now, if there’s more than one guy besides you, and if anybody but you gets out of that car, he will die.” He listened some more. “I’m glad you understand. Did you get the suitcases? The ones with wheels? How many? Two is good. We’ll give you five. Now we’ve done a complete machine count of the money, and it’s exactly five mil. I’ve got the printouts for you to see, but if you want a recount, the machine will be there, and you can run it yourself. All right, two hours. Don’t be early or late. We’re gonna be nervous, and we don’t want any mistakes. See ya, pal.” Marty hung up.

“Are you satisfied that he’s going to do the right thing?” Hank asked.

“I’m satisfied, but there are two shotguns and an Uzi in the back of the van, where the spare tire lives. We’ll be ready for anything.”

“I suppose you’ve thought of killing him and keeping both his money and ours.”

“I thought about it, but it wouldn’t be good practice, you know? We do that and we’ll have not only the cops looking for us, we’ll have a lot of made guys all over the country watching for us, and probably a lot of Indians, too.” He laughed.

“Tell me about tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is pretty straightforward. We drive to Oxford Airport, maybe half an hour’s drive from the house. Nobody’s looking for the van, so we just leave it there. The airplane is a Hawker 400, has enough range to get us all the way to South America, but we’re going to stop in the Cayman Islands, just south of Jamaica, and open a bank account. Then we’ll go on to South America. Rio okay?”

“I think Rio sounds lovely. What’s the airplane costing us?”

“A hundred and fifty grand.”

“Jesus! Can’t we fly commercial from the Caymans?”

“We don’t want to leave a paper trail from there. Sure, we’re overpaying for the airplane, but it’s a long flight, and the pilots have to be taken care of up front.”

“What’s to keep them from abandoning us when we leave the airplane in the Caymans to go to the bank? They could just take off again and fly home, and we’d be out a lot of money.”

Parese thought about that and sighed. “All right, we’ll give them half up front and half when we land in Rio. Worst case, we’ll give them the second half when we’re ready to take off from the Caymans. Oh, we have to buy fuel, too. That could run another eight, ten grand.”

“What time are we meeting the airplane at Oxford?”

“Nine AM.”

“Where at the airport?”

“At the main terminal.”

“Are we clearing out with customs?”

“No, the pilot files a form with the feds before the flight.”

“Does it have our names and passport numbers on it?”

“Yes, no getting away from that. But it shows us going only to the Caymans. Once we land out of the country, we can fly anywhere with no record of it. The pilots will say they picked up somebody else in the Caymans for the Rio leg.”