Brad Meltzer - Dead Even

“What?”

“Believe it. Somehow, they knew you hired me to check them out. So on my way over here, they approached me with a better offer. Rafferty said he’d pay me double if I fed you some bullshit info.”

“What’d you say?”

“I told them I’d do it. Cash is cash.”

“But all that stuff-”

“You think I’d ever feed you bullshit?” Barrow asked. “It’ll take a lot more than a few grand to buy my integrity and make me turn on a friend. But that doesn’t mean I won’t take their money with a smile.”

“So they think you’re telling me-”

“They think I’m telling you that I couldn’t find a thing on either of them. That I never heard of Tony Kozlow, or his loan shark, or Echo Enterprises, or Rafferty’s slick Upper East Side address, or his dying-to-be-upper-crust background. Fuck them if they want to be stupid.”

“You really think that’s going to fool them?”

“You got any better ideas?” Barrow asked, his voice growing serious. When Jared didn’t answer, he added, “These guys aren’t playing around. The fact that they knew you’d turn to me means they’re looking into your background and sniffing in all the right places. And after spending a total of five minutes with them, it’s clear they’re serious about this staying quiet. Whatever it is, they have some big secrets to hide.”

“What do you think I should do?”

“What else?” Barrow asked slyly. “Let me keep digging in their direction. They can’t screw with you and not expect repercussions.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s smart to pick a fight.”

“Come on!” Barrow said, standing from his seat. “You’re not picking a fight. You’re just trying to find information. If Rafferty ever confronts you, just say that I couldn’t find anything. He’ll never know the difference.”

“I’m not sure that’s the best-”

“Good. It’s decided,” Barrow said. “Now we’re back in business.” Before he left the office, Barrow reached into the brown paper bag he was carrying, pulled out an empty champagne bottle, and slapped it on Jared’s desk.

“What’s that?”

“That, my friend, is an actual champagne bottle from the New Year’s Eve scene in Godfather, Part Two . And that is also how I spent the first couple hundred dollars of their money. I figured it would really piss ’ em off. Happy early birthday.”

Jared was unusually quiet. He didn’t even reach for the bottle. “You shouldn’t have done that, Lenny.”

“Listen, there’s no reason to get concerned. You’ll be thanking me later.”

“I’m sure I will,” Jared said dispassionately. “I just want you to be careful.”

“Worry about yourself,” Barrow said as he walked to the door. “You’re the one they’re watching.”

At a quarter past seven that evening, Sara sat on one of the many park benches that lined the esplanade of Battery Park City, overlooking the Hudson River. Located at the southernmost tip of Manhattan, Battery Park City was, for Sara, a spot where she could truly escape New York. Unlike Central Park, which was packed with tourists and locals vying for jogging, Rollerblading, and relaxing space, the riverside jogging path of Battery Park City was used primarily by local residents and a few commuters who worked in the nearby financial district. And its tree-lined, twisting walkway made it the perfect place for a quiet, secluded meeting.

Checking her watch and wondering what was taking so long, Sara heard a voice behind her shout, “Don’t worry, I’m not standing you up.” As Sara turned, she saw Barrow walking toward her, a wide smile across his face. She didn’t return the smile. “Why the long face?” he asked as he sat next to her on the park bench.

“I was just worried you weren’t coming.”

“So I see,” Barrow replied, looking down at her chewed-apart cuticles. “Now how about telling me the real story? What’s the big to-do that you had to bring me all the way out here?”

“I need to ask you a favor. And it’s not an easy one, so I thought it’d be better to ask you in person.”

“Sara, if you’re hunting information about Jared, the answer is no.”

“Please just hear me out,” Sara begged. “I know it’s an uncomfortable position for you, but I’m in real trouble.”

“C’mon, Sara. He and I-”

“I know you go back a long way. And I know you’d never do anything to hurt him. But I really need your help with this. Believe me, do you even think I’d ask you if it wasn’t life-or-death important?”

Barrow looked out toward the Hudson River. “It’s really that important?”

“I swear to God, Lenny. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”

Still refusing to look at Sara, Barrow kept his eyes focused on the giant Colgate clock that floated in the Hudson River. “Tick tock, tick tock,” he whispered. Eventually, he turned back to his friend. “I’m sorry, hon. I can’t do that to him.”

“You don’t understand,” Sara pleaded. “This is-”

“Sara, don’t put me in this one. It’s hard enough as it is. When I asked Jared if it was okay to meet with you, he told me to feed you phony info. I wouldn’t do that to you, and I can’t do anything against him. That’s the only way to make sure I keep you both as friends.”

“So you’re not going to help me at all?”

“I’m sorry,” Barrow said. “For this case, you’re on your own.”

Walking down the stairs that led to the lower level of Rockefeller Center, Sara was a wreck. Her meeting with Barrow had gone far worse than she’d expected, only adding to her fear that Jared’s safety was slowly slipping out of her grasp. So when she finally reached the ground-level entrance to Wayne & Portnoy’s annual fall formal, affectionately known as the prom, she took a deep breath and tried to ignore the day’s events. Even if her calm was only superficial, she didn’t want Jared to see her upset.

After checking for Sara’s name on the twenty-two-page, over-one-thousand-person invitation list, the hostess pointed to the enormous tent that was covering what was usually Rockefeller Center’s ice-skating rink. “As you can see, we’ve tented the rink for a bit more privacy. You’ll find the dance floor in there, with music by your DJ, Sir Jazzy Eli. For food and a more formal atmosphere, you can head over there.” The hostess pointed to the indoor concourse of shops that ran along the perimeter of the ice rink.

“Are the restaurants open?”

“Not tonight,” the hostess said proudly. “We rented out the restaurants and the café. The whole place is yours.”

Sara rolled her eyes at the exaggerated presentation. Heading for the coat check, Sara took off her jacket, revealing a dramatic black dress. Encrusted with thousands of tiny black beads, the dress clung to the outlines of her body. Once inside the enormous tent, she saw a makeshift dance floor crammed with young couples, all of them bouncing in sync to the thundering beat. They looked so young, she thought. Probably right out of law school. She remembered when Jared took her to his first prom. It was at the Carlyle then. Jared had just started at the firm, and he and Sara had only been married a month. Bowled over by the extravagance of the event, they had spent the entire first hour of the party counting and tasting every single one of the fifteen hors d’oeuvres, from the sushi to the grilled tomatoes to the lamb chops. Then, after a few minutes of schmoozing with Lubetsky and some of the other partners, they hit the dance floor. Every year since then, whether it was Jared’s prom at Wayne & Portnoy or Sara’s equivalent event at Winick & Trudeau, Jared and Sara danced less and schmoozed more. So much simpler, Sara thought as she turned away from the tent.