Tod Goldberg - The Bad Beat

“That’s good for him. You must make him very happy. Does he let you speak on the phone?”

“No one tells me what I can do,” Reva said.

“I’m happy to hear that. Perhaps then I could call you?” I said. “We could talk about less formal things than money and science.”

Reva didn’t answer right away. Probably because she actually loved the man who gave her that lovely necklace. And probably because she wasn’t used to someone being as direct as I was being. Or maybe she just liked my Hugo Boss suit. “There is nothing wrong with talking, yes?”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing right now?”

Reva took out a pen and wrote her phone number on the back of her business card. Her official title was director of international media affairs. A good job title. One she would probably lose for all of this.

She excused herself for a moment and came back with a stack of papers for me to fill out. The first was just the names of those who’d be attending the event that evening and the rest were more formal documents, namely those the Treasury Department would want to see when their full investigation began.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I should have my CFO handle all of this. I am good with science but lousy with tax ID numbers.”

“That is not a problem,” Reva said. “Bring them back tonight.”

“You should deposit the check, however,” I said. “That would be an expensive piece of paper to lose track of.”

“Oh, we will, certainly,” she said. “I will take it to the bank personally and immediately draw a check for Mr. Drubich’s trust.”

It was certain, then, that she’d lose her job.

“Reva,” I said, “have you ever thought of working somewhere other than the consulate?”

“Are you offering me a position with InterMacron?”

“No, no,” I said. “No business and pleasure. But you should see about other opportunities. You’re better than this job.”

Her hand went up to her throat again, to that necklace, which made me wonder if maybe the man who gave her the diamond also gave her the job.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course,” I said.

She got up then and closed the door to the conference room and then sat back down and scooted her chair closer to mine, so that she was only inches from me.

“I have always wanted to model,” she said. “Do you think I could model?”

And suddenly Reva Lohr, the director of international media affairs for a foreign government, was just like every other woman in Miami. Every woman who wasn’t Fiona, at least.

“You could be on runways in Milan tomorrow,” I said.

“My boyfriend, he says, ‘You are professional, why do you want to be a walking doll?’ And I say, ‘I want to be admired, just like anyone.’ And clothes, I could make clothes, too. Be a model who designs. And I would also like to be on a reality show. The one with Mr. Trump. I saw him once at a restaurant here. So smart, that man.”

I smiled at Reva. It hurt to do so. It made me wonder how Sam did it on a daily basis just for drinks and chicken wings. I decided to go all in.

“Don is a personal friend. I’ll see what I can do.” I stood then and so did Reva. “One other thing, if you don’t mind,” I said. “Would it be possible to get a private room downstairs to prep our surprise prior to the event?”

“Of course,” she said. “Yes, yes, of course. We have a salon you could use. Just tell the security guards when you arrive and they will show you to it. And I’d be happy to provide any kind of, how do you say, concierge service you might need.”

“I wouldn’t think of it,” I said. I took Reva’s hand in mine and raised it to my lips and kissed it lightly. “It was my pleasure to meet you today. I feel it was fated.”

When I made it back to the Navigator a few minutes later with an envelope filled with paperwork that I would need Barry to forge, Sam had an earplug in and was writing notes furiously on a pad.

“You got something on the bug?” I said.

“Yeah, Mikey, it’s alive in that place right now,” he said. “I now have a complete recipe for what are supposedly the best cream-cheese-and-bacon sandwiches the Red Hat club of Coral Gables has ever had. You fare any better?”

“We’ll have our own parking space,” I said. “And you’re going to get to hand-deliver a huge replica check to Yuri Drubich.”

“I may wear Kevlar tonight,” he said.

“Might be a good idea.”

As we pulled away, I took out my phone and made a call to Monty. “It’s set up for tonight,” I said.

“Excellent,” he said. “And will Mr. Grayson be taking Mr. McGregor up on his offers?”

“Number ten for sure,” I said. “The rest, I can’t tell you.”

There was silence on the line for a moment and then Monty said, “It’s a very generous offer. He would be silly not to take it.”

“He’s not like you and he’s not like me,” I said. “Though I understand he does appreciate a nice hot stone massage.” Not a sound escaped from Monty, so I said, “Do you have an account where Yuri’s money can be safely wired?”

“Yes,” he said after a while. “You will be doing this or will Barry?”

“Barry,” I said.

“Iceland is fine with him?”

“Indeed,” I said and he gave me the information.

“This account will be locked by tomorrow at six a.m.,” Monty said. “And I will be gone shortly thereafter. I need all of Mr. Grayson’s answers well before that time.”

“You’ll have them,” I said.

“And Mr. Westen? Mr. McGregor instructed me that he’d prefer cash for the debts owed by your brother.”

“Tell him to call me, then,” I said and hung up.

I made one last call, this one to Odessa, which I put on speaker. “Mr. Drubich, please,” I said to the woman who answered.

“There is no one by that name here,” she said.

“Tell him it’s Big Lumpy’s people and make it fast, honey,” I said. Instead of hanging up on me, the woman put me on hold and for the next few minutes I was serenaded by Neil Diamond welcoming me to America. Just when I was thinking that the irony of his Muzak system would be forever lost on Yuri, he picked up the line.

“You have two minutes,” he said, so I did the only reasonable thing and hung up.

“Short conversation,” Sam said.

“He’ll call me back,” I said.

“I thought I was Big Lumpy now,” Sam said.

“You are,” I said, “physically.” Sure enough, my phone began to ring. “I just thought I’d cover the intimidationby-phone angle, but if it means that much to you, go right ahead.”

“Nah, Mikey,” he said. “You know I like to hear you outsmart people until they get so frustrated they order out hit squads. It’s one of my small pleasures in life these days.”

I answered the phone by saying, “I’m sorry. We must have had a bad connection. I couldn’t make out what you said before.”

“I know your organization,” Yuri said. “I know your reputation and it means nothing to me. Do you understand that?”

“That’s great,” I said. “I have the technology that you want and I have the boy and I have his father. Do you understand that?”

“I want the boy dead,” he said.

“Well, then, you’re going to be out a bunch of money for nothing, because I won’t let you kill him. What I am happy to do, however, is get you some death certificates for both of them if it would help you with your investors. I’ve got the information you need, all of the specs you’ve asked for and more. You’ll be running bandwidth over the wind in three months. Bedouins will think you’re some kind of god. They’ll probably erect statues of you all over Chad. But you’re not killing a kid. I just won’t let that happen. Now he’ll apologize, and you’ll get to meet his crazy father, too, but I’m not having you chopping off his head just because he’s smarter than you. You want to pretend to kill him, I have the ability to make that happen.”