William Lashner - Past Due

“I’m not in,” I called out to my secretary.

She stepped into my office and closed the door.

“I can’t find Ms. Derringer,” she said. “Her cell phone doesn’t answer and neither does her home phone. I left messages on both.”

“Okay,” I said. “Maybe she took a spa day.”

“She never takes a spa day, Mr. Carl. And there’s a call for you.”

“I don’t want to talk to Slocum.”

“It’s not Mr. Slocum. It’s someone else. He said you’d want to talk to him. He had an accent.”

“What kind of accent?”

“I don’t know. Michael Caine? Like that.”

I waited for Ellie to leave and close the door behind her before I picked up the phone.

“ ’Ello, Victor,” came Colfax’s slow angry voice.

“What do you want?”

“I thought we’d ’ave ourselves a little chat.”

“I don’t want to chat with you.”

“Not even if we talk about your pal Willie Shake? You’re a grand one for talking about Willie Shake.”

“What do you want?”

“Oh, don’t be like that. It was quite a performance you put on last night. You would have made a fine little public school boy, staying up all night with the other lads, discussing Shakespeare in your common room as you buggered one another to the dawn. A regular Oscar Wilde.”

“Go to hell.”

“There’s a bar, Fadó. On Locust. Do you know it?”

“I know it.”

“Join me there in thirty minutes, why don’t you?”

“Why don’t I? Because you’re an asshole and I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

“But I’ve got lots to say to you. Fadó. ’Alf an ’our. You and me, we can chat about life, about long-dead playwrights, and about your partner.”

“Beth?”

“You’ve got another partner we don’t know about?”

“What about Beth?”

“Seen her lately?”

“What about Beth, you bastard?”

“Come alone, Victor, but do come.”

I COULD BARELYrestrain my anger as I strode down Locust Street. I wanted to wring someone’s neck, to twist my hands around someone’s throat and squeeze until a head popped off. Whose head? It didn’t quite matter, but I had my list and it started with Colfax, that cocky cockney bastard, and it included his very creepy boss, and there was Justice Jackson Straczynski and there was Alura Straczynski and there was Joey Parma for getting himself killed and getting me and Beth into this steaming pile of dung in the first place. They had already messed with my profession, my freedom, my finances, but when they messed with my partner, they had gone so far beyond the pale they were well nigh invisible. Oh yes, I wanted to wring a neck, a peck of necks, but I had to restrain myself. Anger wasn’t what Beth needed. Cool calculation was what Beth needed, which was a problem, wasn’t it, since in our partnership she was the cool calculating one.

I took a deep breath, tried to calm myself, pulled open the door and entered Fadó. A bit of the home sod it was, all carved mahogany and painted ceilings, with corned beef and cabbage on the menu, folk songs from the speakers, Guinness on tap. It was trying too hard, a theme park version of a Dublin pub, when all it really needed to be authentic enough was the Guinness on tap and a villainous Brit at the bar.

“Where is she?” I said in as low a voice as I could maintain.

“What, no pleasantries?” said Colfax, turning from his pint, already three quarters gone, and giving me a superior little sneer. His face was ruddy, his hair short, he was wearing a three-quarter-length black leather coat with its pockets bulging, and he seemed to be enjoying himself. “No ‘How’s it going?’ No ‘Fine day today, isn’t it?’ No ‘Would you like another round, Mr. Colfax?’ None of that, ay? Just right to the bone of it. ‘Where is she?’ ”

“Where the fuck is she, you Euro slime?”

“Now that’s a bit crude, and from a man who so reveres his Willie Shake. Sit down, ’ave a pint. Don’t take it all so personal.”

“But it is,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Good. Because for me it’s just business, and when it’s business versus personal, well, the business always wins out, doesn’t it? She’s fine, Victor. A nice girl, that. Showed a fine respect for Mr. Beretta, and didn’t give us a spot of trouble. Right now, I can assure you, she’s being well cared for.”

“How do I even know you have her?”

“Oh, you know.”

“Prove it.”

“Give her a call and find out. Call her right now, why don’t you? On her cell.”

I took out my phone, glared at him, found Beth on the auto dial, stepped away, and turned my back to Colfax as I waited for the call to go through.

And then I heard the most sickening sound. A phone, ringing, her phone ringing. But not just on my line. Slowly I turned.

Colfax grinned as he sat with the ringing phone in his hand. He opened it with a switch-blade flick of his wrist. “ ’Ello. Fancy ’earing from you. Yes it is a nice day, isn’t it, Victor, you wanker.”

I stared at him for a long moment, trying to figure out what to do, but there wasn’t much choice, was there? If I jumped him, he would pummel me into applesauce. If I canceled the call and immediately called McDeiss, Colfax would leave and there’d be no telling what he and his boss would do. They wanted something and I had a pretty good idea what it was. Even so, I decided to let Colfax tell me. It would make him so happy, and I aimed to please.

“How’s it going?” I said as I climbed onto the stool next to his. “Fine day today, isn’t it? Would you like another round, Mr. Colfax?”

“Now you’ve got it,” he said, closing the phone. “Now you understand the terms of the thing. Don’t mind if I do.”

I waved to the bartender. “Two Guinness,” I said, “and make mine a light.”

That always got a good laugh at an Irish pub.

“Can I ask a question,” I said after the pints came.

“What’s this one about, Macbeth ?”

“Where do guys like Eddie Dean find guys like you? Do you advertise in the back of golf magazines? Gunsel for hire, not too bright but suitably nasty. Or is there a union shop where an employer comes in, says I need a hatchet boy to shine my wingtips for a couple months, and the guy behind the booth pulls out a card and calls your name.”

“You really want to know?”

“Actually, yes.”

“There’s a pub in Southgate.”

“That’s it? The whole secret? A pub in Southgate?”

“That’s it.”

“What’s it called, the Bloody Swordsman?

“The Prissy Miss.”

“You’re kidding. The Prissy Miss?”

“There you go.”

“Ooh, sounds ferocious, the Prissy Miss.”

“Go in and say that, Victor. The regulars will cut your tongue off and stick it up your nose. You’ll be licking snot the rest of your natural-born life.”

“And Eddie Dean came into the Prissy Miss?”

“Yes, ’e did.”

“And hired you?”

“Yes, ’e did. ’E was looking for specific qualifications and I fit the bill.”

“Murdering scum, was that it?”

“That was just the bonus for him, wasn’t it?”

“He pay you yet.”

“ ’Alf up front. Them’s the terms.”

“And you expect to get the rest with him busted flat?”

“That’s where you come in.”

“I see. Okay, go ahead. What does he want?”

He finished his first pint before he said, “These are the terms. He wants what it is you took up there in Massachusetts.”

“I don’t have everything he thinks I have. There was-”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, shut up already. We’re not a debating society, understand? I’m not ’ere for excuses, just to give the terms. ’E wants all of it. It’s up to you make sure all of it’s there. But that’s not the all of it. ’E also wants the suitcase.”