John Goldbach - The Devil and the Detective

Hôtel Athènes — le Charon. Tailing Bouvert and Adamson. Sitting near them. One’s fat, one’s thin. I’m assuming the fat one’s Bouvert and conversely the thin one’s Adamson. They’ve just sat down. The third man hasn’t shown up yet. A waiter approaches them and takes their orders.

— Bonsoir, messieurs .

— Good evening.

— Would you care for some drinks?

— Yes, I’ll have a vodka martini — on the rocks, in a rocks glass.

— Olives or a twist?

— Olives.

— Very good. And for you, sir?

— A CC and ginger.

— Merci beaucoup . I’ll be right back with your drinks.

They sit silently eating nuts, esp. the fat one, Bouvert, the one who ordered the martini. They don’t say a single word the whole time the waiter’s off getting their drinks — and the waiter takes a while. The waiter returns and sets the drinks down on coasters in front of them, and more nuts …

— Voilà, messieurs .

Bouvert lifts his martini and says …

— Cheers …

— Cheers.

And they clink glasses. Then, Adamson, the skinny one, says …

— If he takes any longer I say we leave. We don’t need him at all. He was incidental and ultimately inconsequential. Might be better to sever ties now.

— We’ll hear him out. No need making enemies for no good reason.

— Even if he were our enemy — it wouldn’t matter.

— Don’t get so distressed. Really, we’ll have a drink and hear him out and we won’t deal with him for a long time to come.

— I can’t believe he’s late. The nerve of this fucking guy.

A few more minutes pass and they barely utter a word. They both, however, frequently glance at their respective wristwatches. Adamson seems pissed. Bouvert seems calm, drinking and snacking, unflappable. (I’m, by the way, drinking a beer, but it’s in a glass and probably a rip-off. I hope to be reimbursed for incidentals!!)

They stir. A man in a dark blue suit with a raincoat folded over his arm approaches their table.

— Sorry I’m late.

— Why was that …?

— Detective.

— What?

— Why were you late?

— Al, we don’t need to worry about that.

— No it’s okay.

— So …

— A case, of course.

— And …

— Some junky OD’ed.

— Why does that concern you?

— The boyfriend lived. They want to pin it on him.

— And the Andrews case?

— Yes.

— Any developments?

— Since she’s gone AWOL?

— Yes.

— No, not really. It’s quiet. I believe she’s successfully made her getaway.

— Right.

— So what did you want to see us about?

— Well, business.

— Okay.

— I figure I’m owed a little more than I’ve received.

— Oh.

— Yeah, and –

— Let me stop you right there –

— Al, please let the detective continue. Go ahead …

— Well, I believe I’ve been helpful and feel I should be properly remunerated. Simple.

— It’s not simple.

— I think Al means that we’ve already shown our appreciation; our mutual friend has shown appreciation for all your help.

— I don’t want to know anything, still.

— And you won’t. You don’t.

— Without knowing, why do you think you deserve more?

— I know enough.

— I suppose you do.

— Yes.

— You realize you could be implicated?

— Yes. But no one will –

— No, you’d just be disposed –

— Al, please!

— Listen, I’m a police detective with Robbery-Homicide — you can’t make those sorts of threats to me. Do you understand?

— You’re not above anything, O’Meara.

— Do you understand? Do not threaten me. I can make your lives hell.

— He’s sorry, detective. We’ve been under a lot of pressure.

— Tell me about it.

The waiter approaches the table and Bouvert and Adamson order another round and O’Meara orders a double Jameson on the rocks.

— Ballpark?

— We’re not negotiating.

— I am, Al. Ballpark — what are we talking?

— A hundred.

— No way!

— Al.

— It’s not that much.

— No?

— Considering …

— Considering what?

— How’s about twenty. We could do that ASAP.

— It’s a lot less.

— Yes, but as we said, we’ve shown our appreciation. This is extra, a bonus.

— Right, but I’m asking for a hundred.

— If it were up to me you’d get nothing.

— You’ll get something, detective.

— Well, it’s low.

— But you’ve already gotten an awful lot.

— Okay. Eighty.

— Eighty! You ungrateful motherfucker –

— Al, please.

— Eighty.

— Sixty, today, but then you don’t ask for anything more — ever — and we forget we ever knew each other.

— That seems harsh.

— Those are the terms. It’s the right thing to do.

— I can live with that.

The waiter returns with their fresh drinks and they say nothing while he places them on the table and collects the finished drinks.

— Okay. Let’s have a drink to your newfound wealth, detective.

— Where do I pick up my package?

— Same place. Old Port. By the pier. Ten o’clock.

— Near that restaurant?

— Yes, I’ll meet you myself with a briefcase, from the restaurant.

— Eccellente! Salute!

Bouvert and O’Meara clink glasses; Adamson doesn’t.

— By the way, your friend, the PI, Mr. Robert James — Bob — he stopped by our offices an hour or so ago …

— Aw gawd.

— Yes.

— It’s a problem.

— Nah. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him. He meddles but he knows nothing, less than nothing, so he’s not a threat.

— It’s a problem.

— He’s harmless — doesn’t even carry a handgun!

— Detective, we –

— He’s stuck in his own head. Really …

— It’s a problem.

— I know he doesn’t have a clue but I’ll get rid of him. Don’t worry.

— That’s included in the bonus, right?

They all laugh evil-sounding laughs. O’Meara slams back his drink.

— Gotta run, fellas. But I’ll be seeing you later.

— Don’t be late.

— Ten o’clock.

— Good evening, detective.

— Okay, gentlemen — merci et à bientôt!

They watch O’Meara leave. Adamson says …

— He could’ve offered to pay for the drinks, considering how much he’s milking us for.

— It’s not your money.

— Nonetheless, he shouldn’t get paid.

— Well it’s only sixty more.

— Today. He should be eighty-sixed.

— So what do you propose we do?

— Well …

Adamson leans in and whispers something into Bouvert’s ear for what seems to be an unnaturally long period of time and eventually Bouvert chuckles. He leans back …

— It’s worth considering.

The waiter approaches and Bouvert hands him a black Amex. They leave shortly thereafter. I pay in cash. My beer, with tip, came to thirteen dollars!!

FIN

I sat reading and rereading Darren’s transcript in the passenger seat of the hatchback in a state of disbelief. How could O’Meara be working for Bouvert and Adamson? I wondered, or rather: How could O’Meara be working for a client of Bouvert and Adamson? — a client who was more than likely Elaine Andrews, I thought, sitting in the car, a few blocks away from Hôtel Athènes, where Darren had followed the two lawyers into the bar, sat close and surreptitiously taken the minutes of their meeting with Detective Michael O’Meara of all people, a fucking fraud! In all the years I’ve known O’Meara I never had him pegged for being on the take, I thought, not to this extent at least. Sure, all cops are sort of dirty, I thought, enjoying the perks of the job — but this was different. This was aiding and abetting a murderer — or worse. I felt stupid for not having seen this coming, never suspecting O’Meara of play this foul . How much does he know? I wondered. Does he know Elaine’s whereabouts?