Don Winslow - A Cool Breeze on the Underground

“Westminster Bridge,” Neal told the cabbie.

“I’m not balling anybody on Westminster Bridge,” said Allie.

“Ten thousand,” Colin said.

“Five, and there’s more to it.”

“I’m not balling anybody on Westminster Bridge.”

“Ten or forget it.”

“Forget what?”

“Where on Westminster Bridge?” the driver asked.

“No place,” said Allie.

“Just on the Embankment is fine.”

Neal paid the cabbie and started across the pedestrian walkway on the bridge. The view up and down the Thames was one of his favorites. It might be the best spot to see London, he thought, and he stopped about halfway across to take it in. Off to his right was a postcard view of the tower of Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. To his right stretched Victoria Embankment. Right in front of him was Colin.

“Seven, then.”

Neal turned his back and leaned over the railing on the downriver side, “Thursday night, Goldman’s wife is going to a concert at Albert Hall. Goldman doesn’t want to go, says he hates that stuff and he’s going to the latest James Bond flick at the Odeon. But what he really wants is to get laid. I mean laid. He wants me to set him up. So I told him okay, I’ve worked it out. He’s going to go to my room to do it, in case the old lady gets bored, comes back early.”

“What-”

“Shut up and listen. He keeps the books in a locked briefcase in his room. While he’s making happy in my room, I’m going to be in his… guarding the briefcase.”

“They’re goin’ to figure out it was you.”

“No shit. The agency will send people. In fact, I know just the guy they’ll send. Guy named Levine. Very big, very tough. I’m going to need to disappear for a while. Can you handle that?”

“Sure.”

“If things get rough?”

“I’ll get rougher.”

Neal leaned farther over the railing, pretending to think it over. Let Colin see thousands of quid slipping away. “I don’t know, Colin. I’m taking a big risk here…”

“Take it.”

Neal turned around and rested his back against the railing. He took his time checking out the boats and barges in the river below him. He studied Waterloo Bridge as if he was thinking of buying it. He looked from Colin to Allie to Colin to Allie and back again. Allie could not care less. Colin would sell Alice to the gypsies for a shot at five thousand pounds. Neal knew a few things about scams. One thing was that you never talk anybody into a scam; you let them talk you into it. He ran his reluctant-virgin act for just a few more seconds.

“All right,” he said. “But it’s going to take some preparation.”

“One more time,” Neal said.

A collective sigh filled Colin’s flat. They’d already been at it for three hours and gone through it several dozen times, and fucking Neal had banned all alcohol, hash, pills, and smack from the planning session.

“Come on,” he repeated.

Crisp recited, “Colin and me wait outside the ’otel-”

“And-”

“An’ I try to dress like a human being. Neal points out missus goin’ as she comes ou’ the door. Colin and me follow ’er an’ stick to ’er like glue.”

“Good. Why?”

“Ya didn’t ask why before,” Crisp whined.

“Tell me why, you can have a pint.”

Four people instantly volunteered the answer. Neal hushed them and looked at Crisp. “Yes?”

“Because, if the missus gets bored a’ the concert-which personally I can’t imagine-she might decide to come ‘ome an’ that would fuck up the ’ole thing.”

“Correct.” Neal heard echoes of Joe Graham telling him to always fill his lies with lots of details. You have to keep Crisp and Colin out of the way for a while, so give them a mission and make them concentrate on it.

Neal took a bottle from his bag and dangled it in front of Crisp. “Then what would you do?”

“Get to a phone box and ring you.”

“Where?”

“Goldman’s room.”

“When?”

Crisp grinned proudly. “Right away.”

Neal tossed him the bottle and looked at Colin.

“I stay with the missus and find a way to stall ’er.”

“But…”

“I don’t ’urt ’er.”

Neal raised his eyebrows.

“At all.”

Neal looked at Allie, who was making a very successful effort to look indifferent. Colin snatched the book out of her hand, opened the window, and threw the book into the street. Allie rolled her eyes.

“I get all dressed up,” she said, staring pointedly at Neal, “like a little lady… and I wait in the bar.”

“Where…”

“Where I have one drink, that’s all, and I wait for Neal to come get me. Neal introduces me to Mr. Wonderful and leaves. I ball his brains out and I take my time about it. I make it last. Then I take my money and come straight back here.”

“What else-”

“I take it easy on the smack.”

“How easy?”

“One pop.”

He offered her a beer. She offered him her middle finger.

“Colin?” he asked.

“We wait for an hour outside Albert ‘all, if she doesn’t come out, we go to the tube station at Covent Garden. We watch for you. If you have your jacket off, then it’s fucked and we make an ‘asty exit. Jacket on, we follow you into the street. We get into the cab behind you. Follow you to the buyer’s ’ouse. Wait outside. You come out- an’ you better come out-with two bags. One wi’ our money, one wi’ yours. You give us ours and get back in your cab. We sit in the cab for five minutes so we don’t know where you’re takin’ your nicker, you mistrustful bastard. You meet us ’ere, later. We hide you till it’s safe.”

“Vanessa.”

“I wait here by the phone to take messages. Sexist and boring.”

“Questions?”

There weren’t any. They’d been over it so many times the past two nights that they didn’t want to take a chance that he’d make them do it again.

“All right.” Neal stood up and stretched. The rest of them hustled for their drug of choice. Colin opened two pints and handed Neal one of them. Vanessa and Crisp lit a bowl of hash and flipped on the telly. Allie slipped into the bathroom.

“She’s a junkie,” Neal said.

“She’s not.”

“How many times a day now?”

“Two or three. Just little pops, rugger.”

“Not in her arms, I hope. Goldman sees needle tracks, might turn him off.”

“This little piggie went to market, this little piggie stayed ’ome. This little piggie went wee-wee-wee…”

“Doesn’t it bother you? You love her, right?”

“She’ll get off it.”

“Yeah.”

Neal stepped out on the balcony. Colin followed him.

“Five now,” he said. “A thousand a month for two months, assuming I’m still in one piece.”

“Done.”

Oh, Colin, Neal thought. You agreed to that one awfully fast. What are you up to?

“I’ll take Alice shopping tomorrow,” Neal said. “Get her something killer.”

“You do that, Neal lad.”

Yeah, Neal, Colin thought, you go shopping. I’ll go shopping.

Colin hated tea. Hated the smell, the taste, even the feel of it as it slithered down his throat. He had sworn when he split the home scene that he’d never choke down another cup of the omnipresent shit the rest of his natural life.

Nevertheless, he sipped it graciously as he sat in a booth in the back room of the Hunan Garden across the table from a smiling Dickie Huan.

Dickie Huan was a middle-aged Chinese who had several restaurants, an unshakable faith in free enterprise, and a great tailor. On this particular afternoon, he sported a dark gray three-piece pinstripe, a silk salmon shirt, and a blood-red tie. Aware of Dickie’s sartorial sensibilities, Colin had done his best to dress for the meeting. He was aware that his all-white suit looked a bit gamy compared to Dickie’s conservatism, but it was the best he could do for the occasion.