Free Fire Part 21

He punched the b.u.t.ton for the intercom.

"Sheila, get me Layton Barron's home number in Denver."

No response.

"Sheila?"

"What do you think I am," she screeched. "Your f.u.c.king secretary?" "Your f.u.c.king secretary?"

Barron's wife answered and McCann asked to speak to Layton. She covered the phone while she called to her husbandbut McCann could hear her through her fingers, which he imagined as bony but finely manicured.

Barron said, "Yes?" He didn't sound pleased.

"You know who this is."

"I can't believe you called me at home." His tone was angry, astonished. "I'm going to-"

"If you hang up on me, you're going to spend the rest of your life in prison," McCann said flatly. "Your bony-fingered wife will be alone with all of your treasure."

Pause. Then: "Honey, I need to take this in my office. Will you please hang it up in a second?"

There were no pleasantries once Barron picked up his privatephone. "Look, I tried to call you back yesterday," Barron said, sounding as if he were speaking through clenched teeth. "I tried that number you gave me three times. First it was busy, then it rang and rang. And how do you know about my wife?"

"Forget that," McCann said.

"Then why are you calling me? How did you get my home number?"

"Forget that too," McCann said. "I want you to shut up and listen for once."

He could hear Barron take a breath. "Go ahead."

"We may have trouble up here. A couple of investigators"- McCann glanced at the business cards and read off the names- "went to Sunburst today with Mark Cutler. They may be too stupid to put things together, but that's getting too close for me."

"Jesus," Barron said softly.

"I want to get out of here," McCann said. "I want you to live up to your end of the deal. I want my money, now! now!"

"Clay, it's not what you think. We're not trying to screw you, not at all. The SEC's been camped out in our building for three weeks. It has nothing to do with you at all, but I can't move any money right now. They're going over everything for the past four years. It's a f.u.c.king nightmare."

"You're right," McCann said, "this has nothing to do with me. I could care less about the SEC, or your company. I want my money. I did my part, you need to do yours."

"Look," Barron said, an edge of panic entering his voice, "I think they'll be gone by the end of the week. I really do. We're clean, I swear it. It's just that some of our accounting looks a little,well, optimistic optimistic. I'm sure we'll get it sorted out and when those a.s.sholes leave, I'll get that transfer to you within the hour."

"Not good enough," McCann said. "I need it now. Tonight."

"Tonight?"

"You have no idea what it's like for me," McCann said. "If Pickett and Demming start connecting the dots, I'm just sitting here."

"Can't you be more reasonable?"

Yes, McCann thought, the panic in Barron's voice was real. He'd cracked him.

"Listen to me," McCann said, pressing, deciding to show his hole card, "if I don't get my money, I'll go to the FBI and sing in exchange for immunity. They'll give it to me, I promise you. I've worked with them and they'd rather nail somebody high-level-somebody like Layton Barron of EnerDyne-than put me back in jail."

"My G.o.d, you can't be serious."

McCann nodded. "I'm serious."

"But I told you, I can't move the money. The SEC-"

"Then send me some of your your money, you twit," McCann said. "Sit down at your computer and wire at least a ten-thousand-dollardown payment to my account tonight. I put my career and my life on the line for you. I expect some consideration." money, you twit," McCann said. "Sit down at your computer and wire at least a ten-thousand-dollardown payment to my account tonight. I put my career and my life on the line for you. I expect some consideration."

He could hear Barron swallow. "But you wouldn't really go to the FBI, would you?"

"Absolutely."

"Okay," he said in a whisper, "I can do that."

"And you need to keep it coming," McCann said. "Ten thousandtonight, ten thousand tomorrow, ten thousand the next day until you can pay the balance from your company, whenever that is. It's not my problem, it's yours. I'll talk with my banker every morning. If you miss a single day, I sing. Got it?"

Silence.

"Got it?"

"Yes."

McCann felt some of the burden lift from his shoulders. "That's not all," he said, liking the way the power had s.h.i.+fted to him.

"What else?"

"It's time for you to contact your man on the inside," McCannsaid. "Tell him what's going on and see if he can do something about it. He's the only guy close enough to the situationon the ground to steer it away from us. It's time he got his hands dirty."

Barron moaned, as if McCann were torturing him. "He's not going to like it."

"I could give a s.h.i.+t," McCann said, starting to feel, finally, that he was making things happen in his favor. "He's had a free ride so far. Tell him to act or he'll be implicated as well. Tell him I'm serious."

"I wish it didn't have to be this way," Barron said, his tone strangely resigned, as if seeing McCann in an all new light as his enemy. Good, McCann thought. It's about time.

"All you had to do was your part," McCann said. "I did mine."

He hung up the telephone, sat back in his chair, looked at his reflection in the gla.s.s doors of his bookcase, and fell righteouslyback in love with the man who grinned at him.

He'd let the locals get to him. He'd even let one old cow whack him on the head with a telephone receiver. The power he'd built up since his time in jail had been pouring out of him since he'd returned, puddling at his feet. Now it felt like the wounds had healed. He was recharging.

"Jeez," he said, "I missed missed you." you."

He was still smiling when Sheila D'Amato opened his door without knocking and leaned against the jamb with her hand on her hip and a sly smile on her face. Her eyes sparkled.

"You son of a b.i.t.c.h," she said with admiration.

"Don't tell me you listened," he said, shaking his head.

"Ten thousand a day," she said. "d.a.m.n, you're a better earner than the crooks I used to hang with."

"I'll take that as a compliment," he said, maintaining the grin somehow while part of his brain raced, trying to process the magnitude of what she'd done, how he would deal with it.

"I'm still confused," she said. "I don't get what it is you guys are trying to hide. I mean, it obviously has something to do with some Sunburst thing, but I don't get how that has anything to do with those four dead people."

"It's complicated," he said.

"I've got all night."

"Let's go have some dinner," he said. "I'll fill you in."

She beamed, and he was surprised how attractive she looked when she was full of joy. He hadn't known because she'd never been so happy in his presence before.

They stepped onto the sidewalk to go to Rocky's for dinner.He held the door open for her and smelled her as she came through. A nice scent. He liked the way her heels clicked on the pavement. It was rare to see a woman in the West in a dress and heels, and he found himself lagging behind her a little so he could look at her strong calves through the nylons.

"I've got to say," she said, shooting a come-hither look over her shoulder, "I'm more than a little surprised that you didn't bite my head off for listening in."

"I thought about it."

"But you didn't," she said. "I guess that means we really are in this together."

"I need allies," he said.

"I'd like to think I'm more than that."

"You are," he said.

"This all has to do with that company, doesn't it?" she asked.

"What company?"

"EnerDyne. I saw the binder on your credenza. You work for them, right?"

He whistled. "Boy, you don't miss a trick, do you?"

"I haven't yet," she purred. She'd knocked another $50 off her legal bill before they went out on the street. He still felt a littlelight-headed.

DINNER TOOK HOURS. McCann ordered too many martinis.She looked good in the light from the single cheap candle on the table, which took ten years off her face and made her skin seem smoother and whiter and her lips more lush and red.

"Tomorrow we'll drive to Idaho Falls," he said. "We can check on flights, do a little shopping. You'll need some things to wear on the beach, I would guess."

"It must be nice to have money," she said. "Ten thousand a day."

"That's just a fraction of what they owe me."

"You turned that man into a quivering little squirrel," she said, holding her hand out toward him and pulling her sleeve back. "I got goose b.u.mps listening."

He shrugged, flattered.

"Who is the man on the inside?"

"Tomorrow. I'll fill you in tomorrow . . . if you're a good girl until then."

"When I'm good, I'm very good," she said. "That's what they used to tell me . . ."

"And when you're bad . . ." he said, letting it trail off.

"I'm really f.u.c.king bad." She grinned.

He ordered another martini for both of them. He had to look down to see if he'd finished his steak. Nope.

She favored him with a smile so full-bore he could see her back teeth. "We really are partners in crime, aren't we?"

"We are," he said. "You now know more than anyone else."

"I'll keep my mouth shut," she said, "except when, well, you know."

It was as if she were melting for him before his eyes.

He'd never been with a woman like her, he thought. Too bad about tomorrow.

16.

It was obvious to joe when he saw george pickett waiting for him at a back table in the near-empty employee cafeteria that the old man had cleaned himself up. George looked dark and small, birdlike, fragile, his thick black hair slicked back wetly in jail-bar strings and his hands entwined in front of him. A tray of food sat off to the side. He wore a dingy but clean white s.h.i.+rt b.u.t.toned all the way up and dark baggy slacks Joe recognized from years before, which gave Joe an uneasyfeeling and caused a hitch in his step that he powered through, as if his legs had thought better of the reunion and decidedto flee.

The closer Joe got to his father, the angrier and more confusedhe became. The emotions came out of a place he didn't know still existed, as if a long-dormant tumor had ruptured. He felt eighteen again, and not in a good way.

Joe sat down across from George. They had the table to themselves. Outside the murky, unwashed windows, the last moments of the sun died on the pine boughs.

"You can grab a tray and get some dinner," George said, gesturingtoward the buffet line at the front of the room.

"I'm not hungry."

"You've got to eat something."

"No."

George slid his tray before him-slices of dark meat coveredwith brown gravy, a mound of mashed potatoes with a hollowed-out, gravy-filled pocket on top. Joe remembered watching his father do that growing up-hollowing out the potatoeswith the heel of his spoon, pouring gravy in the depressionso it looked like a volcano about to erupt gravy.