Joel Goldman - Final judgment

She missed a beat in her reply, the hesitation enough to make Samuelson break a sweat. “After all these years. I thought I recognized your number on my caller ID. I’m fine, Avery. My God, it’s been what? Ten years?”

“Give or take, but what’s a decade between old friends? Right?”

“Nothing at all. It’s good to hear your voice. It’s been too long.”

“I should’ve stayed in touch more. I still miss Wayne. It’s been a long time.”

“Me too,” she sighed.

“You remember how he used to imitate my voice, call you up and pretend to be me?”

“It made me so mad,” she said with a laugh. “The two of you were always playing jokes on me.”

“What have you been doing?”

“After Wayne died, I moved up here to be with my sister because she had cancer. I was her only family except for a son and a stepson. Neither one of them had time for their mother. After I buried her, I thought, ‘Well, Sylvia, this is God’s way of telling you to start over.’ So I did. I went to work nine to five. Took some getting used to, but I did it.”

“I don’t blame you a bit. I should have started over too.”

“I saw you on television. I’m sorry for all your troubles.”

“Yeah. I made CNN. How about that?”

“I saw it. You could lose a little weight, Avery. It’s not good for you being so heavy.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got no appetite these days.”

“Keep fighting.”

“I have to. I’m innocent, Sylvia. I had a few unhappy customers like any businessman, and the government is making a federal case out of it.”

“CNN said they found a body in the trunk of your car.”

“Bad luck. His and mine. I had nothing to do with that.”

“I believe you, Avery. You wouldn’t hurt a flea. I hope it all works out for you. It was nice to hear from you, but I’m going to be late for work.”

“Sylvia, give me another minute,” Fish said, adding a touch of desperation. “I need a favor and I don’t have anyone else to ask.”

“I work at a call center now,” she said, her voice stiffening. “Eight hours a day of customer service. It’s very boring, but no one comes to me for favors. I told you, Avery. I started over.”

“The government has frozen all my bank accounts, but I’ve got a lot of cash they don’t know about. It’s for my grandkids. It’s too much to leave in a suitcase under my bed. I need to move it, clean it, until this is over.”

“I can’t help you. I wouldn’t know how and I don’t want any trouble.”

“Don’t worry. My phone isn’t tapped. I’ve got a guy who checks it every day. No one is listening.”

“I’m listening. And, I’m not interested.”

“Sylvia, you remember the money I gave you when Wayne died? It was my cut from the last deal we did.”

“I remember. Wayne didn’t leave me much. I’m grateful for what you did, Avery. But that doesn’t mean I owe you.”

“I don’t mean it that way. You’re right. You don’t owe me a thing. But I’ve got more than twenty times that to move. I’ll give you a cut and you can buy your own call center.”

Mason listened as Sylvia hacked-clearing the phlegm from her throat, making way for the bait and hook Fish had tossed her.

“Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t know how to do it. Wayne always took care of the money.”

“Then bury it in your backyard and dig it up when I’m dead. Just promise me you’ll get it to my grandkids. You can take whatever you think is fair for your trouble, but I’ve got to move the money in the next couple of days. I’ve got a hundred grand hidden at home. The rest is in a safety deposit box under a phony name. The feds have me under twenty-four-hour surveillance. I can’t go near the money. You and Wayne are the only ones I could ever trust with something like this, and he’s dead. Will you at least think about it?” His question hung unanswered. “Sylvia? Are you there?”

“I’m here.”

“Well?”

“I’ve got some sick days saved up. I’ll think about it,” she said and hung up.

“Where’s the money?” Fish asked.

Kelly lifted an aluminum briefcase onto the kitchen counter, snapped open the locks, and raised the lid, revealing neatly wrapped bundles of hundred-dollar bills packed tightly together like tiles. Fish elbowed Samuelson out of the way to get a closer look.

“Old money?”

“Heavily circulated, nonsequential serial numbers,” Kelly said.

“You can trace that?”

“Completely. Don’t get too ambitious. You’ve got enough problems as it is.”

Fish laughed. “You don’t have to worry about me, Miss Holt. You’ve already put me out of business. It’s my former partner who’s got ambitions.”

“You think Sylvia will call back?” Samuelson asked.

“She’ll call, and when she does, you better have the rest of the money,” Fish answered.

“Hold on,” Samuelson said. “It was hard enough to get the hundred thousand. You don’t really think we’re going to come up with another million and stick it in a safety deposit box for you to play with?”

“Actually, that would be another one million sixty-seven thousand. I told you that nobody believes exact numbers. And that’s what you’ll do if you want this to work. What’s the combination?” Fish asked, snapping the briefcase closed and thumbing the numbers on the lock.

“You aren’t serious?” Kelly said.

“I have too much respect for money to joke about it. I told Sylvia that I had the hundred at home. How’s it going to look if she shows up here and I don’t have it?”

“You think she’d do that?” Samuelson asked.

Fish rolled his eyes at Mason and let out an exasperated sigh. “Amateurs,” he muttered. “What do you think she’s going to do? Ask me to mail it to her?”

“There’s no way we’re leaving this money here with you,” Kelly said.

“Out of the question,” Samuelson added.

Fish picked up the phone and began dialing. Sylvia’s number flashed across the laptop screen. Samuelson snatched the phone from his hand, ending the call before Sylvia could answer.

“What in the hell are you doing?” Kelly demanded.

“I’m calling Sylvia to tell her I threw the money out with the trash and she can forget I ever called her.”

“You do that and our deal is off!” Samuelson said. “You’ll die in prison.”

“Fine,” Fish said, his hands clasped beneath his belly. “So I’ll die in prison. You think this house isn’t a prison? No wife, no kids, no grandkids. At least in prison I’ll have someone to talk to. Now get out of my house!”

Samuelson looked at Mason, pleading. “Talk to your client.”

Mason shook his head. “You put him up to this. If he can’t deliver the money to her, the deal blows up. There’s no way for him to know if Sylvia is going to call back, show up, or send someone in her place. You can park someone here to babysit him and the money but that could complicate things if someone knocks at the door.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Kelly asked. “Trust him? He’s a crook!”

“Then get a receipt for the money or pick someone else,” Mason said.

Kelly motioned Samuelson into the living room while the technician gathered his equipment. Fish poured himself a cup of coffee and read the paper. Mason stared out the kitchen window, trading glances with a blue jay bobbing on a sapling’s narrow branch.

“Okay,” Samuelson said when they came back five minutes later. “We’re going to install surveillance cameras and microphones throughout the house. That money walks out of here, we’re going to know about it.”

“Isn’t it supposed to walk out of here?” Mason asked.