Эд Макбейн - Criminal Conversation

“Make sure he does,” Michael said. “Tell him you’ll bring the money to him now, but it might take a while, the streets haven’t been plowed yet, traffic’s backed up, whatever you want to say. I want to buy a few hours,” Michael said, turning to Jackie, “give us time to wire him, set up the excuse for...”

“What do you mean?” Di Nobili said. “You’re gonna wire me?”

“He still doesn’t understand,” Jackie said, shaking her head.

“You’ll be going in wired, yes,” Michael said. “Any problems with that?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Call him.”

Di Nobili fished a slip of paper from his wallet, consulted it, and then, holding it in his left hand, punched out the number with his right hand. The equipment was set up so that everything being taped could be monitored simultaneously; Michael and Jackie both put on earphones. The phone rang once, twice, three times...

“La Luna,” a man’s voice said.

“Let me talk to Sal,” Di Nobili said.

“Who’s this?”

“Dominick Di Nobili.”

“He knows you?”

“He knows me.”

“Hold on.”

Michael nodded approval. He noticed that Di Nobili had broken out in a cold sweat.

“Hello?”

A man’s voice. Gruff.

“Sal?”

“Yeah.”

“This is Dom.”

“Where the fuck are you, Dom?”

“I’m in a garage on Canal Street. I just had a flat tire fixed.”

“You know what time it is?”

“Yeah, it’s late, I know.”

“I been waitin’ for your call since six o’clock.”

“I was lookin’ for a phone booth when I got the flat.”

“How’d it go?”

“Fine.”

“Any problems?”

“No problems.”

“And you’re where now?”

“The garage that fixed the flat. I got to pay my bill, and then I’m out of here.”

“What took you all this time to get a flat fixed?”

“It’s the holidays. Also the traffic’s terrible. And I don’t know this fuckin’ part of the city,” he said, improvising. “Time I found an open garage...”

“So is it fixed now?”

“Yeah, I told you.”

“So when can you get here? I been waitin’ here two fuckin’ hours for you.”

“I can come there right now, you want me to.”

“Yeah, do it.”

“But I got to warn you, the roads are really terrible, Sal, it’s a fuckin’ blizzard out there. It might take me a while t’get uptown, I mean it.”

“You’re on Canal, what the fuck’s gonna take you so long to get to Fifty-Eighth?”

“You should see it out there, Sal. There’s cars stuck all over the place...”

“I don’t give...”

“... slippin’ and slidin’, I never seen anything like this in my life.”

“So get a dogsled. I don’t give a shit it takes you till midnight, I’ll be here waitin’ for you.”

“Okay, but it might be a long wait, is all I’m sayin’.”

“I got nothin’ else planned,” Sal said, and hung up.

Di Nobili looked at Michael.

“Good,” Michael said.

It was close to ten o’clock when Di Nobili walked into La Luna Restaurant on Fifty-Eighth Street and Eighth Avenue. Di Nobili was wearing under his clothing two pieces of equipment: a JBird digital disc recorder and a KEL transmitter. An empty car had been parked across the street from the restaurant. It was equipped with a repeater that would receive the signal from Di Nobili’s transmitter and send it out again, at a much higher frequency, to the unmarked sedan in which Jackie and Michael were parked three blocks away. There would be two recordings made, one on the JBird’s microchips, the other on the monitoring tape. They had warned Di Nobili not to sit too close to the clatter of silverware or china, or anywhere near a jukebox or a speaker. He had told them Sal usually conducted business in a quiet corner booth near the kitchen. Also, at this hour on a Monday night, there shouldn’t be too many customers in the restaurant. They were hoping there wouldn’t be.

Jackie had previously signed out for the twenty-three thousand they’d used in the buy-bust, but this was a whole new operation, and if Di Nobili’s information proved useless, they would need the flash as evidence when they brought him to trial on the Section 220. Michael personally signed out for a fresh wad of cash — which happened to be five grand short. The shortage was what Dom would attempt to explain to Sal the Barber in the next ten minutes. This was why they’d needed to buy the extra time, so that Dom could reasonably account for how he’d happened to come up with eighteen thousand dollars instead of the twenty-three he’d got for the dope. They were hoping the cash discrepancy, and Dom’s explanation for it, would lead to the next step in the escalation.

Neither of them was wearing earphones, which would have been noticeable from the sidewalk. Instead, the monitoring and recording equipment sat on the floor of the car, the volume control turned up. They waited expectantly now, a man and a woman who looked like a loving couple with eyes only for each other, but who were instead two law enforcement officers who were all ears. Softly, silently, the snow fell relentlessly on the car, covering it in white.

“Took you long enough,” Sal said.

Sal Bonifacio, he of the gruff voice, the short temper, and the quick fists. Sal the Barber.

“Yeah, well, I told you,” Dom said.

“Where’s the money?”

“Right here.”

Silence. Dom undoubtedly taking the envelope of cash out of his pocket, handing it over to Sal.

“She test it?”

“No.”

“I’m surprised. Must be she trusts us, huh?”

Sal laughing. Dom joining in. Honor among thieves. Good cause for laughter.

“What’d she look like?”

“Who?”

“The cunt. Anna Garcia.”

“Good-looking redhead.”

In the car, Jackie whispered, “Thanks, Dom.”

“What I hear, I wouldn’t mind boffin’ her.”

“Me neither,” Dom said, and both men laughed again.

“Regular fan club,” Jackie whispered.

“But she didn’t test it, huh?” Sal said.

“She didn’t say nothin’ about it, so I didn’t say nothin’, either.”

“Good thinking. Did you count this money?”

“I counted it.”

“Then why’s there only eighteen here?”

Michael held his breath.

“Well... that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Dom said.

“I’m listenin’.”

“You see...”

“This better be good, Dominick. ’Cause if you think what happened to you Friday was bad, then you don’t know what can really happen when I’m pissed off. Where’s the other fuckin’ five grand?”

“You see, on the way here...”

“Two fuckin’ hours to get here, Dominick. You call me eight o’clock, you get here ten o’clock. What are you, the Two-Hour Man, Dominick? You get the cash at six, you call me at eight, you get here at ten, and you’re five grand short ? Where’s the rest of the fuckin’ money, Dominick?”

“I lost it in a crap game.”

“You what ?”

“I...”

“You’re dead, Dominick.”

“Listen, Sal, I...”

“No, no, you’re dead.”

“Please, Sal, I can ex—”

“This is how you repay a favor? I’m supposed to go to Frankie, tell him you bet it?”

“Frankie who?” Michael whispered.

“You think you can just steal money from...”

“I didn’t steal it, Sal. I borrowed it. To get in this...”

“You borrowed it from who , Dominick?”

“From you. Temporarily.”

“Dominick, you already owe me fifteen grand plus interest. By Friday, when it comes due, that’ll be sixteen thousand five hundred fuckin’ dollars you owe me, Dominick. Are you saying you borrowed another five grand from me? Without first asking for it?”