Ed Mcbain - Money, Money, Money

“There’s funny money involved,” Carella said.

“So let the Secret Service worry,” Byrnes said.

“They are worrying,” Carella said. “They grabbed eight grand in queer bills from a two-bit burglar and gave him real currency in return.”

“The lunatics have taken over the asylum,” Hawes said.

“I don’t like complicated cases,” Parker said.

“Neither do I,” Byrnes said.

“Well, that’s truly unfortunate,” Carella said, “but I didn’t ask tocatch this one, either.”

“What the hell’s wrong withyou this morning?” Parker asked.

“I’m trying to make some sense of this goddamn case, that’s all, and you guys are …”

“Relax, okay? Have a bagel.”

“There’s dope involved here,” Carella said, gathering steam, “and counterfeit money, and the Secret Service, and Christ knows what …”

“So let our new President handle it,” Parker said.

“Sure.”

“Our beloved flounder,” Willis said.

“Lethimask the Secret Service what’s going on here,” Brown said.

“Sure.”

“Next motorcade he’s in,” Hawes said, “he can wave out of his limo and ask them what they know about a lady got eaten by lions.”

“Go on, Steve, have a bagel,” Parker said.

“I don’t want a bagel,” Carella said.

“You know who woulda made a better President than the one we got now?” Hawes said.

“Who?” Kling asked.

“Martin Sheen.”

“The guy onThe West Wing, you’re right!”

“He’d call the Secret Service on the carpet, tell them to quit handing out good money for bad.”

“No, you know who’d do that? If he was President?” Willis said.

“Who?” Kling asked.

“Harrison Ford.”

“Air Force One!”

“President James Marshall!”

“Oh, yeah!” Brown said. “He was maybe thebest President we ever had. Remember what he said? ‘Peace ain’t merely the absence of conflict, but the presence of justice.’ Man, that’s fancy talking.”

“Remember what thebad guy said?” Willis asked.

“Who cares what bad guys say?” Parker said, and took another bagel from the tray.

“He said, ‘You murdered a hundred thousand Iraqis to save a nickel a gallon on gas. Don’t lecture me on the rules of war.’That’s fancy talking, man.”

“That was Bush he was talking about,” Kling said.

“No, that was President James Marshall,” Willis said.

“Yeah, but that wasBush who started the Gulf War.”

“You want to know who was an evenbetter President than Harrison Ford?” Hawes said.

“Who?”

“Michael Douglas.”

“Oh,yeah.”

“He was maybe the best President we ever had. You see that movie, Steve?”

“No,” Carella said curtly.

“Have a bagel, sourpuss,” Parker said.

“The American President.That was the movie. Michael Douglas was President Andrew Shepherd.”

“You remember who his aide was?” Kling asked.

“No, who?”

“Martin Sheen! Who is nowPresident!”

“President Josiah Bartlet!”

“PresidentJedBartlet.”

“What goes around, comes around.”

“What’shis aide’s name?”

“Who cares?” Parker asked.

“He might be President one day.”

“Fredric March was a good President, too,” Byrnes suggested.

“Who’s Fredric March?” Kling asked.

“Seven Days in May.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Or Henry Fonda,” Byrnes said. “InFail-Safe.”

“That was the same movie, wasn’t it?” Brown asked.

“It onlyseemed like the same movie,” Hawes said.

“Who’s Henry Fonda?” Kling asked.

“How about Kevin Kline?” Willis asked.

“Yes, he was a very good President,” Meyer said solemnly.

“He was also this guy wholooked like the President.”

“Dave.”

“That was the name of the movie.Dave.”

“It was also the name of the lookalike. Dave Kovic.”

“Because thereal President had a stroke while fucking his secretary. I saw that movie,” Parker said. “This sexy broad.”

“Yeah,” Willis said, remembering.

“Yeah,” Brown said, nodding.

They all had another bagel.

“But you know who was thebest actor?” Meyer asked. “Who ever played the President?”

“Who?” Kling said.

“Ronald Reagan.”

“Oh yes,” Kling said.

“Yes,” Hawes agreed.

“Unquestionably,” Byrnes said.

What’s the use? Carella thought, and took a bagel from the tray.

THE CALL FROM Carella’s sister came at a little before ten that Friday morning. The surveillance equipment from the Tech Unit had already arrived. Across the room, Meyer Meyer was helping Fat Ollie Weeks tape the battery-powered recorder to Tito Gomez’s chest.

“Who’s gonna be on the other end of this?” Tigo asked.

“Nobody,” Ollie said. “It ain’t a transmitter, it’s a recorder.”

“Then who’s gonna come save my ass if Wiggy tips?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Meyer said.

“I worry,” Tigo said.

On the telephone, Angela was asking Carella if he could come to Mama’s house tonight after work.

“Why?” Carella said.

“We want to talk to you.”

“We’re talking right now,” Carella said.

“You’re at work and so am I.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“We’ll tell you when you get here.”

“I’m working a homicide, I may not get out of here till late,” he said.

“That’s okay, we’ll wait.”

“What is it, Angela?”

“A surprise,” she said.

“I’m a cop,” he said. “I hate surprises.”

“I’m leaving early today. Can you get to Riverhead by five?”

“Only if I’m out of here by four.”

“Whenever,” she said. “I’ll see you later.”

He put the receiver back on its base and walked across the room to where Tigo was complaining that the tapes were too tight.

“You don’t want the gadget rattling around, do you?” Ollie asked.

“I don’t want the gadget, period,” Tigo said.

“It’ll save you a lot of time upstate,” Meyer said.

“Ifhe says anything.”

“That’s your job,” Carella said. “To get him talking.”

“He’s not so fuckin dumb, you know. I start talkin about that night, he’s gonna wonder why.”

“Make it sound casual,” Meyer suggested.

“Sure. Hey, Wiggy, remember the night you shot that dude in the back of his head and dropped him in a garbage can? Boy, that was fun, wasn’t it?”

“Do it over a few drinks,” Carella suggested.

“Sure. Have another beer, Wiggy. Remember the night you shot that dude in the back of …”

“Just play it cool,” Meyer said. “Don’t even think about the wire. Make believe you’re two guys shootin the breeze.”

“Sure.”

“The mike’s right here,” Ollie said. “It looks like a button on your shirt.”

“Suppose hespots the fuckin thing?”

“He won’t.”

“Butifhe does.”

“Don’t worry, he won’t be thinking about a wire.”

“What if hestarts thinking about a wire? This man can become very violent. He is not called Wiggy the Lid for no reason.”

“Just tell him you work for a record company,” Meyer said.

“Tell him you’re a talent scout for Motown,” Ollie said. “Tuck your shirt in your pants.”

Tigo tucked in his shirt.

He turned to face the cops.

“How do I look?” he asked.

He looked extremely worried.

“You look great,” Meyer said.

Kling came over from across the room.

“You’re wearing a wire, right?” he said.

“Yeah,” Tigo said. “Why?”

“I never would’ve guessed,” Kling said.