Dan Simmons - Hardcase

Miles glanced at Farino's daughter but looked at her father when he spoke next. He hated dealing with the woman. Farino's oldest son, David, had been capable enough, but had wrapped his Dodge Viper around a telephone pole at 145 miles per hour. The second son, Little Skag, was hopeless. The Don's older daughter, Angelina, had run away to Europe years before. That left this… girl.

"Either way, sir," Miles said to the former don, "I think that we should call in the Dane."

"Really?" said Byron Farino. "You think it's that serious, Leonard?"

"Yes, sir. He crippled one of your people and then called to brag about it."

"Or perhaps he just called to save us the embarrassment of finding out about Carl's injuries in the newspaper," said Sophia. "This way we were able to get out to the accident scene first."

" Accident scene," repeated Miles, not hiding his derision.

Sophia shrugged. "Our people made it look like an accident. It saved us a lot of questions and legal expenses."

Miles shook his head. "Carl was a brave and loyal employee."

"Carl was an absolute idiot," said Sophia Farino. "All those steroids obviously burned out what little brain he had left."

Miles turned to say something sharp to the bitch and instantly thought better of it. He stood in silence, listening to the mynah bird berate an invisible opponent.

"Leonard," said Don Farino, "what was the first thing Carl said to our people when he regained consciousness this morning?"

"He couldn't say anything. His jaw is wired shut, and he'll need extensive oral surgery before—"

"What did he write to Buddy and Frank, then?" asked Don Farino.

The attorney hesitated. "He wrote that five of Gonzaga's people followed him and jumped him," Miles said after a moment.

Don Farino nodded slowly. "And if we had believed Carl… if Kurtz had not called last night… if I had not called Thomas Gonzaga this morning, we could be at war, could we not, Leonard?"

Miles showed his hands and shrugged. "Carl was embarrassed. He was in pain—medicated—and afraid we'd blame him."

"He followed this Kurtz and tried to settle his private scores on family time," said Sophia Farino. "Then he screwed that up. Why shouldn't we blame him?"

Miles only shook his head and gave Don Farino a look that said, Women can't understand these things .

Byron Farino shifted slightly in his wheelchair. It was obvious that he was in pain from the eight-year-old gunshot wound and the bullet still embedded near his spine. "Write a check for $5,000 for Carl's family," said the Don. "Is it just his mother?"

"Yes, sir," said Miles, not seeing any reason to mention that Carl lived with a twenty-year-old male model of Miles's acquaintance.

"Would you see to that, Leonard?" said Farino.

"Of course." Miles hesitated and then decided to be bold. "And the Dane?"

Farino was quiet for a moment. The mynah bird deep in the green fronds chattered away to itself. Finally the older don said, "Yes, I think perhaps a call to the Dane would be in order."

Miles blinked. He was pleasantly surprised. This would save him $30,000 with Malcolm and Cutter. Miles had no intention of demanding the advance money back. "I'll contact the Dane—" he began.

Farino shook his head. "No, no, I'll take care of it, Leonard. You go make out the check for Carl's family and make sure that it's delivered. Oh, and Miles… what was the rest of Mr. Kurtz's message last night?"

"Just where we could find Carl. Kurtz had the gall—I mean, he said that it hadn't been personal—and then he said that he wouldn't be starting his $400-a-day retainer until today. That he would be interviewing Buell Richardson's wife this morning."

"Thank you, Leonard." Farino dismissed the lawyer. When Miles was gone, Farino turned to his daughter. As was true of his older daughter, he saw much of their late mother there: the full lips, the olive complexion, the mass of black hair curling around her oval face, the long, sensuous fingers, and the lush body. But he had to admit that Sophia's eyes showed more intelligence and depth than his wife's ever had.

Farino sat lost in thought for a long minute. The mynah stirred in its cage but respected the silence. Eventually Farino said, "Do you feel comfortable taking care of this, Sophia?"

"Of course, Papa."

"Dealing with the Dane can be… disturbing," said her father.

Sophia smiled. "I was the one who wanted to be involved in the family business, Papa," she said. " All of the family business."

Farino nodded unhappily. "But with the Dane… be very, very careful, my dear. Even on the secure telephone line, be very professional."

"Of course, Papa."

Out on the lawn of the mansion, Leonard Miles had to work to keep from smiling. The Dane . But the more he thought about it, the more sense it made that this mess be cleaned up before the Dane became involved. And Miles certainly did not want to do anything that would irritate Malcolm and his partner. Even the thought of the Dane, Malcolm, and Cutter crossing paths made Miles a bit dizzy. And although Mrs . Richardson knew nothing, Miles realized now that she might be considered a loose end.

You keep tying up all of these loose ends , scolded the parsimonious part of Miles's mind, and you'll end up in the poorhouse .

Miles paused to think about that. Finally he shook his head. He was caviling about a few thousand more dollars when millions— millions —were involved. He flipped open his phone and called Malcolm Kibunte's number. Malcolm never answered the phone in person.

"Our K package will be arriving at the accountant's wife's home sometime this morning," he said to the answering machine. "It would be a good place to pick up that package." He hesitated only a second. "And her package should probably be picked up at the same time. I'll pay for delivery of both items when we meet again. Please bring along the receipts."

Miles flipped the phone shut and walked down to his Cadillac to write the check for Carl's mother. Miles was not worried about using the cell phone because he would throw the phone into the river on the drive back into town. He owned many such phones, none of them traceable to Counselor Leonard Miles.

Driving toward the main gate, he decided that he would break the news to Carl's roommate himself.

It was raining hard when Kurtz walked up to the sprawling brick home just a few blocks from Delaware Park. Malcolm and Cutter watched from Malcolm's yellow SLK, its top up, half a block back from where Kurtz had just parked his Buick. Malcolm had noticed how careful Kurtz had been, driving by once to case the place, checking several times that he had not been followed before parking. But Malcolm and Cutter had arrived first and had hunkered down when Kurtz drove past. The driving rain helped conceal them in the car, but Malcolm had turned the engine off anyway. He knew that nothing gave away the presence of a watcher faster than the exhaust from an idling engine.

Cutter made a soft noise from the passenger seat.

"In a minute, C, my man," said Malcolm. "In a minute."

Kurtz had not known many accountants over the years—he'd had a couple as divorce-case clients and had seen a few more adventurous types serving time in Attica for whatever white-collar crimes accountants commit—but Mrs. Richardson hardly seemed like an accountant's wife to him. She seemed more like one of the expensive call girls who plied their trade near the fancier Niagara Falls resort hotels. Kurtz had seen pictures of Buell Richardson and heard descriptions from Little Skag. The accountant had been short, bald, in his fifties, peering out at the world through thick glasses like a myopic, arrogant chipmunk. His wife was in her late twenties, very blond, very built, and—it seemed to Kurtz—very chipper for a probable widow.