The Clause (11 page)

The Chinese stopped about ten feet back from Vugovic, the muscle parting so the boss could step forward.

“You have lost something, yes?” China Boss smiled, showing cruel teeth.

Vugovic cocked his head. “We will find what was misplaced.”

“Not in there.” China Boss pointed at the empty room. “Not at the beach. The search is not promising. For you.”

“We are getting closer, he is getting tired and sloppy. He took a taxi here. What of the girl?”

“Our arrangements with Mr. Underwood and his woman are our affair.”

“I was hoping we might combine resources.”

China Boss snorted. “Why are we talking?”

“Because I do not think it does either of us any good to have a shootout. If you try to make an exchange with Underwood, it is likely we will show up, you know this?”

A shrug and another scary smile was China Boss’s reply.

Vugovic kept trying. “If you recover the gems first, we can offer a finder’s fee, avoid bloodshed.”

China Boss’s eyes widened briefly, and then he shook his head. “We know how the Kurac honor their agreements. They do not. While it is unfortunate that you have misplaced your belongings, your clumsiness is your own affair. I suggest you do not confront us. You only have a handful of men here in the States. We will smother you like a pillow on a grandmother’s face. Then you lose the gems and your lives. Learn from your mistakes, Serbian. Go home, steal again. Just not from us.” He turned and passed back between his men, who held their ground until China Boss was around the corner. Then they drifted backward around the corner, too.

Vugovic said something in Serbian to no one in particular, and by the tone I didn’t need a translation. It may even have been Serbian for
douchebag
. What came through loud and clear was that he didn’t think much of the Chinese.

Vugovic and his goons closed the door to the other room and walked right past my peephole and down the hall.

What had I learned? Nothing I didn’t already suspect. JFK would likely turn into a gun battle. There was a good side to that, though. Confusion and mayhem make opponents slow to adjust to unexpected threats. Neither the Kurac nor the Chinese knew that the FBI was involved. Probably not, anyway.

It was another ten minutes before those two agents from the FBI showed up, went into the room, and came back out. My hunch was they’d left some sort of bug in there the first visit and had just come to retrieve it.

I fell back onto the bed, closed my eyes, and tried to think about taffy, tinkling ice, and my father’s piano playing.

Twenty-three

DCSNet 6000 Warrant Database

Transcript Cellular DCD

Peerless IP Network / Redhook Translation

Target: Loj Vugovic

Plaza Hotel Room / 13th Floor

Date: Monday, August 9, 2010

Time: 311–317 EDT

VUGOVIC: WE ARE GETTING CLOSER. THE SHOWER IS STILL WET. HE WAS HERE NO MORE THAN A HALF-HOUR AGO.

UNKNOWN: MAYBE HE IS STILL IN THE BUILDING. I WILL CALL DOWNSTAIRS TO THE MEN THERE TO WATCH THE DOOR CAREFULLY.

VUGOVIC: BAH. HE COULD BE ACROSS TOWN BY NOW, HE COULD BE ANYWHERE, SO REALLY WE ARE NO CLOSER. I SEE NO EVIDENCE OF THE GIRL. PERHAPS HE IS LEADING US AWAY FROM HER THE WAY A DUCK LEADS THE FOX AWAY FROM HER CHICKS.

UNKNOWN: PERHAPS SHE IS DEAD.

VUGOVIC: THAT COULD BE SO. I WOULD DEARLY LIKE TO DISCOVER HER SITUATION ONE WAY OR THE OTHER. WITHOUT HER HIS TACTICS WILL BE MORE TRANSPARENT.

UNKNOWN: HIS SHIRT STINKS.

VUGOVIC: LET ME SMELL. IT IS SOMETIMES IMPORTANT TO KNOW A MAN BY HIS SMELL.

UNKNOWN: HE STINKS, SO WHAT?

VUGOVIC: YOU ARE YOUNG. EXPERIENCE WILL TELL YOU HOW TO READ A MAN BY HIS SMELL. HAVE YOU EVER NOTICED THE PARTICULAR SMELL OF A MAN AS HE IS BEING INTERROGATED? OR WHEN HE IS NEAR DEATH? OR WHEN HE IS ABOUT TO FIGHT OVER A WOMAN?

UNKNOWN: NO.

VUGOVIC: USE ALL YOUR SENSES. IT COULD SAVE YOUR LIFE.

UNKNOWN: WHAT DOES HIS SMELL ON THE SHIRT TELL YOU?

VUGOVIC: HE IS NOT AS AFRAID AS HE SHOULD BE, YET HE IS VERY TENSE AND EATING MOSTLY SUGAR AND STARCH FOR ENERGY. A LACK OF PROTEIN WILL MAKE HIS MIND WEAK.

UNKNOWN: YOU CAN SMELL ALL THAT?

VUGOVIC: AND MORE. I DO NOT DETECT THE SMELL OF A MAN PROTECTING A WOMAN.

OTHER: [UNINTELLIGIBLE]

UNKNOWN: WHAT’S THAT? CHINESE? IN THE HALLWAY.

[UNINTELLIGIBLE]

[BACKGROUND SOUND]

VUGOVIC: LET US SEE IF THE CHINESE WILL BE REASONABLE AND WEAK WHEN THEIR BOSS ARRIVES. STRIP THE BED.

UNKNOWN: IT IS STILL MADE.

VUGOVIC: STRIP IT. YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU WILL FIND IF YOU DO NOT LOOK. I CAN SEE HE HAS CHANGED AT LEAST SOME OF HIS STINKING CLOTHES. NO LONGER ANY HAT.

UNKNOWN: THE CAB DRIVER SAID HE HAD WHITE HAIR.

VUGOVIC: YES, I COULD SMELL THE RESIDUE OF THE HAIR DYE IN THE SHOWER. SO HE IS NOW WITH WHITE HAIR, SAME PANTS, DIFFERENT SHIRT, NO HAT, PROBABLY WILL WEAR SUNGLASSES DURING THE DAY. IS THE WINDOW LOCKED?

UNKNOWN: LET ME SEE. YES. BUT WHERE WOULD HE GO OUT THERE?

VUGOVIC: HE GOT INTO THAT WORM’S APARTMENT TO STEAL OUR GEMS, DIDN’T HE? THIS SPIDER CRAWLS AROUND ON ROOFTOPS AND LEDGES WITH THE SAME EASE A DOG LICKS HIS BALLS. WHAT’S THIS IN THE SADDLE BAG?

UNKNOWN: I LOOKED. GUM WRAPPERS.

VUGOVIC: ALL OF THEM?

UNKNOWN: THEY SEEM TO BE ALL THE SAME.

VUGOVIC: IDIOT! DOES THIS LOOK LIKE A GUM WRAPPER?

UNKNOWN: LOOKS LIKE SOMETHING IS WRITTEN ON IT.

VUGOVIC: YES, IT DOES, DOESN’T IT? IT’S AN ADDRESS, IN MANHATTAN. DO YOU NOT SEE HOW YOUR INCOMPETENCE ALMOST LET THIS SLIP BY UNNOTICED? THIS COULD BE THE ADDRESS OF A MISTRESS OR CONCUBINE OR HOME OF A FRIEND WHERE HE INTENDS TO SLEEP.

OTHER: [UNINTELLIGIBLE]

UNKNOWN: CHINESE ARE BACK WITH A THIRD.

[UNINTELLIGIBLE]

[BACKGROUND NOISE]

[DOOR CLOSING]

*END*

SUCCESS IN WARFARE IS ACHIEVED BY ADOPTING THE ENEMY’S PURPOSE, AND BY STAYING CLOSE TO THE ENEMY’S FLANK. SUCCESS WILL IN TIME BE YOURS AT THE EXPENSE OF YOUR ENEMY IF YOU ACCOMPLISH THIS TWIN FEAT OF CUNNING.

—
Sun Tzu
, The Art of War

Twenty-four

It was like I
had blinked. One moment I was lying atop the bed and it was dark. The next moment I was in the exact same position and it was light. The window glowed with early sunlight. The alarm clock said 6:05. I’d slept a little over two hours.

At first consciousness, I assumed I was at my apartment, and that the previous day had not happened, that Trudy was at her apartment getting ready for a day of work at A1 Gold Coast Realtors. It was Monday and the Screen Man had a whole day’s worth of appointments. Sometimes we wake from a dream that seems so real that we have to force ourselves back to reality. It was only a dream, a nightmare, none of it happened. Then there are times when the reverse happens, when the nightmare is true, when you wake up in a hospital with no hands or upside down in an armored vehicle full of dead soldiers, and you have to force yourself to accept the new reality, that the simple life you had is no more.

It was made more chilling that morning by waking up in a strange room, the flood of Sunday’s events overwhelming me to the point where I wondered if I just stayed in bed and went back to sleep maybe I would wake up back in that other reality where the nightmare wasn’t true. Or maybe if I just lay there and didn’t move, the Chinese and the Kurac and the FBI would blow through like a storm. If I just stayed where I was I could wait it out and emerge into the sunshine a free man.

There was a crash in the hallway.

I jumped to my feet and checked the peephole. Across the way room service was picking up a dropped tray.

Showers—I couldn’t seem to get enough of them. I toweled off and dressed in the drab CVS shirt, the cargo pants, belly bag, straw trilby, and a large pair of sunglasses. As I exited the Plaza Hotel, a doorman in a stiff uniform bowed.

“Good morning, sir. Cab? Or are you out for breakfast?”

I was startled by the doorman’s booming voice as much as by the fact that he was so cheerful. He didn’t fit in with my new reality where everybody was trying to rip me off or kill me. When you consider my idiotic trilby hat, sunglasses, and shirt, it makes it even more surprising. Fucket: I looked like a douchebag. I guess when you pump twelve hundred dollars into a single night’s stay at a hotel the staff can afford to be cheerful. When I looked at the guy’s pink face and clear blue eyes, I realized he was just a guy, probably with a family and a small house in Queens, who liked going through life being happy, who realized that having enough is actually good enough. I used to feel that way sometimes at the beach house. There was a lot of contentment to be had in
enough
. Nobody would ever hunt him down or plot how to vivisect him.

“Good morning. Don’t need a cab. I’m walking.” I smiled, but my eyes were scanning the sidewalks for any lingerers, any Kurac or Chinese or FBI who might have been camped out waiting for me. I didn’t see any. Maybe the storm had blown through.

“It’s going to be a nice day, sir, not too hot, though we may have a storm in the late afternoon. We have umbrellas if you like. Are you here on business?”

“Passing through.” The fountain in Grand Army Plaza gushed and cascaded before me, the smell of warm trees in the park tracing a light, undecided breeze. I walked down the steps and stopped, still looking.

“You don’t seem in a hurry. I can recommend an excellent place for breakfast if you like. Just that way, on 56th.”

“Do you eat there?”

He laughed. “No sir, on my salary I eat at the diner on Second Avenue. I would recommend that as well. But it’s a walk.”

The doorman’s obliviousness to my situation, and his simple notions about the importance of weather and breakfast, somehow made me feel more whole, like there would be a corner I would turn someday and I, too, would be normal again. He gave me hope.

“Thanks.”

“Enjoy your day and your stay.”

I walked two blocks east through Midtown’s canyon, checking my reflection in the store windows to make sure I wasn’t being followed. I wasn’t.

I thought about smoking a Winston. I didn’t.

Under extreme stress people sometimes stop eating and find themselves disoriented or vulnerable as their system shifts into starvation mode. Under the current situation I was probably burning half again as many calories as I normally would be. For once, I could actually chow down without throwing on extra weight, the irony being I wasn’t very hungry. I couldn’t afford to be disoriented or vulnerable, but my impulse was to push myself and get more accomplished before allowing myself to rack up needed calories and nourishment.

Tito’s watch told me it was going on seven, and the streets of Midtown were beginning to churn with early commuters and vendors prepping their newsstands and coffee carts for the approaching Monday workforce tidal wave. If I grabbed a cab then it would get me to LaGuardia pretty fast at that hour. But I wasn’t sure Paramount Car Rental would be open that early. I had a little time.

Maybe it was dangerous, but I took a window booth at the Athens Diner and took off my hat and sunglasses. The doorman had made me want to be normal, if only for an hour or so before I went back to being hunted.

It was one of those enduring diners staffed by Greeks. The shapely waitress had lovely eyes, dark hair in a ponytail, and a large nose. Going through her normal routine, she, too, somehow made me feel hopeful, and normal, especially when she slid the coffee cup and saucer in front of me.

A normal breakfast for me was a bowl of seeds and twigs in skim milk. Coffee: black.

That wouldn’t cut it.

“I’ll have the Ulysses breakfast skillet.”

Twenty-five

A yellow cab rumbled
me across the Triborough Bridge and through Astoria’s mishmash of elevated trains and highways to LaGuardia Airport. The car rental places are on the lower arrivals level, which was just getting busy with flights moving businesspeople from other cities to New York. If the Serbs or the FBI or the Chinese or anybody else who might be looking for me happened to be watching the airports, they would be on the departures level above.

Rubin was a Hasid, the variety of Jew that wears only black trousers and white collared shirts with long curls at their temples. He ran the airport branch of Paramount Car Rentals, strictly a local operation that squeezed itself in at the end past Hertz. I’d used them before because they have a wide variety of fancy cars for rent and do a brisk business with hotshots who come to town, the kind that think showing up to a real estate deal in a Maserati or Jag would boost their mojo. The kind that like disposing of undeclared cash wherever they can. Unlike the national chains, Rubin accepted cash.

I bought a paper and sat for a while watching Paramount’s rental desk, making sure nobody else was doing the same. It seemed unlikely that the Kurac or the FBI would have thought I would rent a car. Rentals usually only accept credit cards. If I used my credit card, bad guys would know exactly where I was, they had to know I knew that. The previous night’s Plaza episode proved that. So they’d pretty much figure I’d take taxis and buses and trains.

It helped that Paramount wasn’t that widely known at my level in the criminal world because thieves stole cars to do jobs. Paying for stuff was against their nature. To be honest, I don’t know how to boost cars and driving a stolen car seems a liability to a successful operation. You have to cover the
what ifs
as much as you can in an operation, and
What if you get pulled over by a cop for a broken taillight?
is a deal breaker. That sort of thing happens all the time. The heat has an uncanny knack for blundering into an operation just when you least expect it. Like who would have expected that woman Florrie to call the cops on me back at the Garber place?

I’d rented an Escalade from Rubin a few years back for an operation that took me out to Long Island. I needed the room for a ladder, and an Escalade in Hampton Bays blends in. Had anybody tied the Escalade to lifting the sparks they might have jotted down the license plate and come to Rubin. But he’s the consummate businessman and understands his customers’ needs and what keeps them coming back. His customers highly value discretion. Especially when they tip him, which I did. I also sent him a card every Hanukkah and Passover. He was a good man to have on call. Trudy and I never knew when we might need a secure exit from town.

There was a young Hasid working the Paramount counter. When their customer queue dried up, I approached. “Is Rubin in?”

“I can help you, sir.”

“Rubin said anytime I came by I should see him personally.”

“Of course. His office is right in there. Have a seat, I’ll call him.”

The small office was stacked with pink receipts, plastered with post-its with phone numbers without names. I sat in the plastic chair opposite the desk.

“Gill?”

He never forgot a name, so they said. The rumpled bald man in a yarmulke burst into the room, his eyes those of an insomniac.

“Rubin, good to see you. You look well.”

“You don’t. What’s the matter?”

“Death in the family.”

He clasped his face, the eyes wobbling. “I hate it when that happens. Not your mother, I hope?”

“She’s been gone a long time. This was my aunt, not that close, but I’m executor. It’s a pain in the ass.”

“Should I even ask about the hair? You look like some kind of crazy rock star.” Rubin flopped into his chair, pushing up on his white sleeves. Poor guy was so bald that his curls were mere wisps.

“Sometimes it’s fun to change it up.”

“A death in the family. That bites.” He didn’t believe a word of it, and he didn’t have to, and knew he didn’t need to. Those wild eyes told me he somehow enjoyed rubbing up against mysterious characters like me. He could fill in the blanks, though. Most people like doing something illegal so long as the risk of being caught is low.

“What do you need? I’d love to be more sociable, but it’s Monday, and you know Mondays. All the shit that happens to people’s rentals over the weekend? Puh! Don’t get me started, ’kay?”

“Nothing fancy, Rubin. In fact, do you have any Toyotas, like a Corolla? I’m looking for the plainest car you have.”

“I have plain coming out of my ass.”

“Only thing is, I need to leave it for pick-up at JFK. I know you don’t have a counter there. I can pay extra, of course.”

“When is the pick-up?”

“I’ll be done with it by ten tonight. I can leave it at short-term parking.”

“Extra fifty. You can leave the keys and ticket with the parking space written on it with the attendants. I do this all the time, they work for me a little, you know? Just hand them the keys and tell them Rubin is coming to pick up, how’s that?” He clapped his hands and stood.

I stood, too. “That works. Do I need to fill in paperwork?”

Rubin didn’t bat an eye. “Hand me four hundred cash, I hand you the keys, and we’re done, ’kay?”

I peeled off a thousand in hundreds and put it in his hand. “The rest is a deposit on damages, just in case.”

Rubin pocketed the thousand and opened a desk drawer. He tossed me a key. “I don’t even rent this car. It’s just a courtesy loaner, or one my nephews use to run errands, like to pick up cars at JFK. Has a few scratches and a ton of miles, but it won’t crap out on you. It’s a Toyota sedan, plain as they come and reliable, parked in the very last spot on the right. If the car survives, leave some gas in it, ’kay?”

“Perfect. You’re the best.”

He clasped my hand and started off down the hall. “If I’m not the best, Hertz gets my business. I have no choice but to be the best, but thank you anyway.” He turned. “Gill?”

I raised an eyebrow.

He wagged a finger. “Be careful. I expect that Hanukkah card.”

“You got it.”

The car was right where he said it would be, gray and weary, but the engine was strong and the transmission tight. The AC worked, too, and despite what the doorman said, Monday looked like it was going to cook up into a hot one on all accounts. It all just had to work ten or twelve hours more.

Tito’s watch said nine forty-five.