Ed Mcbain - Money, Money, Money

“Miss Andersen,” Charmaine said, “there are two gentlemen here inquiring about Mr. Biggs.” She listened, nodded, looked up at the two men again. “May I say what firm you’re with?” she asked.

“Villada and Ortiz,” Ortiz said.

“Villada and Ortiz,” Charmaine said. She listened again. “Is that a bookstore?” she asked.

“Yes, it’s a bookstore,” Villada said.

“In Eagle Branch,” Ortiz said. “Texas,” he said. “Villada and Ortiz, Booksellers.”

Charmaine relayed the information, listened again, put the phone receiver back on its cradle, rose, and said, “I’ll show you in.” She turned to Wiggy as she came around the desk, said, “I’ll be with you in a moment, sir, won’t you have a seat?” and walked off with the two men Wiggy now knew owned a bookstore in Eagle Branch, Texas, which sounded like total bullshit to him.

He went over to the wall on the left of the elevator doors, and sat on the bench there. He looked around the room at the posters hanging on the walls. He’d never heard of any of the books. In a minute or so, Charmaine came back. Instead of going to her desk, though, she walked over to where he was waiting, and sat beside him on the bench.

“So,” she said, and smiled. “How can I help you, sir?”

“On Christmas night,” Wiggy said, “somebody up here phoned for a limo. I want to talk to whoever that might’ve been.”

“That’s very fanciful,” Charmaine said, and smiled coquettishly.

“Are you a writer?”

“No, I’m a drug dealer,” Wiggy said, and grinned like a shark.

“I’ll bet,” Charmaine said.

“I run a posse up in Diamondback,” he said.

“Oh, sure,” she said.

“Who do I talk to about this limo was called for?”

“Ifanyonecalled for a limo, it would’ve been Douglas Good, our publicity director. But no one was here on Christmas night. We closed on Christmas Eve at three in the afternoon, and didn’t open again till the following Tuesday. But I’ll see if Mr. Good will talk to you.”

“Just tell him Mr.Bad is here,” Wiggy said, and grinned again.

KAREN ANDERSEN was telling the two Mexicans that Randolph Biggs did indeed work for them, and so had Jerry Hoskins. But she hadn’t seen Randy since their sales conference in September, and Jerry had been the victim of a fatal shooting on Christmas Eve. Was there anythingshe could do for the gentlemen?

The gentlemen explained to her—in halting English which she nonetheless understood—that Jerry Hoskins, who until recently they had known only as Frank Holt, had purchased from them a hundred keys of excellent cocaine …

“I beg your pardon,” Karen said, looking astonished.

… for which they had been paid in hundred-dollar bills…

“Gentlemen, I’m sorry,” she said, “but …”

“Yes, we’re sorry, too,” Villada said.

“Because the money was bad,” Ortiz said.

DOUGLAS GOOD was a black man who did not appreciate brothers who looked or sounded like Walter Wiggins.

“Two girls named Sheryl and Toni,” Wiggins was telling him.

“Yes?” Douglas said.

“West Side Limo,” Wiggins said. “The Starlight Bar.”

“Mr. Wiggins …”

“Somebody here called a limo from West Side to take two girls named Sheryl and Toni uptown to a bar named the Starlight on St. Sab’s and Boyle on Christmas night,” Wiggins said. “St. Sebastian’s,” he explained.

“Somebody from Wadsworth andDodds called a limo …”

“Is the information I have.”

“… for two girls named Sheryl and Toni?”

“That’s they names. The ladies owe me some money, bro.”

Douglas didn’t like black men who looked or sounded like Walter Wiggins to call him “bro.”

“Mr. Wiggins,” he said, “we don’t have any women named Sheryl and Toni working for us.”

“Two very tall blond ladies,” Wiggins said.

“I’m sorry.”

“This was a limo from West Side,” Wiggins explained again, patiently. “Black Lincoln Town Car with a chauffeur same color as the car. The blonde named Toni was sittin in it, and she picked up me and the blonde named Sheryl outside the Starlight and drove me to my office on Decatur Av, where they relieved me of a certain amount of money, at gun point, on Christmas night.”

“No one was here on Christmas night,” Douglas said.

“The Taxi and Limousine Commission seems to believe otherwise, bro.”

“The Taxi and Limousine Commission made a mistake,” Douglas said.

“I don’t think so,” Wiggins said.

“Let me ask Mr. Halloway to come in,” Douglas said.

“Who’s Mr. Halloway?”

“Our publisher.”

He went to the desk phone, picked up the receiver, and hit Halloway’s extension button.

“Halloway.”

“Richard, it’s Douglas.”

“Yes, Douglas.”

“I have a man with me who thinks we sent a limo up to Diamondback on Christmas night. His name is Walter Wiggins.”

“He should’ve left well enough alone,” Halloway said.

“I thought you might like to meet him.”

“I’ll be right in,” Halloway said.

Douglas put the receiver back on the cradle, smiled at Wiggins, and said, “He’s on his way.”

KAREN ANDERSEN was still trying to bluff her way out of this.

“Bad money?” she said.

“Counterfeit,” Ortiz said. “We wass paid with queer money.”

“One million seven hun’red t’ousan dollars of it,” Villada said.

Karen smiled.

“We don’t think it’s so funny, Miss,” Ortiz said.

“In any case,” Karen said, “Jerry Hoskins is dead.”

“In any case,” Ortiz said, “so is Randolph Biggs.”

Karen looked at them.

“He met with an electrical accident in Piedras Rosas, Mexico,” Villada said, and nodded.

“We want our money,” Ortiz said.

“Gentlemen, I have absolutelyno idea what you’re talking about,” Karen said.

“We are talking about one million seven hun’red t’ousan dollars two people who worr for you company focked us out of in Mehico,” Villada said.

Or something like that.

Which Karen Andersen all at once understood clearly because Ortiz suddenly seemed to be holding a gun in his hand.

DOUGLAS GOOD didn’t want to say anything further to Mr. Wiggins here until Halloway joined them. Wiggins had obviously done a little research, first locating West Side’s name and next tracing them back to the offices here. Douglas figured the man was here to get his money back, which wasn’t his money at all since he should have paid it to Jerry Hoskins after the cocaine had been turned over. Wiggins’s oversight had resulted in a visit from “The Weird Sisters,” as Sheryl and Toni were affectionately called even though they were not related. W&D’s oversight—or rather Halloway’s—had been in not dispatching the man the moment the money was in their hands. Halloway had ruled out such an action, partially because he had no real evidence that Wiggins had been responsible for the murder of one of their best people, secondly because black-white relationships were touchy enough in Diamondback without giving the drug people up there a reason to distrust future commerce with Whitey. In any case, Wiggins should have left well enough alone. Instead, here he was, the fool.

“You know why I’m here, don’t you?” Wiggins asked, and smiled wisely.

“I have no idea,” Douglas said.

“No, huh? Then why’d you ax your boss to come in?”

Douglas had called Halloway because he was the only person sanctioned to order Wiggins’s death—as he should have done on Christmas night. If Wiggins had anything incriminating to say, he wanted Halloway to hear it first hand. So that maybe he’d give the goddamn correct orders this time around.