Tod Goldberg - The Bad Beat

There were twelve speakers in the Navigator, but four were buried inside the dash, which meant we’d need to do complex surgery to remove those, so instead we’d need to get to work on the speakers in the doors, which required only that their screens be popped off and then the magnets could be easily cut from the coils.

It was 7:17. We had thirteen minutes to make this happen. I didn’t want to make Brent nervous, but I also knew that we had to get this to happen or we’d be walking into a gunfight with not even a knife in hand, just a laptop computer.

Fortunately, Sam and Fiona knew exactly what I was aiming for and got to work quickly on the speakers. And fortunately Sugar had stolen plenty of stereo systems in his life, too, which came in handy.

And by 7:28, Sam, Fiona and I each had our own electromagnetic field surrounding our guns. Not that we’d want to keep these fields for long, since spending too much time in an increased electromagnetic field can cause nausea, vomiting and fainting. Never mind that it wasn’t very fashion forward.

“What do we do if things start beeping?” Brent asked.

“That won’t happen,” I said.

“But how do you know?” he asked.

“Brent,” I said, “I’m a spy.”

At this, Brent and Sugar fist-bumped and both let out a yelp.

“I love that shit, dog,” Sugar said.

“It is so cool,” Brent said. “One day, I’m going to be able to MacGyver stuff like you and be all ‘I’m a spy,’ and people will be all ‘Whoa.’ It’ll be awesome.”

Barry actually groaned, which was my cue to get out of the car. “Keep it running, Sugar,” I said.

“On it,” he said.

From the street, I could see directly into the consulate, and even from the street, I could see bulky-looking men lingering near the entrance to the ballroom, their eyes darting to every person who walked in. I had an idea they weren’t there to watch out for people stealing prime rib.

Sam got out of the Navigator and slung a satchel over his shoulder that contained both the laptop Big Lumpy had prepared for him and our large check. He also put on a pair of eyeglasses.

“Nice touch,” I said.

“I thought it would make me look smarter,” he said.

“You have everything?”

“What I don’t have in here”-Sam pointed at his head-“I’ve got on the computer. I’m pretty much an expert now, Mikey.”

“Where are the death certificates?”

“Right here,” Sam said and patted his breast pocket.

“Let’s try not to generate any more of them, fake or not,” I said.

Barry stood nervously beside Brent, and though they weren’t related, they both had the look of people who didn’t quite know how they’d found themselves in this situation. Fiona stepped between them. “Let’s go, men,” she said.

Just as we moved toward the short line of people, Captain Timmons came out the door. “No waiting for Dr. Bennington,” he said and gave me a wink. He took the wand from the security guard and started over me with just a cursory wave, and then did the same over Sam, Brent and Barry with not a beep to be found.

When Fiona stepped up, he frowned slightly. “I’m sorry I have to do this, ma’am,” he said.

“I’d rather be safe,” she said.

He wanded down her back without incident and over her purse, where her gun was, but when he came across her front side, the wand began to squawk.

“Ma’am, do you have something metal there?” Timmons had the wand just over her right breast.

“Brass knuckles,” she said.

Captain Timmons gave a great laugh and then stepped aside. “You have a nice evening, Dr. Bennington,” he said.

I took Fiona lightly by the arm and walked in beside her. “What do you have there?” I asked without moving my lips.

“Brass knuckles,” she said. “If I see that Gina woman again, I intend to punch her in the mouth with them.”

“This is for the lipstick?”

“This is for the lipstick.”

I led our group to the reception table, where Reva stood with a phalanx of helpers who checked us in. “Ms. Lohr,” I said. “A pleasure to see you so soon.” I took her hand and kissed it again.

“You, too, Dr. Bennington,” she said. “Your salon is just down the hall. Mr. Drubich is waiting inside. He said you are aware of this, yes? Or that, uh, Mr., uh, Lumpy is, yes?”

“Yes,” I said. “That’s correct. I wanted to meet him before our little surprise. It will be more gratifying if I understand personally how important this is.”

“You will be very impressed by him,” she said.

“Would you be so kind,” Sam said, “as to put this on our table?” He reached into his bag and pulled out the oversized check. “Don’t unfold it and ruin the secret.”

“Of course, of course,” she said. Reva handed the check to one of her lackeys. “Place this on table two, if you please. And perhaps we put a cover over it? Would that be good, Dr. Bennington?”

“Please,” I said, “and call me Liam.”

Fiona let out the slightest grunt of exasperation behind me. Just loud enough for my pleasure, it seemed.

“I hate to ask,” Reva said, “but the paperwork? Do you have it?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “Mr. Grayson has it.” I turned to Barry but he just stared back at me. “Mr. Grayson, do you have the paperwork?”

Nothing.

“Mr. Grayson?”

Barry actually looked over his shoulder to see who I was speaking to.

“Barry,” I said.

“Oh, yes, sorry,” he said and pulled the envelope of documents from his pocket and gave it to Reva.

She gave the pages a cursory glance. “They’re all here,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Any problems with the check?” Barry asked.

Reva looked at Barry and then back at me. “Should there be?”

“No,” I said. “Mr. Grayson, ever the accountant. He’s the man who has assured InterMacron’s financial security.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said. “You gave me a start.”

“If you don’t mind,” I said, “I don’t want to keep Mr. Drubich waiting on his big night.”

Reva showed us to the other side of the ballroom doors, past two men with earpieces who immediately began speaking in Russian when we passed. “End of the hall and to the right,” she said.

I thanked her but opted not to kiss her hand again, lest Fiona decide to try out the brass knuckles early. The hallway was filled with service people moving about in something approaching a frenzy as they neared the doors to a large service kitchen, from which the sounds of shouting chefs, clanging cutlery and the intermittent bleat of music erupted every few seconds. If there was a shooting, it probably wouldn’t be noticed until the event was over for the evening.

Particularly since no one seemed to pay any attention to the three men standing in front of the doorway at the end of the hall. All three had shaved heads and wore matching black suits and had Bluetooth devices in their ears, making them look like bouncers at the worst Russian disco ever.

As we walked closer they began to advance toward us. They had the slow gaits of men used to scaring other men. No use learning to move quickly when your victims tended to ball up in the fetal position at the very sight of you.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” Fiona said.

“Easy,” I said to Fiona.

“On which one?” she asked.

“All of them,” I said. “We don’t need to be hiding bodies tonight.”

“Tell that to Sam,” she said, “in case I forget.”

Sam was beside me, but I could tell he was paying more attention to Brent and Barry, which was supposed to be my job.

“Everyone,” I said, “remember that we’re in charge of this situation. Brent, Barry, whatever I do, you just fall behind and do it, too.”