Lawrence Sanders - Sullivan's sting

"The mooches aren't going to know who Croesus was."

"How about this," Frank Little said. "The Fort Knox Commodity Trading Fund."

Everyone smiled.

"A winner," Sparco said. "And if the suckers think we're dealing in gold, so much the better."

The name decided, they then discussed their first deal. Bartlett urged that they start small with limited contracts for the purchase and sale of cocaine in three months' time.

"You've got to remember that I've never bought on my own," he said. "I just provide banking services. Being an importer is new to me, and I want to go easy at first."

"Same with me," Little said. "I'm just a trans-shipper and live off fees. My customers do their own buying."

"But if you can shave the price and deliver high-quality stuff," Rathbone said, "they'll buy from you, won't they?"

"No doubt about it. These are bottom-line guys."

"Good," David said. "I'll get to work on a standard contract and draw up a list of code names for the commodities we'll be handling. I'll also get some new software for my computer. Maybe a spreadsheet. If we're going to do this thing, let's do it right."

"The way I figure is this," Mort Sparco said. "What's the worst thing that could happen? That we lose all our money-right? Only it's not our money. So we've really got nothing to lose, and everything to gain. If we call the prices right and make a nice buck, we'll just pay the investors enough to keep them coming back-and pocket the rest. This could be a sweet deal."

"Yeah," Coe said, "even better than the Gypsy Handkerchief Drop." And they all laughed.

They had another round of drinks and discussed where and how to set up a checking account for the Fort Knox Commodity Trading Fund. They talked about the advisability of renting a small office, hiring a secretary, and having letterheads and business cards printed. Then the gathering broke up. Before they separated, they all shook hands as serious entrepreneurs starting a daring enterprise with exciting possibilities.

Rathbone had picked up James Bartlett at his home and had driven him to Frank Little's. Now, on the ride back to Bayview Drive, the two men briefly discussed the meeting.

"I was surprised at how easily it went," Rathbone said. "I didn't have to use the hard sell at all. Well, they're shrewd guys and could see the potential. Jimmy, it could be a bonanza if we have luck analyzing the future market."

"I think I know the man who can evaluate the supply and demand picture for us," Bartlett said. "He knows the drug scene inside out, from Bogota to the South Bronx."

"Sounds good," David said. "Is he a dealer?"

Bartlett laughed quietly. "No," he said, "he's a federal narc who turned sour about four years ago. Now he's got accounts in Switzerland and the Cayman Islands I helped him set up. He'll be happy to help us."

"You sure? If he turned once, he can turn again."

Jimmy shrugged. "That's a risk we'll have to take. But I don't think it'll happen. He's in too deep."

"Well, tell him what we need and see what he comes up with. If he works out, we can always cut him in for a point or two. Jimmy, there's something else I want to talk to you about. You'll love it."

"Will I?" the other man said. "Try me."

Rathbone told him all about Termite Tommy, the old German printer in Lakeland, the self-destruct paper, and how he had passed a forged check at the Crescent Bank.

Bartlett didn't speak for a moment after David finished. Then: "You saw Termite Tommy's sample check after it had disintegrated?"

"With my own eyes. Believe me, it turned to confetti in about four days."

"No way he could have pulled a switch on you?"

"Come on, Jimmy; I'm no rube. That check just fell apart."

"And since Rita deposited the fake Treasury check, you've heard nothing about it? No cops knocking on your door at midnight?"

Rathbone rapped his knuckles on the walnut dash of the Bentley. "So far, so good," he said. "We got the cash, and Treasury has a handful of fluff."

"So what's your problem?"

"How to capitalize on this. I could keep buying new ID for Rita-or anyone else-and pulling the same scam on other Florida banks. But the take wouldn't be big enough. I thought of franchising the whole operation: selling pads of blank checks to paperhangers all over the country. But that wouldn't work; the checks would destruct before they got through the mail. You got any ideas?"

"I know a little about counterfeiting," Bartlett said, "and I can tell you one thing: That German never made the paper. Making paper is just too difficult and complex an operation for one guy. It would take forever.

So counterfeiters buy standard grades of paper and doctor them to suit their needs. A lot of them soak paper in black coffee to give it a weathered look, like their fake bills have been handled. I knew a hustler who spent hours with a one-hair brush painting his paper with those tiny threads you see in U.S. currency."

"Well, if the German didn't make the paper himself, how did he get the checks to fall apart?"

"My guess is that he bought paper of Treasury check weight and stiffness, and then treated it with chemicals. Probably an acid. You know, David, the wood-pulp paper used in most books and magazines is acidic and will crumble to dust in about thirty years. I think the Kraut found a chemical that speeds up the process."

"Well, all I know is that it works, and I've been racking my brain trying to figure how to make the most of it."

"David, why did you use the trick paper in a check?"

"Why? I guess because Termite Tommy gave me a sample of the stuff in check form, and that got me thinking of how to turn a profit from self-destroying checks."

Bartlett sighed. "You know, you're one of the best idea men in the game. You've got a lot of creative energy. Like that commodity trading fund you came up with. But sometimes you go sailing ahead without thinking things through. You're so eager to cash in, you don't stop to wonder if there might be a less risky or more profitable way. One of these days your love affair with lucre is going to do you in."

"I don't see you passing up any surefire rackets, old buddy."

"I don't-if they are surefire. But I spend a lot more time than you do calculating the risk-benefit ratio.

Look, David, you can go on hanging queer checks, hiring more pushers, buying more fake ID, but as far as I'm concerned, the risk outweighs the benefit. The banks are sure to be alerted by the Federal Reserve, and sooner or later they'll get to you."

"So you think I should just drop it?"

"I didn't say that. But there's a better way. You said this Lakeland printer did time for counterfeiting?"

"That's what Termite Tommy told me. He met the guy in the pokey. The German was doing five-to-ten. Tommy said he had been printing and wholesaling the queer, not pushing it."

"Well, there's your answer. Get him back to making twenties and fifties, using the self-destruct paper. Then anyone-you, me, the man in the moon-can deposit the queer cash in any bank account. If it gets by the teller, you're home free because in a couple of days those bills are going to be gone, and there'll be nothing to point to who made the deposit. How are they going to arrest you for pushing forgeries if there's no evidence? The only things left will be your deposit slip and the credit to your account."

Rathbone lifted one palm from the steering wheel to smack his forehead. "Now why didn't I think of that? It's a great idea. But maybe we should wholesale the stuff instead of pushing it ourselves. How do you feel about that?"

"Wholesaling is what put the Kraut behind bars, and he might be a little gun-shy about trying it again. There's another possibility that occurs to me. You know, in my laundering deals, the cash is brought to the banks' back doors in shopping bags or suitcases. Sometimes the banks don't even bother counting; they weigh it. And they certainly don't inspect every bill to make sure it's le-git-"