David Duffy - In for a Ruble

Something there, besides the outsized chip balanced on Thomas Leitz’s orange-clad shoulder, was interesting.

“Hapless Walter. Why do you say that?”

“Because he is. You meet him, you’ll see.”

“He doesn’t usually attend family functions?”

Thomas grinned, just a little. “So, something you don’t know.”

“Tell me about him.”

The grin went away. “Nothing to tell,” he said quickly. “Poor guy’s got loser written all over him—and he has to put up with her. We all dig our own graves.”

Maybe spending the holidays alone wasn’t so bad after all.

“Why doesn’t he attend family functions?” I pressed.

“ He just doesn’t! ” He looked around the playground, eyes sweeping past Tan Coat without comment. “I don’t have all day. You were asking about the lawyers.”

I let him change the subject, for the moment. “Did they ask you anything about your brother’s office? Location, layout, computers, stuff like that?”

He shook his head. “No. Wouldn’t have mattered if they had.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’ve never been there. No reason to go.”

He was telling the truth now, I was all but certain. “So they didn’t ask you to do anything?”

“No.”

“And they didn’t offer you money?”

“NO! I already told you, I have friends ! This conversation is over. I don’t care what you say. Stay away from me. Stay away!” He jumped up from the bench.

“Not so fast, Thomas. We’re not finished. I’ve got more questions about Walter.”

He tried to look resolute, but it came across as petulant. “Why should I tell you anything about him—or anyone else?”

“So I don’t tell anyone about Walter and you.”

A long silence—before he sat back down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do. Walter’s the one who’s been paying your bills—for years. Every time you borrow too much, max out those credit cards, you call him, he comes through. What’ve you got on him? None of my business, I’m just curious. Must be pretty good, I figure he’s shelled out two hundred grand so far.”

“I DON’T HAVE TO TALK TO YOU!”

“Yes, you do, Thomas.” I put a hard edge on my voice. “This is called the squeeze. Get used to it. You have to talk any time I ask. What do you have on Walter?”

He sniffled—cold or tears, I couldn’t tell which. When he spoke, he was barely audible. “Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He looked away and looked back. His voice seemed to find some strength. “I don’t care what you believe. It’s true.”

It wasn’t true. I was certain of that. But as Victoria had pointed out, my evidence was circumstantial, based on timing. I couldn’t trace the cash from Coryell to Thomas. I couldn’t even connect Coryell to the cash. I backed off again, a little.

“Why doesn’t anyone want to talk about him? Not Marianna, not Julia, not you.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Walter’s a nonentity. No personality. Nothing for anyone to have a relationship with—that’s the best way to put it. He’s never around, and when he is, he’s just there, but he isn’t. Like his body’s just a shell. I don’t know why Julia married him, except maybe opposites attract. Or he was the only one she could find who’d put up with her bullshit. Point is, you could ask anyone about Walter and you’d get the same answer.”

I wanted to ask again, if Walter was such a nonevent, what could Thomas have to blackmail him with.

“What about his business?”

“Julia says he’s a big-shot Internet entrepreneur. I wouldn’t know.”

“You wouldn’t? He’s getting the money somewhere?”

He turned away and crossed his arms.

“He didn’t go to Sebastian’s wedding. Why not?”

“You’ll have to ask him. Another rat-fuck.”

This was getting nowhere. I shifted gears again.

“What’s Andras like?”

It took a couple of beats for him to catch up. “Normal, I guess. Average rich kid. No need or want denied. Quieter than most. More… introverted.”

“That due to the death of his sister?”

“How…?! Oh never mind.” Another long pause. “I don’t know. He was always on the quiet side. More so after, maybe, I’m not sure.”

“He see the body?”

“Everyone saw the body. We were all there. Christmas. We all heard the shot.”

“But you got there first.”

“What’s that have to do with anything?” An edginess in his voice.

“That’s what I’m asking you.”

“I’m not going to talk about that, I don’t care what you do,” he said trying again to sound firm. “It’s… too horrible.”

“Okay. What about interests? Andras’s, I mean.”

“Oh, how about that? Finally something you don’t know.” He paused again, perhaps relishing the moment. “Computers.”

“What about them?”

“He’s nuts about them. Number-one thing. Spends all his time online. He’s got more gear than I have outfits.”

“What about Irina?”

“Who’s Irina?”

“Friend? Girlfriend?”

“Don’t know her. Sorry.”

He didn’t sound sorry.

“When was the last time you saw Andras?”

“Christmas, like I said.”

“Andras was there?”

“Of course. I told you—we all were.” Shrillness on the rise. “Very important to be present and have a good time.”

“How did he seem, Andras?”

“About the same as always. I didn’t pay much attention.” Another silence. “Wait! I do remember one thing.”

“Go ahead.”

His voice took on the conspiratorial tone. “Christmas lunch. There were some fireworks this year. Andras and Sebastian. I remember thinking, What set that off? Halfway through lunch, Julia got a call and announced she had to leave. Some big fucking deal, of course. She just took off, as she does. A few minutes later, Andras said something to Sebastian. I was at the other end of the table, I couldn’t hear what. Sebastian told him to forget it. Andras said no way. Sebastian started to lose his temper. You’ve seen that display, I’m sure. Andras wasn’t having any. He shouted something like, ‘I am not staying here with him,’ and left. That was it.”

“Who was he referring to?”

“Walter, of course.”

“Why of course?”

“No other candidates that I know of.”

“Why would he say that?”

Smug replaced shrill. “No idea.”

“Okay,” I said. “What happened then?”

“We went back to lunch, pretended nothing happened.”

“That normal?”

“For us, it is.”

“And Andras didn’t come back?”

“Nope.”

“And Walter didn’t say anything?”

“Walter never says anything. Julia does the talking for both of them.”

“Anybody else? Say anything?”

“As you may have found, since you’re so fucking smart, we Leitzes are very good at ignoring things, sweeping problems under the rug, where they can fester out of sight, out of mind, where no one has to acknowledge them.”

His assessment was colored, as everyone’s is, by his own resentments. That didn’t mean it was inaccurate.

“One more question.”

“Good.”

“Since you’re all so good at sweeping things under the rug, what have you got on Walter?”

He shook his head once, stood, and started off without looking back.

“THOMAS!”

He stopped about six feet away. He didn’t turn back.

I said, “Tell me this much—whatever it is, the tall man I mentioned, could he or anyone else be pulling the same levers?”

He didn’t hesitate. Another single shake of the head and he almost ran to the footbridge over the Drive.